Cut Me Free (16 page)

Cam's eyes show the pain I've felt a hundred times, and it's almost worse to see it there than in the mirror. “Second question: what kind of bad things?”

I rub at an old scar on one of my folded arms. The long slender white line is barely visible anymore, but the memory of the pain is as fresh as the day I got it.

“The Parents were terrible people. They liked to hurt us. They kept us locked in the attic and didn't tell anyone we existed.”

The words gush out and I'm surprised I'm capable of speaking them. They make me ache like my old wounds have been reopened. Fresh agony covers me, but at the same time it's a bittersweet release. The scars aren't mine to carry alone anymore. I look up to see the horror in Cam's eyes and I can't face it. My eyes drop to the table where the muscle in his forearm relaxes and tightens, again and again.

Maybe I shouldn't have told him. This isn't his burden to carry. He hesitates, then reaches up and wipes a tear from my cheek that I didn't even know was there. I stare at his hand in shock. I didn't think I was capable of crying anymore. I'd learned not to—been taught not to.

“I'm so sorry.” His voice drips with my pain. “You said ‘us.'” Cam closes his eyes when he speaks, like he doesn't really want to know.

“My little brother and me.” Anger bubbles within me, not at Cam, but at the idea of talking about Sam with anyone. He is
my
memory, the only good thing from my past life. It pierces my heart to think of exposing his life to the thoughts of others, even Cam's.

I know he can see my resistance when he nods and doesn't press me any further about it.

“Fourth question.” Cam searches my face for the okay to move forward. When I incline my head he continues, “Where did Sanda come from?”

I flinch and shake my head. “I'm not sure that's my story to tell.”

“She's nine and has scars, Charlotte.” His eyes stray for an instant to the one on my arm, but it's so fast I almost wonder if I imagined it. “I doubt it would be a good idea to ask her about it.”

I sigh. He's right. Why is he always right? “She was an orphan in another country. From what I can tell, she was kidnapped, brought here, and sold to bad people. I took her out of a situation that had too much in common with my life.”

“Your
old
life.”

“Huh?” I blink.

“That isn't your life anymore. No one will hurt you now.” Cam seems like he wants to destroy something, but I'm not afraid. I know that emotion. I've acted on that emotion.

“Oh, right.” I try to smile, but it feels false. “But I saw him again.”

“Who?”

“The man from Angelo's. I think he was in the park outside my apartment last night.”

His eyes flash, and they're more intense than I've ever seen them. “Did he talk to you?”

“No.”

“Did you get a better look at him? Do you know who he is?”

I shake my head. “No, but he was wearing the same hat, same coat.”

“What was he doing?”

“Smoking.”

“How long was he there?”

“He left a few minutes after I saw him.”

Cam shakes his head. “So, it was a guy wearing a hat and smoking a cigarette in the park?”

Exactly. I tap my fingertips against the tabletop. If it weren't for my stupid instincts, I'd agree with him. “I know it sounds crazy.”

“No.” But his face relaxes and I know he's not as worried. “After everything, it would be crazy if you weren't a little on edge.”

I shrug and study the comic on the table in front of me, saying, “I hope that's all it is.”

Cam shifts forward until I raise my gaze to his. “If you see him again, promise me you'll call, anytime.”

The sincerity in his face sends warmth all the way to my toes. “I promise.”

“Good.” He keeps his eyes on mine. “Question five: how do you handle this so easily on your own after being locked in an attic your whole life?”

I sit back a bit, surprised. I didn't really think I was handling it well. “If I do, I think it's because of Nana.”

He looks confused but waits for me to continue.

“My grandma came to live with us for a couple of years before I escaped.”

“Wait. Your grandma knew about what was going on and didn't get you out of there?” If possible, he's even angrier now. “That's so wrong.”

“No, no. You don't understand.” I wait until he calms down a little before I continue. The words come fast because I'd repeated them to Sam a hundred times. “She only came to live with us because she was dying of cancer and the Parents wanted her money. She didn't know about us before. Once she got there, she was so angry, but she was also old and frail. When she called the police, the Parents convinced them she was hallucinating. Then they beat her. By the time she woke up, they'd disconnected the home phone. The nearest neighbors were miles away and it was difficult for her to even get up the stairs to the attic, let alone go for help. She couldn't fight for us anymore, so she got me ready to fight instead.”

He releases a long breath. “How?”

“She would sneak up to the attic at night and bring me books. She reminded me about the outside world from before the Father put me up there, and that other people aren't like the Parents. She told us stories. It's hard to explain, but she really did help, until they found out what she was doing.”

Cam closes his eyes and breathes. “What did they do to her?”

“Locked her in her room. They told us they took away her medication, food, and water.” I study the table to hide the pain that overwhelms me when I think about her. Tracing the edge of one of the comics with my fingertip, I finish. “She died a week later.”

“She sounds strong.” He looks sad. “Like you.”

I raise my eyes and blink, unsure how to respond to that.

He moves on. “Question six: what is your favorite color?”

