These Broken Stars(80)

“A boy named Simon.”

Tarver’s eyes go back to the shutter he’s working on, focused, not looking at me. “You’ve mentioned him before. Who is he?”

My throat tightens. How can I tell Tarver, of all people, about the monstrous parts of my past? Why give him another reason to push me away? And yet, maybe he deserves to know why I said the things I said aboard the Icarus.

And maybe I deserve to relive it.

“If I tell you, will you just listen to me? Don’t interrupt, don’t say anything, just—let me get through this. Can you do that?”

His demeanor changes subtly, but he stays where he is, crowbar dangling at his side. “Okay.”

I take a few deep breaths, like a diver about to jump.

“Simon was a boy who grew up near our summerhouse on Nirvana.” I can’t look at him while I’m speaking. I don’t want to see the moment when realization hits.

“His family wasn’t as well connected as mine, but whose is? He was absolutely brilliant, and not just in the subjects we were expected to learn. He’s the one who taught me everything I know about electricity and physics. My father turned a blind eye to the time we spent together because he thought it was harmless, that I was too young to form any real attachment. I was fourteen then, but I loved him.” I run my fingers along the edge of the screwdriver, fingertips learning its planes, the sculpted plastic handle. “The night before he turned sixteen he asked if we could stop hiding, and be a real couple. He said he was going to go to my father in the morning now that he was an adult, and ask for a position within the company. To earn the right to be with me.”

Simon’s sandy-blond hair and green eyes flash in front of me, my heart constricting even now. Just keep talking. Get through it.

“I said yes. When I woke I practically flew downstairs in anticipation, but when I got there it was like nothing had changed. My father said he hadn’t seen him—he didn’t even look away from the news screen. I went to his house, and found his parents devastated. All gentlemen’s sons are in the reserves—you know that. As a matter of honor, I suppose, though it’s never tested. It’s all for show.”

My eyes sting and the red and yellow handle of the screwdriver blurs. Not yet. Hold it together. I turn the tool over and over in my hands.

“Simon had been called to active duty. I went to the recruiting station, but due to some clerical oversight, he was shipped out to the front lines with a bunch of soldiers who’d been training for a year. By the time I got through all the red tape and found out where he was, he was already dead.” And I should have known better.

Tarver keeps true to his word, not speaking, not even moving. But I feel his eyes on me, and I know he’s listening. I swallow, suddenly uncertain. Will he understand why I’m telling him this story that no one in the galaxy knows, outside of my father and me?

“I live a life of utter privilege. I know that. I accept that.” My voice cracks a little and I lick my lips. “But nothing’s free. It comes with a price. I accept that, too. My father has expectations about where I’ll spend my time, the company I’ll keep, the connections I’ll make to advance his interests. He always says that our name was hard won, and required sacrifice and work to maintain—but that if protected, it was all I’d ever need to get anywhere in this world. But sometimes—sometimes I slip.”

I force myself to glance at him. He’s standing where he was, his face shut down, as impassive and unreadable as I’ve ever seen it. I crumble a little, despite my resolve. This isn’t just about how he sees me; that ship rocketed away long ago.

It’s about how he thinks I see him.

“In the salon, when I dropped my glove, do you really think I didn’t know who you were?” My fingers close around the handle of the screwdriver like it’s a lifeline. “You were a hero, all over the news vids. I knew who your family was, that you were a scholarship case, all of it. I knew exactly who you were. I just—forgot, for a few seconds, who I was. Because I wanted to talk to you. Because you didn’t look at me like I was Lilac LaRoux.

“So yes, I was cruel afterward. I’m cruel because it’s the fastest way to get a man to lose interest, and trust me, I’ve learned how. My father taught me well.” I swallow, making sure my tone is even. He’d be proud. “Tarver, you have to understand that everyone who approaches me—everyone—wants something. Men are after my money. Women are after my status. And men will suffer a lot for a rich girl’s attentions, but not that level of humiliation. I’ve had to learn to use it over the years. And maybe I’m cruel because it’s easy, and because it’s something…something I can be good at.”