Taming Cross

“Why not?” He looks annoyed, but I can already see through it. He’s shocked; he’s working his way to upset. I’m going to hurt him.

I need to make this sound logical—like it’s not based on secrets and omissions from my past. I heave a deep breath and tuck my wayward hair behind my ears. “What if I want to write about my experience? What if I want to confront your father? How do you know he won’t show up here right now?” I take a step back, bumping into a dresser, and Cross takes a small step toward me. The look on his face is enough to break my heart: so earnest, with something warm glowing in his pretty eyes.

“I don’t,” he says. “But I know that I’ll protect you. I’ll always try.”

Always. He said ‘always’. I pretend he doesn’t mean it.

“You would turn in your own father?” I ask him.

He nods. “If that’s what you want.”

He looks so sincere, that I feel tears spring into my eyes. I want to throw something else at him, some other reason why this just can’t work, but my throat is closed up tight. “I just don’t understand,” I cry. Oh yeah…I’m crying now. Crying wasn’t in my plan, so I turn to face the wall.

Cross’s hand touches my back, gentle as you would be with a baby, and before I can gather my defenses, he’s turning me into his chest. He wraps his arms around me, and murmurs, “Talk to me. Tell me why you’re upset.”

I can only cry harder, because I can’t answer that. I can’t say anything to him. Or rather, I know I won’t. I just stand there, relishing the comfort he’s doling out like the selfish girl I always am, and I don’t say anything at all. My mind is racing. Finally, I push away and look into his eyes. “Is it because you know I never had sex with any of them? With your father, with Jesus, with anybody else I didn’t choose? Is that why you can…be with me?”

He frowns. “That helps,” he says frankly, “but that’s not why.”

“Then why?” I whisper.

“I don’t know.” He rubs his hair, the motion sharp; frustrated. “Why are you here with me? Is it obligation? Pity?”

“No,” I rasp. “I just…really like you.” I should never have said it, but I couldn’t seem to keep it in.

“That’s how I feel,” he says gently. “You’re very likable. And lickable.” He touches his forehead to mine. “I just like you, Merri. Isn’t that enough?”

I pull away from him and make some space, so there’s no chance he’ll touch me when I say this. “You don’t know everything about me.” My voice is shaking. I’m about to lose it, so I know I need to go. “You don’t get it, Cross. Things have happened to me that can’t unhappen.” I choke on a sob. “I just don’t get… How can you not judge me? What if I told you that I did have sex?”

His face goes slack. “With…who?”

“What if it was your father? It could have been Jesus or…damnit, anyone! Would it matter?” He shakes his head, and I raise my voice. “Tell me, would it matter?”

His face is so taut, so unhappy, that I feel a sweet wave of relief. This is it. He’s going to walk away and I won’t be to blame. It won’t be my choice.

Instead, he strides forward and tips my face up so I’ll have to look at him, and look at him I do. I do my best to memorize him. “Don’t get me wrong,” he whispers, “this is a surprise for me. I thought that I would care. Maybe I should care. But I’m finding that I don’t. Because I want you so much, nothing else seems to matter.” There’s vulnerability in his eyes, and I’m worried—terrified and elated—over what he will say next. “Merri, I—”

“Don’t say it!” I say shrilly.

And he gets it: that I’m telling him not to love me. I know he gets it, because his face crumples. His right hand drops down to his side and as he looks at me, his features harden, showing an instant of anger before settling on something that is terribly, wrenchingly sad.

“I don’t say anything I don’t mean,” he says softly.

And that’s a shame—because in another universe, maybe we end up together.

I step to him and kiss his sweet mouth one more time. “Thank you,” I choke out. “Thank you so much, Cross.” I kiss his jaw, and then I go.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

I lie there for a long time. On my back, staring at the ceiling. There’s a fan that’s going ’round and ’round. I try to follow it with my eyes and push my thoughts away, the way Akemi taught me. While my mind is empty, the room goes dark. Next time I notice where I am, my shoulder aches. I have to focus harder to stay empty.

Eventually I get tired of the effort.

Maybe I want to feel the pain.

I turn on my side so I can smell her in the sheets.

Merri. She was right here, only hours ago.

I curl over on my side and put my hand over my face. The ache inside my chest is crushing—much worse than my shoulder. I feel…broken. Almost like when I woke up from the coma.

I wonder if this will ever go away, and then I think I don’t want it to. I’ll take Merri any way I can have her.

I turn from side to side. Minutes feel like hours. I wonder where my shirt is. I wonder who she f**ked. I wonder why I don’t care—not at all. I think I know, but I keep the thought away.

I can feel my heartbeat in my shoulder.

Maybe I should go back to the brothel.

Outside, the air has cooled just a bit. I look around, in the grass around the house, but there is no sign of my shirt. I’m shutting the broken door, wondering if Merri will miss me, when I smell smoke. Dinner, I think. I turn toward the main house, and I see smoke, big, dark clouds of it, creeping like fingers between the trees.

Oh, f**k.

I hear screaming before I emerge from the trees, and when my boots hit the soft grass of the long, straight, English-style lawn, there is the brothel: glowing. The fire is contained to one back corner of the main building, but as I begin to run, I can already see it spreading. My heart skips a few beats. What if Merri’s inside sleeping? What time is it?

I don’t see the edge of the pond until I splash into it. I swerve the other way, blinking through the smoke.

Merri. I just need to get to Merri.

Terror fuels me, makes me faster. I’m past the pond. The smoke is thicker. It burns my lungs but I keep moving.