I couldn’t bring myself to move even an inch. I was locked in place by those eyes, those usually so cold gray eyes, which were molten steel now, and all my anger just floated away.
“I don’t hate you, Claire.” Ben spoke the words slowly—more to himself.
Once more I was shocked by how close the sound of his voice came to the sound of Adam’s voice. I balled my hands into fists, digging my nails into the palms. The physical pain distracted me for a second, preventing me from falling into the dark hole of the misery in my soul. I was surprised at the effect and dug deeper until all I could feel was the physical pain.
“On the contrary, Claire—I think you are the most adorable girl I’ve ever had the honor to meet.” Ben’s eyelids fluttered and he averted his gaze. “I think you are the most beautiful creature in the world—and the most pitiful thing I’ve ever met.”
I felt my fingernails sever my skin. What was he telling me? Adorable—no way. Beautiful—I couldn’t agree with that. Pitiful—definitely. Warm blood flowed from the cuts in my hands and leaked through my fingers. The flesh I was were boring into felt warm under my fingernails. The warmth spread as the blood slowly oozed down my hands, hiding the tiny cuts from where I had been pushed down to the gravel, and dribbled from my wrists. I watched in amazement. I was totally awed by this new way of suppressing the much worse type of pain—the pain in my soul. I knew I would be willing to trade it for any kind of physical suffering in the future. Anything to get away from the inescapable memories that kept nagging at my mind, the incompleteness that was slowly driving me insane. At least physical wounds healed after a while—something I couldn’t say about my damaged heart. I was a hundred percent sure that would never be fine again.
“Claire?”
I had been so absorbed in my thoughts and the new found power of physical pain that I had stopped listening to Ben. I nodded to myself, not unclenching my fists, and returned my attention to the boy who was crouching on the floor in front of me, his eyes wide open, a horrified expression on his face.
His hands darted out and grabbed my arms. He pulled my fists towards him, eying the blood with suspicious eyes.
“What are you doing?”
I tried to pull my hands back—without success. Ben held them in an iron grasp.
“Let go of me!” I half-shrieked at him. I knew that he was just trying to help—but help was exactly what I did not want. I wanted to be left alone until I was myself again, until I had regained at least some control over the part that was so intangibly distorted by the constant pain and finality of my angel’s absence. The pain and instability were much worse in Ben’s presence. He looked so much like his older brother when he was all worried like that.
I managed to pull one arm free of Ben’s grip. His hand bounced back and grabbed the fist on the arm he was still holding. I couldn’t fight the power of his grip opening my fist. As my hand opened, blood ran down my forearm.
“Open your other fist,” Ben commanded. I knew if I didn’t do it by myself he would force it open like the first one. So, I decided it was better to follow his command than continue fighting.
I was sitting on Ben’s bed, a picture of misery. Blood was dribbling down my forearms, soaking the sleeves of my shirt, and I was trying with every fiber in my body to keep my hysteria at bay.
Ben stared down at the palms of my hands. They were smeared with blood and three cuts gaped on each palm where the fingernails had sliced the skin open. The tiny cuts from the gravel were almost invisible beside the fresh ones.
“Are you insane?” Ben asked with concern furrowing his brows.
I nodded at his question, fully aware that confessing my insanity wouldn’t help the situation at all; but it was true all the same.
He let go of me for a second and reached for tissues which he pressed into my palms forcefully. I flinched.
“You should have considered that a little earlier,” he commented on my movement.
“Hrmpf...”
I watched him nurse my wounds in silence for a while. Red blood was soaking through the tissues between our hands. I liked the color and the smell of it, and the way it seemed to not want to stop flowing. It reminded me that I was alive—still.
“What were you thinking?” He asked with a kind of fear in his voice I had never heard before. His eyes were scrutinizing my face.
I shook my head at him. What should I say?
Ben eyed me for a moment, then looked down at my bloodied hands. “It’s him—” he whispered—not a question
I choked at the name that sprang to my mind and my fingertips snapped back into my palms, searching for the cuts to dig in once more. My body had learned fast how to avoid the pain in my soul—but they were hindered by the tissues and Ben’s fingers which covered the wounded flesh.
I didn’t have to give him a verbal answer—the response of my body had told him he was right.
“It’s going to be okay,” he said with a rueful smile. “We are both struggling.” His gaze was calm and comforting and I fell into it with relief. It felt good to think we were in this together.
There was still this roomful of unexplained pictures and I wanted to know more. Excluding the fact that it irritated me that I was the only subject in his sketches, I had to admit, they were pretty good.
“So, you are an artist,” I ventured, sounding for all the world like a stranger making small talk at a party. Ben gave a small, awkward smile.
“I don’t usually show my pictures to anyone.”
“Except for me,” I joked, trying to keep some easiness in my voice.
