Cut Me Free (18 page)

“What?”

“If you quit, will you give the girl away?” He stands up and walks closer until I'm backed against the wall.

My hands are damp and cold as I realize who he's talking about. My voice is quiet when I answer. “How do you know about her?”

“I told you. I pay attention.” His eyes stare me down, and I can't read any emotion behind them. He's about to say more when Cam walks down the hall. Gino clamps his mouth shut and walks across the dining room to the kitchen.

I'm confused and shaken, but Cam doesn't even look at me or Gino. His eyes are still on the door, his mind still with Lily.

“I quit.” I figure I might as well tell him, too.

“I can't blame you. I don't understand what's going on with her.” He doesn't move, but his voice sounds sad and bewildered. “It's more than her normal protectiveness—something else. It's only been six months since Anna died. Guess she's not exactly coping well.”

“She's not the only one around here acting weird.” I mean Gino, but I realize he might think I'm referring to him.

He turns to me, exasperated. “Have you heard of the pot and the kettle?”

I have no clue what he's talking about, so I wait. When I don't respond, Cam pulls a chair out at the nearest table and waits for me to take it. Angling the chair so I can see the door to the kitchen, I sit, and Cam takes the one across from me. I don't think there has ever been this much tension between us. I ache with it.

“I'm ready for my last three answers,” he says, and then waits expectantly for me to tell him all my darkest secrets.

“What if I'm not?” I mutter.

“You are. And I need to know why you ran.” He reaches across, takes my hand in his, and squeezes gently. It's so warm, so much bigger than mine. It soothes the tension with waves of calm. Besides Sam and Sanda, I've only ever held Nana's hand. They were all small and cold. I study Cam's and run my thumb across the back of it, amazed at the difference. With my brother, I was protecting him, but with Cam, it's more like he's protecting me.

Don't be afraid. Just say it.

Drawing in a deep breath, I count to ten in my head as I let it out. As much as I have survived in my life, surely I can make it through this. Maybe I'm wrong … maybe he'll understand. Nana always told me I was the strong one. It's time to find that strength inside me and prove it. Curling my free hand into a tight, controllable fist, I brush my knuckles against the lump of the bolt in my pocket. I focus every piece of my energy on not letting my mind think about the things my mouth is about to say. Whatever Cam's reaction, it will be better to know it now. I need to face it before I become even more attached, before the pain from his rejection will be unbearable.

I watch, stalling, as the last few noises come from the kitchen. Then the staff turn out the lights as they leave through the back door. The lights in the dining room and the office are the only ones left on and it makes the room feel smaller and more intimate. Cam doesn't rush me or even speak. He just waits until I'm ready.

“Okay. No more counting questions,” I say. “I'll just tell you what matters.”

He hesitates. “As long as that includes why you ran away yesterday and why you think this won't work.”

“It does.”

He nods and waits. I know he'll give me as much time as I need so long as I don't run. But this is like being hurt by the Parents. All I can do is hope it's over fast and deal with the damage later.

“You remember, I told you about the Parents, the attic, and my brother?” My voice shakes so much I'm not sure how he can possibly understand it, but he nods and I see a flare of anger in his eyes. This time when I speak, it comes out stronger, easier. “I didn't tell you everything.”

I lower my gaze to the table and wrap my fingers around his in an effort to siphon some strength from them before plowing forward. “I didn't simply run away. I escaped. They'd never have let me go, not until I was dead. I'd seen that already with my brother. So, I killed them … before they could kill me.”

The room around us is as silent as a grave. Minutes pass before he finally responds.

“You killed your parents?”

“If you can call them that, yes.” Pure, stony hatred trickles from my voice and I can't miss the way Cam jerks back a little when I speak.

Get it all out now and see what happens. He has to know everything today. It's the only way. “That's not all. I had to do the same to save Sanda.”

“Had to?” His voice is barely a whisper, like it doesn't have enough air to strive for anything louder.

