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I’ve been cursed with the inability to shut off my thoughts. As a child it was torture, thinking about the same thing until it truly felt like I was going insane, my mind unable to take the never-ending estuaries of my thoughts. Something simple all of a sudden became rocket science, a problem with a million solutions I had to whittle down to one.
I lost hours to my bottomless mind. It was dreary and agonising. The fear that I would eventually drive myself crazy was so consuming, so powerful, that it drove me to think of ways to stop it. Stupid ways, until Grandad sat me down in this room.
Sit, Christopher. Breathe. Enjoy the quiet.
At first the quiet felt like a prison. I obsessed over why he would sit with me for hours in silence, but the more I got used to it, the less I thought about the reasons why. Instead I let my thoughts and worries from outside these walls in. I let them have a life of their own. Slowly, my overworked mind relaxed.
I started stealing these moments by myself. Without making me feel weak or fucked up, he helped me control my mind. Because he knew how it felt. He didn’t smother my thoughts; he encouraged me to let them roam…he gave them life, and in that one act of love and affection, he showed me the true value of humanity and kindness. Something I’ve held on to, even when less than humane things were asked of me. When I asked them of myself.
“Hey.”
I look up to find Leo standing in the doorway. He looks like he’s just finished working out.
“You okay? It’s kind of late…”
“Says the guy that’s just come from the gym.”
“Touché.” Nodding his head, he laughs as he wanders over and plops himself in the seat beside mine. “I don’t know why people bother with these chairs. They’re not actually comfortable. I can feel the fucking straw needling my arse.”
A burst of laughter fills the room from us both. So fucking stupid, but after the last few days…any kind of levity is worth a laugh.
“What your arse feels is none of my concern. Besides, at least it’s only the chairs they’ve insisted on keeping the original stuffing. The mattresses would’ve been far worse.”
“Imagine that.” We both fall into silence. After a few moments he asks, “What’s he doing here?”
“I don’t know.”
“Shit follows everywhere he goes.”
“As much as I dislike Lucian, I don’t think we can blame him for everything.” A long sigh escapes me. “Have you ever thought about what would’ve happened if he hadn’t shown up that night?”
Leaning his elbows on his knees, he tucks his head down. His hands massage the back of his neck like he’s trying force himself to relax.
“He saved you…Cassie. Fuck, if it wasn’t for him you could all be dead.”
“It doesn’t change anything,” he bites back, venom saturating each syllable.
“No.”
“I don’t have to forgive him.”
“You don’t, and no one expects you to.”
“I don’t care what anyone expects or says…” Leo looks at me with a hiss. “One benevolent act doesn’t undo years of all the shit he put my mum through. He’s not a good man, and I don’t trust him.”
“We don’t, but Dad does.” I take another sip of my water. “He trusts him enough to ask for his help when he won’t take ours.”
“What does that mean?”
I wish I knew.
“Who knows what any of this means? Everything was fine until the Stanton girl went missing. Lucy went missing, Grace died, Grandad and Kit. We’re being picked off.”
Sitting back in his chair, he crosses one leg over the other.
“It’s not all of us though, is it?”
“I know what you think, but…”