“I didn’t think about them when I brought you up here. I forgot I hadn’t stored them away.” It wasn’t a convincing line and he lowered his eyes as he said it. “Otherwise I wouldn’t have chosen this room to talk to you—it’s—embarrassing—”
He gave a short sigh and changed the subject. “He’s dead, Claire—you can’t weep for him forever.” Ben looked up at me with eyes of piercing steel. They told me that he was hurt and that he was determined, like a soldier in battle. I couldn’t tell why, but I knew he was; and I had a vague idea it was me he was determined to fight for. Maybe it was the way his eyes grew all soft and warm the moment mine locked on them. Maybe it was the way he straightened up on his knees a few inches, automatically, so he was closer to my face. Or maybe it was just the way his room was filled with pictures of me.
“It’s only been a few weeks,” I found my voice again. “—and you’re already talking about forever—” As if my love for Adam was ever going to change, dead or alive. He had taken a part of my soul and without a doubt it was his forever. Nothing was going to change that. Even if I healed enough—someday in the far, far future—to see another man for what he really was—a man—it would never be so potent, so intoxicating, so perfect—the way it had been with Adam.
My hands were balling up into fists again, but I couldn’t feel the pressure of my fingernails on my skin—they were digging into the back of Ben’s hands.
“Ouch!” Ben exclaimed sharply and my fingers opened reflexively.
“I’m sorry,” I apologized. I looked back down at our hands. They were dirty with my blood and the tissues between them were completely soaked.
“No—it’s nice to eventually find out you don’t hate me the way I always thought you did.” I grimaced and looked around the room while I spoke, wondering about the perfection of his drawings. “These are really good.” I nodded at the easel nearest to us. “Where did you learn to draw like that?”
Ben’s face lit up for a moment. “You really think they are good?”
I nodded to encourage him, deciding that I had to somehow get along with him if I wanted to still be welcome in the Gallagers’ house.
“I thought you might never talk to me again... not that we’ve talked that much before...” Ben’s face was full of guilt.
I pulled my hands out of his grip and got to my feet. He watched me with cautious eyes as I started walking betw
een the easels. I felt his eyes on my shoulders as soon as I turned around to look at the pictures. It made me feel observed, like I was some kind of wild animal locked up in a new enclosure. Was he expecting me to lose it again any moment? I felt him move behind me, close enough to prevent me from doing something stupid. I didn’t know if he realized I was through it—for the moment.
My eyes rested on one of the drawings. It was my face like I hadn’t seen it for quite a while, smiling and happy. I tried to imitate the image I was seeing without much success. Except for a little twitch at the corners of my mouth, my face stayed the same composed mask I wore so many hours these days, as if my lips had forgotten how to form this natural upwards-curve and my eyes how to twinkle.
It was amazing how perfect Ben had put my features down on paper, considering he had drawn this from a memory. I turned around to look at him in amazement.
The spot where I had expected him to stand was empty. Instead, he was sitting on a couch at the other end of the room, close to the door, following my movements with his eyes.
“Where did you learn to draw like that?” I repeated my question.
Ben just shrugged his shoulders.
“You have a good memory,” I tried to get him to talk.
But again he shrugged. This time he even lifted his hands a little defensively. They were still red with my blood. Reflexively I looked down at my own hands which were curling around the tissues in their palms. The blood had stopped flowing and I started to wonder what had made me cut my own skin. A small voice in the back of my head chuckled darkly and mocked my ability to so quickly shove aside the bad things. I felt a slight twitch in my body, like I had gotten an electric shock, and recalled what had made me hurt myself. The voice laughed even darker as I shied away from the memories that threatened to well up inside my head.
My inner conversation might have taken half a minute. I couldn’t tell.
“Are you alright?” a voice asked too close beside my ear.
I jumped and turned in the direction of it. Ben was standing at my shoulder with one of his dirty hands outstretched, but he wasn’t touching me.
“Yeesh, Ben!”
I took a quick step away from him and inhaled deeply.
“Sorry.” Ben stepped back at the same moment. He made an apologetic gesture but there was something in his eyes that didn’t seem sorry at all. It was a low shimmer in the steely blue depths.
I told myself that my eyes were betraying me. I told myself that I was dreaming—where else did those things happen? It couldn’t be true. No...
I closed my eyes for a brief moment before I looked at Ben more closely. Another breath. There was no shimmer, nothing but worry. I must have been wrong.
“Maybe I should bandage your hands while we talk,” Ben suggested.
“Uhm—thanks,” I nodded.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” Ben told me and then he vanished through the door so quickly I had to blink several times to be sure he had been standing next to me only seconds ago. No, I thought again and instantly knew that the upcoming conversation would be important. I definitely had to talk to Ben but even more than that, I had to listen.
Ben returned a few moments later with his hands washed and full of bandages and salves. He gestured me to the sofa.
I sat down willingly while he knelt down in front of me, took one of my hands in his, and started cleaning it with pads and something that stung.
I was positive I wouldn’t get a second offer like that, so I didn’t complain. I bit my lower lip and endured. After all, I wanted to know what was going on here and I was determined to bring a little structure back to my life. I couldn’t go on existing like that—always in danger of snapping, always full of unleashed emotion and pain and this never-ending, aching longing in my heart that reminded me that I would never be complete again.