A laugh bursts from me, so loud I cover my mouth with my hand.

Cam grins and tilts his head to one side. “Come on. I've been dying to find out.”

I smile wider than I can ever remember smiling. It feels so normal to sit here with him, so nice. “I have no idea.”

“None?”

“I've honestly never thought about it.” I twist my lips to one side and think. “Today I'd say silver, maybe?”

“Interesting choice. Why?”

I whisper like I'm telling him a huge secret. “Does this count as one of your questions?”

His eyes twinkle behind his mock-serious expression as he considers. “Tough call, I'll be down to three.”

“I know.” I widen my eyes and nod. “This is a big decision. Take your time.”

The way he beams when he leans back and searches my eyes melts every piece inside until I become a pile of Piper-goo. It's pathetic. I'd make fun of me if it wasn't … well, me.

“Okay, tell me.”

“It reminds me of the moonlight.” Now that I think about why, it isn't quite as funny. “I'm not used to being outside. Everything glimmers. Everything is silver in the moonlight.”

Cam's smile fades but doesn't go away. I like that.

Scooting a bit closer, I lower my voice. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Depends,” he says, his smile back full force. “Is it going to count as one of mine, too?”

“No.” I'm surprised by the fear that comes to the surface when I think about asking him what I've been wondering. “And if you don't want to answer, I'll understand.”

Cam shakes his head. “After the questions you've answered for me, I'll answer anything you want.”

I gather my courage and say it fast so it won't get caught in my throat. “You said your dad taught you what you know, how to forge documents and the computer stuff. What happened to him?”

He turns away for a few seconds before answering. “He works for the mob—you know, mafia? Organized crime stuff?” When I nod, he starts again. “Anyway, he's been with them forever. Oscar wants me to work for them, too, but I won't. And I'll keep telling them no. I've seen how they changed my dad and I won't let that happen to me.”

Cam stops and stares down at the table. I know he's not done, so I wait for him to go on. “They keep giving Dad more and more responsibility. He's always been their guy when it came to providing documents and paperwork, but then they wanted more and pushed harder. Before I was born, before Mom died, he was in the navy.” Cam slides back and shoves his hands in the pockets of his coat. “A couple of years ago, they decided they wanted to use him for that experience, too.”

“His navy experience?” I raise an eyebrow and wait for him to clarify.

“Yeah. When I found out they had him filling in as an enforcer, I couldn't handle it. So I left and moved in with my grandparents.” He seems furious and deeply sad. “I've always known what we're doing is breaking the law, but still, I believed he was a good person. A better person than one who could … I don't think I'll ever understand how he could kill someone. Stealing a life away takes a darkness, an evil inside. You know? It doesn't matter who they are.”

His words echo and the world around me stops spinning.
Darkness. Evil
. Yes, I know about that intimately. My heart plummets and I can't stand the agony. My ears burn and I'm swallowed up in something far too familiar—an intense need to escape.

Even with his questions answered, Cam still has no idea who I am.

Jerking back from the table, I stand and I'm at the door before I hear his voice.

“Wait!”

Backing out into the street, I see him standing beside our table. The pain on his face mimics my own, and I wish I'd been smarter. I could've saved him from this. I could've saved both of us. Lily is right to think I'm bad for Cam. She's always been right about me.

“I'm so sorry.” I close the door, running all the way home until I'm panting and pretending the pain in my chest is from exertion and not everything I just lost.

As I walk up the stairs, I fight to forget everything about Cam: the way he smells, the warmth of his touch, how he makes every worry fade with one look.

I've barely caught my breath when the black box in front of my door steals it away again. Scribbled on a note on the box in strange, rigid handwriting is one word:

 

17

My hands refuse to pick the box up. My mind is whizzing through every nightmare in my life and landing on the only question that matters.

Who would know to call me Piper?

My hands shake so hard it takes me forever to open my locks. I count to ten. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out. My stomach, hands, and feet are blocks of ice. I force myself to move slowly. If I pretend to be calm then maybe I will be. Following my newest ritual, I walk to the window, check the park to be certain no one is watching, and close the curtains tight.

I place the box on top of my table and stare at it. No matter how calm I pretend to be, I'm still terrified to open it.

I pick it up but my fingers are numb, and when the lid pops off, the entire box slips free and lands with a thud on the cream-colored rug at my feet. It's like blood, blood everywhere, pools of red spread across the carpet before me. I stumble back and fall to my knees. Then I see it. A fully blossomed red rose sticking out of the box on the floor. Rose petals.

I gasp for breath and my head pounds from lack of oxygen. The abrupt release of tension makes me laugh as I scoop the petals into a pile and put them in the box with the now half-naked flower. My heart hurts as I think it must've been Cam, but he was with me tonight.

Who else could it have been? Maybe he had it delivered, but it's strange that he would use the name Piper. He seems too smart for that, too careful. I glance around and spot the lid on the floor beneath the table. When I bend down to retrieve it, my blood turns cold. There are four words, carved in deep gashes on the black silk inside the lid.