“He tried to hurt me and I didn't let him.”

Cam's hand has gone limp in mine. No longer holding, comforting—an unwilling participant in my grasp. I let go and his hand drops to the table. He doesn't move.

“I don't know what you want me to say.” It doesn't even sound like Cam. His voice is low and foreign. “You're telling me you killed people. How am I supposed to respond to that?”

“You don't have to say anything. I promised to tell you everything and I have.” I dredge up the courage to look in his eyes and wish I hadn't. Twin walls hide every emotion from me, everything but the pain. “Now you know why I ran when you told me about your father. I knew you'd feel the same about me.”

Confusion rises to the surface for only a moment, before he shoves it back behind his carefully constructed barricade. “I don't know. I'm going to need some time.”

“Don't worry. This is why I told you it wouldn't work.” I hear the tremble in my voice and hate myself for showing him that weakness. I'd set aside my greatest rule for him: people can't be trusted. I shouldn't have let him get so close. Now my heart is drowning in the painful aftermath of my mistake. “If you decide to go to the police, I can't blame you, but I won't wait around for them to show up.”

“I won't.” His shoulders slump forward and his eyes drop back to his empty hand still resting on the wooden tabletop.

I believe him. With his hobbies, he doesn't need the police poking around in his business either. Still, it's hard to focus on anything when I'm thoroughly shattered inside.

Pulling my shoulders back, I shove my composure into place before I'm even on my feet. My voice is subzero. I'm surprised it doesn't lower the temperature of the air around me. “You won't hear from me again, but I thought, after everything, you at least deserved an explanation.”

He gets to his feet but doesn't say a word as I walk to the door and let myself out into the night.

I stop on the way home and buy a new prepaid cell phone, only pausing to add in Janice's number. It's the only one from my old phone I plan to use or hear from in the future. Then I drop my old one in the garbage and keep walking.

You are good, Piper. Don't believe someone who says you're not.

Sam's words are more than I can take. Before I get home, before Sanda is there to see it, I stop on a quiet path between two brownstones and lean against an old brick wall for support. My fingers find the mortar cracks between the bricks. I trace them with my fingertips, using them to keep me upright. The wall still radiates warmth from the sun even though it's long past sunset. I try to soak it in, to absorb the life and strength of this city through my skin. It breathed life into me when I got here. I need it to save me again. Minutes stretch as I stand in the shadows of skyscrapers, trying to wrap my head around how small I really am … even when the rip through my heart seems impossibly large.

 

19

Sanda walks silently beside me. The grocery bag she carries is as big as she is, but I resist the urge to take it. Determination fills her eyes, and I know she'll be happy when she makes it home without help. A pang of guilt fills me as we walk past the street with Jessie's Studio and Sanda stares at it longingly. She shouldn't be punished for my mistakes, but I can't go back. Not now.

I'll find someone else to teach us to protect ourselves. Preferably someone more like Jessie and less like … I flinch at even thinking his name. It still hurts too much, but the last few days away from him have replaced a bit of the pain with a healthy dose of anger. He'd pushed, pleaded, and begged me to tell him. Even after I said it was something he didn't really want to know. It's as much his fault as mine.

As we round the corner to the apartment, the bag slips from Sanda's fingers and falls with a
thud
at her feet. I'm grateful I'd decided to let her take the bag with bread and cheese instead of anything breakable. She stands frozen, and I crouch to pick it up.

“It's fine. No big deal,” I say, holding the bag out in front of her, but she is looking past me toward our building. I turn my head and see Cam sitting on our front steps. He gives a wave and Sanda's gaze rises to meet mine.

“Should we run?” She places one small hand on mine. “We can come home later.”

Sanda is too perceptive. I hadn't told her anything except that I quit my job and we weren't taking lessons from Cam anymore. I must not have been hiding my emotions the last couple of days as well as I'd hoped.

