Page 7 of Knot Your Pucking Secret

Now I know better.

He wasn’t scared of the blood.

He was scared of what came after it.

He refused to leave my side while my nanny cleaned the scrape, his little fingers wrapping around my hand with surprising strength for a child, I had thought. A low, almost imperceptible growl vibrated in his chest as she reached for me, so soft it barely sounded human. He thought she was going to hurt me. Because that was what happened when he got hurt. The realization settles heavily in my stomach, making it ache. I wish my naive little self had understood what I was seeing. I wish I’d recognized the bruises for what they were instead of believing his clumsy gestures about falling over. I wish there had been something I could have done for that sweet little boy whose eyes only ever seemed to brighten when we were together.

Wherever life carried him, I hope he found peace.

I hope someone eventually saw what I couldn’t.

We never got to say goodbye. One afternoon he was there, waiting for me by our favorite swings with dirt on his knees and that same shy smile. The next, he simply wasn’t.

I waited for days.

Then weeks.

Every afternoon I’d watch the path he’d always wandered down whenever he was running late, convinced I’d see his familiar silhouette appear around the corner. It never did.

My fingertips drift across the glass, tracing the outlines of our much younger faces.

“I hope you’re okay,” I whisper so quietly the words barely exist. After one last lingering look, I place the frame upright on the coffee table. That one can stay.

Not because it’s important to the answers I’m searching for, but because it reminds me that hope can survive even when memories don’t. That it doesn’t always have to be complicated. Once upon a time, the world had been as simple as scraped knees and uneven pigtails. Imaginary games with a little boy whose name I’ll never know.

My first real friend.

Funny how a single picture can make the years between then and now disappear. One moment, I’m in my twenties, drowning beneath questions that can never truly be answered. The next, I’m a kid again, believing everyone is exactly who they say they are. Believing grown-ups always tell the truth. That people who love you couldn’t possibly build your life on a foundation of lies.

The little boy who never spoke a language I could understand never lied to me once. He didn’t have the words to explain the hurt he carried, but somehow his silence had been more honest than every answer I’d ever been given. Than anyone in my life so far. He never pretended to be someone he wasn’t. And if thereis a way I can find the little girl staring back at me through that glass, the little girl who loved unconditionally, cared so deeply, trusted without fear. Maybe I can finally give her the life she always believed was waiting for her.

I owe her that much.

To be truly happy.

Chapter Four

Lennon

The moment the words on the page began bleeding into one another, I knew it was time to call it. My ass ached from sitting in the same position for what felt like an eternity, every muscle protesting as I shifted for what had to be the hundredth time. If I didn’t stand soon, my imaginary physiotherapist was going to materialize out of thin air just to lecture me about posture and poor life choices.

With an exaggerated groan, I flop backwards onto the pathetic excuse for a backrest I’d built out of couch cushions. It looked supportive when I made it. It lied.

“If I have to look at one more energy bill,” I groan, dragging a hand over my face, “I think I might actually lose my fucking mind. Go off-grid and live in the mountains.”

Veronica snorts from somewhere beneath the pile of paperwork surrounding her.

“Bitch, you have no idea. I now know far more about Patrick’s medical history than any human being should. Did you know the man had a gnarly case of the clap back in the nineties?”

Revulsion crawls up my throat and I clap both hands over my ears.

“Nope. Absolutely not. There are some things I’d prefer not knowing, thank you Veronica Rocket Carlisle!”

Veronica’s eyes widen in absolute horror.

“Oh my God, you bitch! I told you that in confidence!”

“And I said it confidently!”