by Sara DeHaven
“I’m so sorry, Leander, are you hurt?” she asked. She’d had a soft landing on him and wasn’t hurt in the least, but she was worried about whether he’d banged his head.
The sounds of his strange laughter continued to come out from behind his hands. Bree got down on hands and knees so she could bring her gaze closer to his face. She put out a hand and ran it over his head, as far back as she could reach, but didn’t come up with anything wet, so she didn’t think he was bleeding. She couldn’t see any blood coming out from behind his head either. The worst of her worries alleviated, she started in on being anxious about his emotional state. She got back up on her knees and scooted a little closer, tossing her hair over one shoulder so her view of Leander’s face wouldn’t be blocked. She put a gentle hand on one of his wrists. She was pretty sure he was crying now more than laughing. She wondered how much of the memories she’d seen were ones he was consciously reliving as she did the read.
She’d never before had anyone be aware of her ability to read at that near psychic level, to feel it happening, not even Daniel with all his experience. But given Leander’s tears, she thought maybe he had been aware. If those were, as she thought, his literal memories, he'd had one hell of a hard life. Tears came to Bree’s own eyes as she thought of a sensitive Reader child going through all that, able at times to feel the emotions of those hurting him, able to perceive their lies. She thought of those flashes of profound emptiness she felt in him, a kind of dead zone, and she could easily imagine how that had come to be.
“Oh, honey, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she choked out. She was still so open from the read that she was having trouble managing her own emotional responses. Her hand moved from Leander’s wrist to his hair, stroking slowly, trying to offer some kind of comfort, sniffing back her own sympathetic tears. Gradually, he seemed to calm, and finally, he dropped his hands from his face. At first, he just stared at the ceiling, then he turned his head and looked at her. And the emptiness she’d felt in him was on his face. Her hand froze in its ministrations. “Don’t,” she whispered. “You don’t have to do that with me.” She wasn’t sure why she said it, but somehow, she hated to see that shutting down.
Leander closed his eyes, turned his face back ceiling-ward, and heaved in a ragged sigh, then another. He wiped a final time at his face, and said, “I’m going to try to move. I think I hurt my back.”
Bree got out of his way. He was still awkwardly arrayed atop the chair. He pulled his knees closer to his chest, then rolled sideways off the chair. He lay like that for a minute while Bree got to her feet, pulled the chair away from him and righted it, then crouched down next to him.
“Hands and knees next?” she asked.
“I think so,” Leander replied.
She hovered, and put out an arm to help pull him as he got to hands and knees, then onto his knees, then, with her hand under his elbow, onto his feet. “Let me have a look,” she commanded. She unbuttoned the rest of his shirt, then pulled it halfway down his arms so she could see his back. It was red in stripes with the imprint of the back of the dining room chair, but the skin was unbroken. She went into professional mode, running her hands over his neck, his shoulders, and over his back, gently digging in her thumb here and there, feeling for the tightness of spasming muscles. She found some in his neck and mid-back. “How much does it hurt?” She raised the shirt back over his shoulders as she spoke and moved around to face him.
Now he looked more guarded than empty, an improvement in her eyes. “Banged up, and like maybe I’ll be sore for a couple of days, but not too bad. I managed keep my head up off the ground for the most part, but I think I strained my neck doing it.”
“I’m afraid you’re right about that. What I’ve found works best in these situations is to rotate cold and heat packs. It really helps the muscles to let go of the spasm they’re in.”
He shrugged. “Whatever you think best, doc.”
“Why don’t you go sit on the couch, or in one of the chairs in the living room if that’s more comfortable. I’ve got some cold packs ready to go, then I’ll microwave some hot packs.” He nodded, avoiding her eyes, and moved off into the living room.
