“You didn’t mean for that to happen,” I say carefully.
He doesn’t answer.
“It scared you,” I continue. “Didn’t it?”
A beat of silence before he says, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I nod, like I accept that. “That’s fair,” I say. “I don’t know you, Silas. Not really.”
“Don’t.” His tone is terse. “Don’t say my name.” His voice cracks.
I ignore his warning. “I think you want me to.”
I hear him shift from side to side. Feel the room change, subtle but real.
“Why am I still blindfolded? I know it’s you, Silas.”
“Stop,” he says.
I don’t. “You don’t want to hurt me,” I say quietly. “You want to be understood.”
Silence.
Then he snaps, “You don’t get to analyze me.”
“I’m not,” I say, trying to calm him. “I’m listening.”
“Stop it, Claire.”
My body goes still. “Claire?”
He’s quiet for so long, I’m afraid he’s not going to say anything.
Finally, he says, “You sound just like her.”
My breath catches.
“Like Claire?” I ask, keeping my voice neutral and curious, but not eager.
“Yes,” he says after a few beats.
I file the name away, my heart pounding.
“Claire mattered to you,” I say.
He exhales sharply. “You don’t get to?—”
“She mattered,” I repeat, calmly. “And she didn’t understand why you needed what you needed.”
Silence stretches again, heavier now.
“She left you,” I say, not accusing. “Didn’t she?” My tone softens.
The air grows tight.
“She didn’t leave,” he snaps. “She ran.”
I nod slowly, like that makes sense. “That must have hurt,” I say.