If only I could clear out some of the weirdness in my life, I might someday be able to exist without being a constantly ticking time bomb. Tick, tock, the voice in the back of my head mocked and laughed darkly. Great, I’m schizophrenic now, I thought to myself and forced my attention back to Ben, who was gently winding fabric around my hands. His eyes were fixed on my face, though. They were still worried, but the steel of his irises had become solid once more.
“How long have you been drawing my face?” I asked after a few moments of silence.
Ben held my gaze. He opened his mouth to speak. “A while.” He sounded nonchalant.
“Why my face?” I shifted uncomfortably before I continued speaking. “I mean—there are thousands of pretty girls out there... Why me?”
I stared into his eyes, trying to melt the steel again. I wanted to see the real him for once at least, now that we were already talking...
“You are the only one that has ever mattered to me besides my family,” said Ben plainly.
I heard myself suck in a gust of air. I should have known. Hadn’t, I swallowed before I thought it, Adam told me that Ben felt a little attracted to me?
“Uhm—” I didn’t know what else to say in response. I wanted to somehow acknowledge his openness, but I was out of words for the moment.
“Please, don’t get the wrong impression.” Ben finally tore his eyes away, pretending to check the bandage on my left hand.
His young forehead creased a little as he fingered the fastening on the fabric. “It’s just... You meant a lot to my brother—and my brother meant a lot to me.”
“I understand.” I didn’t understand. Ben could have drawn Adam if he really missed his brother that much.
I watched Ben’s fingers release my left hand. They hesitated for a moment before they moved over to take my right hand from my thigh.
“If I’m the only thing that has ever mattered to you besides your family, as you said, why on earth have you never talked to me? I would have loved to feel a little more at ease in your presence.” I was spilling the words without thinking. “If you had given me even a small sign that you didn’t hate me—”
“Shut up!” Ben interrupted the words flowing from my mouth. My lips fell shut in surprise and I stared at Ben, my eyes widening with every second he didn’t speak.
“How could I show any kindness to the person that was going to be the death of my brother?”
Ouch! I had no idea what he knew, but it was definite that he knew something. I was positive that Ben wasn’t exactly what he had been pretending to be. There already was something more to him than the unfriendly, full of hatred, younger brother.
“So what was it you wanted to talk to me about?” I asked as if I hadn’t heard his last sentence. I didn’t look him in the eyes, afraid that he would see my thoughts.
“Nothing special—” Ben answered nonchalantly. “I just wanted to ask you if we could go out for coffee sometime.”
“What?” I couldn’t believe what I just had heard. “You let me go through all this just to ask me out for coffee?” My mood swung over to angry again. “You know, it somehow seems like you might hate me still.” My tone was firm; the anger wouldn’t bring it to modulate more than usual. It didn’t even tremble. Nothing but cold anger boiling under the surface.
I had thought this conversation would be important, clarifying some of the strangeness about Ben; but it was obvious I wouldn’t get any more answers or solve any problems tonight. I was simply overwhelmed from my crazy day. I was weak. His every word could smash me from happy to angry, from high to death wish.
Ben was staring at me with probing eyes as I looked back at him. He didn’t speak, obviously waiting for me to continue.
“Coffee—okay,” I agreed wearily, “why not?” and instantly regretted it.
Torn
I got to my feet with reluctance. The day, the long day of learning so many new things, was over. I needed to get home. I felt a twinge of panic at the thought of the night outside and the demons that could be waiting, and the empty house without Sophie at the end of a long walk.
I silently cursed my car f
or breaking down. Walking home seemed like an even worse option than asking Ben for help.
“I really don’t want to have to ask this of you...” I said as I slowly walked toward the door, “but, would you mind driving me home? My car broke down this morning...” I wasn’t expecting anything from him. Ben and I were patching things up, but he was not my protector.
Ben’s lavender shirt rustled behind me as he followed me.
“You know,” his voice was gentle and uncertain, “you could stay here tonight if you want to.” He sounded almost as scared as I felt.
I slowed and turned partway.
“I mean, it’s awfully late... and you must be tired, and well—you’re going through a rough time right now.”
If only he knew about the attack on his driveway, I thought. Nothing seemed more attractive to me than the opportunity to stay safe in the Gallagers’ house for the night. But to avoid having to make the choice to go or stay, I merely said, “It’s tough for all of us.”
The way he kept looking at me made me feel x-rayed.
“Okay, then stay.” He seized the moment. “And we’ll have that coffee in the morning,” he said decisively, slipping past me through the door.
I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I didn’t want to argue about it. My mind was nearly blank with fatigue and my limbs felt as though I were wading through wet concrete.
I followed him mechanically out his bedroom door, surprised by the offer and grateful that I wouldn’t have to go outside before dawn. He led me briskly down the hall and opened a door not far from his.
“You can have our guest room for tonight,” he announced and switched on a lamp.
I peered past him and gaped at the room. It was enormous. A huge, carved, wooden bed was standing to the right of the door. It was covered with mother of pearl colored sheets that made a beautiful contrast with the deep blue wall.
“You already know where the bathroom is,” he stated matter-of-factly. It made me wonder how much he had observed of the nights I had spent in Adam’s room. “If you need anything else, I’ll be in my room.” He turned and walked away.
Black Page 16