Busying herself with the packs in the kitchen gave her time to gather herself. She felt guilty about what had happened in the read, although Leander had said he wanted her to try. She’d only gotten that much detail on a deep read on a handful of occasions, and had certainly not expected to be able to go to that level with Leander. In fact, she had been hoping to get a general feel for his energy, dark or light, as well as perhaps an overall sense of whether he was hiding something, something like being a plant for the Keltoi. Well, she’d failed spectacularly in that, and instead laid bare what might be some of Leander’s most traumatic memories. She couldn’t imagine that he would have wanted for her to see all that if he’d been given a choice. She was glad of the opportunity to do something concrete to help him.
She went to where he was sitting with stiff, upright posture on the couch. She sat next to him, directing him to lean forward slightly as she positioned the larger pack across the middle of his back, then had him lean back to keep it in place. She put the other across the back of his neck. He drew in his breath between his teeth at that one. He’d buttoned up his shirt, and Bree reached over to the arm of the couch where her fuzzy white blanket was draped and laid it over his lap
Then, with some trepidation, she took his hand in hers. After a beat, he returned the pressure of her grip. “Just let me say I’m sorry if that was a bad experience for you,” Bree told him. “I never dreamed I’d be able to go that deep. I’ve never had anyone report any ill effects when I do, but you seemed upset.”
“Upset,” Leander echoed, seeming to taste the word as it left his mouth. “I was upset.” He shook his head slightly, then winced as the motion strained his abused neck muscles. “I felt, you were, I thought you were…” He stumbled through his words in a way that seemed totally uncharacteristic of him. “Did you see what I was remembering?” he finally got out. “Because it felt like you were there.”
“I saw what I thought might have been images from your childhood, and some later,” she said carefully. “You’d been giving me a kind of summary a few minutes earlier, so maybe those memories were stirred up.”
“What gives you the right,” he began, anger seeping into his tone, then he stopped himself, and went on in a more even voice. “I didn’t know that was possible. I didn’t know when I agreed to let you try to read me that that kind of attunement was possible. I guess I’ve heard rumors that high power readers can come close to reading your mind, but I’ve never heard anyone say they’ve actually experienced it, or done it, and I certainly can’t do it, so I blew it off as some kind of fear-based rumor. Have you done that before?” He turned his head slightly, though it obviously pained him, apparently wanting to see her reaction to his question.
Bree’s stomach tightened in tension and she released his hand. She was concerned he was feeling violated, and felt terrible about it, and of course she didn’t want him to be angry with her. But she felt she owed him some honesty. “Yes, I’ve done it before, a few times.”
“Does anyone know you can do that?”
Bree hesitated. That was something she’d only told Sophie, and even then, she’d felt she was guilty of underplaying it a little. Or maybe even a lot. She didn’t want anyone to be freaked out by her. “Not really,” she admitted. “I told a friend a little about it, but not in detail. You did know that deep reads can attune closely to feeling states, even unconscious ones, didn’t you?”
“Knowing it in theory and experiencing it are two different things,” he responded, voice still hard.
“Was it altogether bad?” Bree asked softly. She canted forward a little, trying to make it so he didn’t have to turn his head to look at her.
He shifted down slightly on the couch and raised a hand to the back of his neck to hold the cold pack in place. His face flickered through a seri
es of half expressions, and Bree realized that she still had no grip at all on how to read his tells.
He spoke slowly, and as he did, the anger seemed to slip gradually away. “At first, I didn’t feel anything. I usually don’t, when someone tries to read me. Sometimes I feel a sort of tickle or buzz in my head, but lightly, kind of like a mosquito. The last time you tried to read me, I felt something more like warmth, kind of like licks of fire off and on. This time, I felt the heat again, but more like a warm blanket surrounding me, and not just my head.
"Then I felt you start to move. At first, I thought you were going to fall off my lap, and it distracted me. But then I felt something else, something like a rhythm, like waves when you’re standing in the ocean. You know how they’re uneven, some bigger, some smaller, some come at you from the front, some from the side. But it feels like there’s an overall pattern to it somewhere. I started to relax, because it felt good."
