Lost Boy (The Lonely #2)

Lost Boy (The Lonely #2) Page 21

I scoff, "No. She is family. She always will be. The next step is getting her to meet her parents. They're so excited."

Jane nods, "Sarah is too. She's just scared for them to see the broken mess she is."

I roll my eyes, "She needs to see the strength inside of herself. She is a remarkable girl."

Jane smiles, "So you won't mind if I tell Sebastian to have another go then?"

I shrug, "I don’t think a guy will solve anything. I think she's still seeing herself as broken; no man is going to change that. She'll just transfer her Stockholm on to him. I think it's a terrible idea but you never listen to me."

She laughs with her head back, "You never listen to me, rather."

I lift my glass, "It's too bad we're both crazy." And I fucking hate you.

She nods and drinks.

"What do you need from me? You said you wanted to talk."

She sighs, "Two things. Firstly, I want her to have contact with Sebastian again. She asked you for his number, I want you to give it to her. I have it."

I narrow my gaze, "How do you know him?"

She smirks, "I was getting some computer work done. He saw a picture of her and commented how beautiful she was. I told him she was about to start at the university. He mentioned he would be there too. I told him morning runs were her thing and to try to be there, and he should be able to meet her."

"You set her up with a guy, while she was in therapy?"

She laughs, "No, I set him up for failure, unfortunately. I knew she would back off, but I hoped the male contact and relationship would bring back bad things for her."

I almost gag and feel sick for the guy at the same time. I'm glad it wasn’t me who made her remember those things. I nod, "I can give her the number." She passes it to me and I see her look change.

"What's the second thing?"

"She is going to tell Michelle everything. Everything."

I nod, "I assumed as much."

Her eyes narrow, "Stuart will be broken."

"I know."

She gives me a look, "Do you? Have you noticed how in love with her he is? He is going to suffer and not in a way he likes. He has never been in love before. He fears intimacy."

I sigh, "I know that, you don’t have to tell me."

She gives me a glare, "Did you know he got a girl pregnant once, made her have an abortion because he was terrified he would molest the baby. That’s why he forces himself to volunteer at the neonatal unit. He told me once he saw a program about how boys who are sexually assaulted, have a ninety-percent chance of abusing children. Do you know what that knowledge has done to him? He has never had a single thought about hurting a child or ever been attracted to one, and yet, he has deemed himself a predator. He lives with that."

I swallow hard, shaking my head, "Why are you telling me this?"

Her eyes glass over to the cold, dead-fish she really is, "He tried to commit suicide after the abortion. Took a bunch of pills. That is the last time I saw him heartbroken."

I drink back the last of the scotch and place the glass down, "I will make certain he is himself."

She nods, "Thank you. I don’t think he will turn to me if he goes into crisis. I think it will be you. He loves you."

I leave for the elevator, desperate for the stairs and to hug my friend and tell him he is no monster. I press the button, not looking but speaking loudly, "It was fun as it always is, Jane. Thank you for the scotch." I step into the elevator and avoid her eyes as the door closes. I can feel a broody mood coming on as I walk to the car. I don’t start it, I text her one word, 'Hi.'

She doesn't send anything back but she reads it. I wonder if Michelle is there yet, and if they are talking about what a monster I am. I start the car and drive to her dorm. I don’t mean to, it just happens. Staring at it makes me feel less detached from her. I actually fear the freedom she has and it's entirely because I want her to be mine. It has nothing to do with her mental state or mine. It has even less to do with her healing or her family. It is entirely selfish. It is my version of a selfish survivor.

She captivated me and I am stuck in her Stockholm as much as she is.

I send a different text message as the sun goes down and I am hidden in the shadows, 'Stuart will be there in fifteen.'

I dial Stuart quickly to make sure that he'll be there.

"Hey," his voice is sad.

"I need you to pick her up in fifteen and bring her to my place."

He doesn’t say anything for a minute but after the long pause, he sounds confused, "What?"

"Fifteen minutes."

"Eli, dude. That is a terrible idea. You can't bring her there."

I sigh, "We need to see each other normally. She might still crack a little in public places, so yeah, I am going to meet with her at my place. It's nice."

"What about the room?"

My stomach hurts. I wince, "I'm obviously not having her there for that."

He pauses again and after a minute sighs, "Why are you having her there?"

I ignore the question, "Michelle is going to be there. She won't let Sarah out of her sight. I guarantee that."