“No,” I say, as she takes the fallen bag from my fingertips. “He shouldn't be here.”

We walk the final half a block to our house and I try to rein in my emotions.

“Hi, Sanda.” Cam's smile is wide below the sunglasses hiding his eyes. “I missed you guys in class today.”

Sanda looks at him and back to me, then sneaks up the stairs past him and into our building entrance without a word.

Cam sighs and his shoulders hunch forward in defeat. “Can I help with your bags?”

He shoves his glasses up onto his head, and what I see in his eyes surprises me. It's desperation, a driving need. I shake off the way my heart beats faster and step around him. “No, thank you. We've got this.”

“Let me—” Cam wraps his fingers around my arm as I pass and I jerk it out of his grasp.

“I said no.” Anguish radiates from the skin where his fingers touched, and it twists my soul. It hurts worse than any burn.

“I need five minutes, please.” He speaks low and soft, and no matter how angry I am, I can't deny him when he sounds this upset. But I almost do when I realize how badly I want it, too.

I mumble in response, “Let me take these upstairs.”

Sanda waits for me in the entryway. She watches me with growing concern as we climb the inside stairs together, go into our apartment, and put the groceries down on the counter. As I turn back toward the door, she finally speaks. “You don't have to. You told me that. You never have to.”

I stand in the doorway but don't turn around. “I know.”

“B-but I'm happy you are.”

Looking over my shoulder, I see her studying her feet in discomfort.

“Why?”

She glances at me and the corner of her mouth curves up. “You smile with him.”

I lean my head against the doorframe and try to find an argument against that. Finally, I just shrug and open the door. “I'll be right back.”

Taking the stairs two at a time so I won't be tempted to turn around, slam the door, and throw my seven locks into place, I gear myself up to dive straight in and get this over with. He wants to talk? Fine, we'll talk.

He's still on the front steps when I come down and he's not even on his feet before I'm talking.

“What do you want? Why are you here?”

Cam turns to face me and his jaw is set, but his emotions are exposed in his eyes. I look away. I don't want to see what he's feeling, not anymore.

“I want to talk to you.”

“So talk. We're talking.” My hands are on my hips and I have to focus on relaxing my grip so I don't give myself bruises.

“Yeah, some of us are doing so rather rapidly.” Cam shakes his head and steps in front of the tree I'm staring at, but I turn away and he growls under his breath. “Look at me, Piper.”

The sound of his lips speaking my real name feels so intimate I flinch. We're alone and this time it isn't an accident. It's more like a secret shared between the two of us.

“No,” I say.

“Why not? Are you afraid?” I recognize his taunt, but it gives my anger an outlet and I raise my chin and glare at him.

“No.” I see a jumble of emotions in his expression and wonder if mine is the same. Then I really see him. Dark circles under his eyes make him appear empty and sad. His cheeks seem a little thinner.

He glares at me. “Why not? I sure as hell am.”

My stomach falls to my feet and I'm surprised it isn't audible. The words to respond come slow, each one slicing on the way out. “If you're afraid of me, you shouldn't have come.”

He blinks and shakes his head. “I'm not afraid of you.”

“I don't understand.” I slump down on the top stair. The anger drains and is replaced with pain. “Why are you here?”

“Because I don't scare as easily as you think I do.” He sits beside me, but pivots so he can face me. “And you aren't answering my phone calls again. Or did you ditch the phone?”

I can't listen to him. I refuse to let this go any further. Opening myself up like that again isn't worth the pain I'm still struggling under. Remember the rule: people can't be trusted.

“You don't need to call me anyway.” Raising my eyes to his, I try to convey how serious I am. “This is done. We don't need you anymore.”

He flinches but doesn't turn away. “You do, but more than that, Sanda does.”

This time I can't meet his eyes. “She needs
me
.”

“Yes, but she needs me, too.” He turns his entire body until he's leaning against the railing and watching me. “What if someone else tries to hurt her?”

“There are other places we can go.”