He started pulling at the fringe on the throw across his lap. "I actually thought I was just tuning into you, that you were in a trance state of some kind. I didn’t think you were reading me at all. And my mind started to wander. I think you’re right, I got to thinking about being a kid, about my first foster home. And all of a sudden, the memory got more detailed, more intense. I felt like I was being sucked down into it, like I was there. And at first, I felt you there with me, kind of like a watching presence. I tried to think of something else, but more memories kept coming, and I…”
He stopped, his throat moving, but he didn’t say any more. Again, Bree felt awash in guilt. It sounded like she’d somehow triggered memories with the intensity of flashbacks. And she knew from bitter experience what those were like. She had to swallow back her own distress at some of what she’d seen. She’d have to live with those memories herself, though of course not to the same degree Leander did.
She slid off the couch, and onto her knees in front of him, in a gesture of supplication, and so she could look directly into his face. She took both of his hands and said to him, “Leander, I’m truly sorry if I caused you pain, if my seeing what I saw causes you more hurt. I had no idea that would happen. I’ve never had someone be aware of my presence in the read to that extent. I wasn’t expecting to see what I saw, or for you to be aware of it either.”
His mouth twisted. “I bet you weren’t.”
She shook his hands. “Don’t. Don’t go there. I’m not sorry about what I saw. Or rather, I am sorry, because you weren’t prepared to reveal that information to me. But it helps me to understand you. That’s what reading is supposed to be for. It’s not meant for hurting people, it’s meant for understanding, for helping, for healing.”
He gave a harsh laugh. “You really believe that, don’t you?”
She regarded him with mystification. “Of course I believe that.”
“I wish I lived in your world, then.”
“You do now,” she replied, giving his hands a little shake. “You live in whatever world you make. Why not make a good one?”
“My God, you are soft.”
She began to feel a little stupid. “Soft in the head?”
“Maybe that. Certainly soft in the heart.” He drew her hands toward his lips, and kissed the knuckles on each.
Bree's unease turned to tenderness towards this strange, mercurial man, towards his pain, towards his masks and defenses. He was, in his way, more wounded perhaps than anyone else she knew, yet on the surface, seemed perfectly confident and unaffected by the tragedies in his life. She kept being drawn to trust him even though she knew she had even more reason now for caution. A history like his seldom yielded positive, well balanced individuals.
And there was still the question of his time with the Keltoi. If he was lying about being out, and of course there was no reason to trust him on that, he had information he could use against not only against Daniel, but against her.
Once again, she was up against a very slim set of options. She couldn’t prevent him from using the information he had against her or Daniel by force. She certainly couldn’t outwit him, she didn’t have the talent for it. And she still couldn’t read his tells for clues as to his intentions. She squeezed his hands, then let go and got to her feet. “Let me get those cold packs switched out for the hot packs.”
Leander leaned forward to let her retrieve them. He offered a rueful smile, and acknowledgement of the awkward ending to their conversation.
To Bree’s relief, they didn’t refer again to the reading, nor did Leander ask any more awkward questions about Daniel. He allowed her to switch the hot and cold packs a few more times before crying uncle and insisting he would go home and take it easy for a couple of days. She helped him on with his coat, and as he turned to her there in the small entryway, he said, “You know, I did ask for it. I did ask you to try to read me. So you shouldn’t feel bad about it.”
Because she was still feeling shaky from the after effects of the read, because she’d had a hellish last couple of days, Bree got all tearful again at that. Leander took her into a careful hug, and she laid her cheek against his chest.
After a long moment, he pulled back, then reached up a hand to wipe a tear from her cheek. “I’d like to call you tomorrow, check on how your friend Kevin is doing and well, because…” He laughed. “Because I’d just like to call you. Is that okay with you?”