He sucks air, "Oh, that was low. Okay. Fifteen and you don’t show her the room and Michelle waits in the Tahoe with me. Deal."

I hang up and drive home for a fast shower and to get ready. I find myself putting on cologne and styling my faux hawk perfectly. It's a bad sign.

I watch out the window for the Tahoe. My stomach is eating itself. I don’t actually know the last time I ate anything. I pace, watching the city lights come to life and tapping my fingers against my arms. In my peripheral, I see it pull up. She jumps out and runs across the street, in a skirt… shit. I turn and run for the elevator, pressing the button and waiting. She will for sure take it. I step in, sticking my finger into the corner to make sure I know it isn’t the hole.

The doors open and she is there. She is prettier than I have ever seen her. Even her grad dress doesn’t compare to the jacket, pink skirt, and of course, her UGG boots. I smile, I can't even help it, "Sarah."

She sucks her air, gasping and nodding, "Hi."

I make room for her, "Come in."

She seems scared or unsure. She gives me and the elevator a look before stepping in.

"How are you?" I ask. I feel like an idiot.

She frowns, "Since I saw you a few hours ago?"

"Right. Of course."

She looks up at me with that perfect face, "I'm fine. Really." She looks like a fairy or a doll. Her makeup makes her blue eyes and blonde hair stand out against her creamy skin. I can imagine sucking her glossy bottom lip. Shit. Why did she wear a skirt?

She narrows her gaze, "Are you waiting for me to fall apart?"

I can't speak. I just nod, it's not even the truth. I figure her parents are going to be the fall apart stage of her recovery.

She shrugs, "It won't happen. It's different for me than you. I was already pulled apart. The memories suck, but inside I already knew they were there. Your eyes and her face have haunted me for the entire fourteen years."

I don’t say anything. If I do, it's going to be something dirty and involve lifting her skirt just a little bit for my fingers that are clenched so tight I can't stand it.

We are both out of breath and words, yet still staring at each other. It's awkward and tense. That rooftop kiss is playing in my mind, and by her skirt and bare legs, I can imagine it is in her mind as well.

When the elevator stops, she steps off and walks to the view. I forget about the many things she hasn’t seen or lived or done. She is like a bird freed from a cage.

She looks back at me, "I didn’t grow up like you. I didn’t have a mom and a dad and Dr. Bradley to help me. I had to get tough on my own."

I lean against the window and try to think of a reason I would think she wasn’t coping with it all, "It just feels like you're not dealing with it. It took me months to get to where you are. Years even. I'm scared you're walling up again."

She unzips her coat and I almost have to hold my breath. It isn’t a skirt, it's a dress. An off-the-shoulder, pale-pink dress that shows every inch of her perfect form. She sits down on the couch and continues like we are still having the conversation, "Your life was filled with shit like this. Fancy things. Like therapy." She nudges my glass coffee table.

She has no idea just how fancy it was. I let her think it.

She gives me a blank stare, "I had people. They didn’t feel sorry for me. I was just another orphan. The people in my town felt sad for me and treated me with tons of kindness and pity because they all assumed I was abused and brutalized. What kind of kid is wandering the streets at six-years old? A kid who doesn’t have loving parents. It was no mystery that I was tortured or beaten or molested. But the nuns and priests taught me that nothing was easy or free and hard work was what everyone did to get by. No matter their lot. They taught me that bad shit happens to everyone and no one in the world is exempt from horror and pain."

I feel myself get caught up in her speech, "But they didn’t know what you went through."

She shakes her head, "No. But there was a girl who was taken from her parents. Her mom was actually her sister. She lived in that house till she was ten. Her name was Beth. She's the same age as me. She's becoming one of the sisters at the convent attached to the orphanage. She shakes if you raise your voice around her and pees the bed at night, still. She doesn’t speak to men ever. God knows what happened to her."

She stands up and grabs her coat like she is leaving, "I get that what happened to you was bad. It was and there is no denying it or taking that from you. But there are always people who have it worse. You were right. Your advice was right. I can't rot in that old, dirty house. I will never be okay with what happened. I can't say the words or think about the things that happened, without wishing it were me that didn’t make it out. But I did. And maybe my hard life in an orphanage, where I was taught not to feel sorry for myself, was the easier environment to heal. You need to listen the next time Dr. Bradley tells you to be grateful. I'm slowly getting there. I'm grateful to you for everything you have done for me."