beautifully broken(18)

“I want to talk,” I say, rolling over to face him, his eyes find mine and I expect a look of scorn or disdain but I don’t find that at all. He looks away from me briefly and I slowly glide my hand across the bed and touch his. “Please,” I say, as sincerely as I can.

“I don’t remember a lot of my childhood. I know I had brothers and sisters. Or I remember playing with a lot of other kids, at least,” he continues. He doesn’t look at me but ahead of him. I wanted to talk but I definitely didn't expect this answer.

“There were always a lot of people in the house. A lot of kids, at least. The house was on this same block. I’ve been trying to find Clay since before I met you. My mom’s name was Isabella. My…biological dad’s name is Clay. She died when I was five.”

I sit up in bed and move near him. He turns to look at me and his expression is almost stoic. Then his eyes find mine.

“When I ask you how much do you want to know? Are you really ready to know? People think they want to know things but it can be ugly. It can change things.”

“There’s nothing that can change the way I feel about you,” I promise him.

“I know that you want things to be normal for Caylen. I don’t want her to be screwed up by me. I know why things have to be different now,” he says, looking me in the eyes.

“They have to,” I admit.

“What do you want to know?” he says casually, his posture adjusting to his casual tone as if he’s just said the easiest thing in the world.

“Are you really going to tell me?” I ask him, almost in disbelief.

“I’ll tell you whatever I can,” he says, his eyes on mine. I sit up, taken off guard by his openness.

“If you want to?” I ask, still cautious of the turn this has taken.

“If I think it pertains to you,” he says simply. There’s always a catch. I let out a deep breath.

“Why do you hate your dad?”

“William?” he scoffs.

I nod.

“Because he’s an asshole,” he answers simply.

I can’t exactly argue with that. “But there has to be more to it than that.”

“Next question,” he says gruffly.

Instead of arguing I go on to the next question “When Chris comes out, what happens to you?”

His eyebrow raises and he looks in front of him, his hardened expression softens. “I’m still there. I’m always there, it’s just…sometimes I can choose not to be,” he says quietly.

“So you don’t go in this dark prison or something,” I ask, the question sounding silly and immature but it’s honest.

A small smirk spreads across his face. “It’s not really like that. It’s more like a dream. Sometimes I choose to sleep instead, if that makes sense. When he met Jenna, I was asleep if that’s what you want to call it. I didn’t want to be around. I’d just left you. Gwen was dying. It was his turn to deal with the shitty side of life,” he says quietly.

“So you can choose whenever you come back?” I ask him with bated breath. My stomach coils. If he says he can, I don’t know if I can handle that information because knowing that he could have come back at any time and didn’t, will hurt more than anything he’s said to me.

“No. If it worked liked that, Chris would have been gone. Like I said, it’s like dreaming almost. Sometimes you can control what happens and other times you’re just stuck watching. It used to be easier to keep him from taking control. Now it’s harder to keep it,” he says as he stands up and walks across the room.

“Where is he now? Why does he not remember things but you do?” I ask him.

“Can that be enough for now? Just for tonight?” he asks me, looking into my eyes and I nod. I don’t know exactly why we’re here, or the fact that a simple piece of information pacifies me but I feel like what he’s just told me isn’t so simple. The reason why we’re here isn’t just a coincidence.

“One more question?” I ask him and he lets out an exasperated huff but nods. “Do you really not trust me anymore?” I ask, afraid to hear the answer but it’s something that I need to hear. Is loving the other side of him disloyal? I always wanted him to be able to count on me, to let me in, to be there for him. If he doesn’t trust me, if what happened between Chris and me makes that impossible, how could we ever move on from that?

“I trust you more than I trust myself,” he says before lying down next to me. The space between us feels foreign. I don’t cross it but slowly he does, pulling me closer to him, skin to skin. His touches start slow and my body melts, tension everywhere disappears as his caresses become firmer, deeper.