Bree wasn’t entirely sure what he was asking with that question, but she was too tired to suss it out. She’d figure it all out later. “That’s okay with me,” she answered. With a final caress of her check, he turned to leave. Hanroi shot past his legs into the house, hissing as he went. She shut the door and leaned her forehead against it. Did she just tell Leander that it was okay for him to court her? After accidentally mind raping him? One day after Daniel told her there was no chance for them? Suddenly, she longed for a nice, uncomplicated chat with Gelsenim. He was just trying to permanently possess her. Comparatively simple, really. She laughed tiredly, and went off to feed and soothe her disgruntled cat.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Leander left Bree’s in an almost totally unfamiliar emotional state. He had trouble getting his car keys into the door lock, and after starting his car, he put his forehead against the steering wheel instead of pulling away. What the hell had he been thinking to challenge Bree to read him? Was it just his usual cussed need to see what would happen if he pushed the boundaries? He had her on exactly the subject he’d wanted, within moments of revealing the hiding spell information to him. And he’d completely blown it. Worse than that, he’d apparently let her see some of the more sordid of his childhood memories, things he had never spoken of to anyone, though he knew Marton had guessed much of it.
He’d always wondered what someone else would see in him if they read him. Since he’d been old enough to be aware of it, he’d realized he had little clarity in his own self-concept. It was too easy for him to become what was wanted, at least for a time. It left him uncertain who he truly was. Well, apparently when someone read him, they saw a lot of sick shit.
He felt nauseous as some of those memories intruded on him again. He gripped the steering wheel tight enough to make his hands ache, and his back and neck hurt from his hunched over posture. He welcomed the pain, wanting the distraction from what was going through his head.
And finally, it started to work. The memories receded, leaving him shaken but in the present. He leaned back in the car seat and let go of the steering wheel, hands falling loosely into his lap. He realized he was still a little angry at Bree. It wasn’t fair, of course. She had clearly meant no harm. And her apology had affected him, more than he expected. He wasn’t sure he’d ever encountered such a ridiculously earnest person. He was used to seeing people as basically selfish, as self-deluded and dishonest. She had genuinely cared that he’d been hurt, without some other agenda, and not even, he thought, because he was attractive. She’d seen him laid bare and hadn’t rejected him for it. Instead, she’d apologized.
That tr
iggered his anger again, which was definitely a more comfortable place to be. He put the car in gear and maneuvered out of his parking place and set off down the street.
She was an idiot for trusting him. She clearly had doubts about him, about his history with the Keltoi. It had been a calculated gamble to tell her that. Always, he found it was better to lay lies over an underlying structure of truth. And besides, he wanted her sympathy, and yes, had wanted to shock her a little. He’d also wanted her to see him as a source of information in return. And by disclosing something that seemed honest to the point of shooting himself in the foot, he hoped to further her budding sense of trust in him.
And it was working, he would have sworn it was working when he had to go and agree to the idea of a read. He fucking hated to think what Marton would have said if could have seen Leander tonight. He'd say Leander had lost his edge, didn’t have Marton’s or the Keltoi’s interests truly to heart. And he supposed Marton would have been right to say those things. He was losing his edge. Something about Bree put him off his stride. She wasn’t playing a game, she actually did care about the greater good, enough to risk herself trying to help people during the riots.
More fool her. All Leander cared about was his own comfort and safety. Who else was there to care for it? Marton? Sure, he amused Marton, but he was under no illusions about the limits of their relationship. Marton would end him if Leander ever truly crossed him.
You make your own world. Why not make it a good one? Bree’s words came back at him, but he thrust them away. Only someone who’d had a family, who’d never gone hungry, never had to fight for their life, who had never killed, could come up with such a Pollyanna philosophy. Anyone that stupid deserved to be taken advantage of.
He winced in self-disgust at that thought, remembering the way she’d settled against his chest in saying goodbye, remembering the feel of her tears on his fingers. Well, they didn't live in the same world, and they never could.
