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“She knew she was going to die that night when you set the fire. She saw it in her future, and rather than run from fate again, she took the punishment instead.”
“Fuck,” he exclaims, shaking his head.
“The letter she wrote to me was penned when I was four years old,” I continue, unable to stop now that I’ve started. “I remember her writing it. I stood in the doorway of her bedroom and watched her writing the letter that wouldn’t find it’s way to me until years later. She’d known then that she only had four years left with me.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, gripping my wrist and pulling me around to face him. Tears form in my eyes at the memory of my mother and the loss I feel so acutely. “I’m sorry for your pain, for what I did.I’m sorry.”
“I believe you,” I whisper, blinking back the tears and forcing myself to be strong. “She also said in her letter that Thirteen has run from her fate too, that it will catch up with her, and when it does I should be a friend to her.”
“Do you know what your mother meant by that?” he asks me.
“I don’t. I thought you might.”
He shakes his head, his gaze flicking towards the shed as Thirteen walks out of it carrying a wicker basket filled with herbs and flowers. She lifts her hand and gives a small wave, oblivious to our conversation. Her expression is one of surprise, perhaps even a little relief as she looks at our conjoined hands. I hadn’t even realised that Leon had entwined his fingers with mine until this very moment. I move to pull away, but he just grabs my hand tighter.
“When Thirteen arrived here a year ago she said that she’d had a disagreement with her father and that she needed somewhere to stay. We had no reason to disbelieve her.”
“But the letters?” I ask. “It’s not coincidental.”
“No, it’s not. She may have argued with Niall about something, but she also came here because of those letters. There’s a lot that Thirteen isn’t telling us.”
“You don’t trust her?” I ask.
“When she first gave us the letter from your mother, I was very distrustful of her motives. We all were.”
“And you’re not now?”
“I’m not. Thirteen has proven herself a loyal friend over and over again. Whatever she’s hiding, it's probably for a good reason,” Leon says, schooling his features and shutting the conversation down as Thirteen approaches.
“I’m glad you took my advice and got some fresh air,” she says, shifting the basket of herbs in her arms. “Is everything okay?” she asks, her soft grey eyes focussing on me.
Is it?
Right now I’m holding hands with the man who killed me. Two nights ago he took my virginity harshly with his fingers then made love to me with a gentle kind of reverence. He’d kissed me, lavished me with affection and care, made me come, then asked me to carve my name into his chest, offering up his heart in the process. There’s no denying that I’d felt a connection between us, and yet I’m still filled with distrust and anger towards him despite all of that. So the answer to Thirteen’s question isn’t a simple yes or no. Nothing is straightforward when it comes to these men. Nothing.
“We’re working on making it okay,” Leon answers when I’m unable to.
He squeezes my hand in his and I don’t try to correct him because it doesn’t matter anyway. Fate has plans for us all and none of us can do a damn thing to change it. I’ve learnt as much from my mother.
