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“I asked myself that very question when I first learnt how much money she's got-”
I'm on edge listening to Charlie psychoanalyze me.
“-I rang the shrink at The Site...” he says. “I was so confused that I could barely get my words out. She told me that I have to look at Blaire's conditioning as I'd look at a child who loves its parent's no matter what they do.”
“No,” that guy says. “That's not right. A lot of kids turn their backs on their parents because of cruelty and abuse.”
“Yeah, I agree, but in Blaire's case, she apparently works on an emotional bonding level, like most kids do. She'll love and worship Maksim no matter what he does to her, because when all's said and done, she knows nothing else.”
“That's so fucked up, Charlie.”
I shudder a little as his friend says that. Yeah, I am fucked up. Tell me something I don't know.
They discuss all of what the psychologist said, which isn't much: how I've never had a normal life, and how it'll be hard for me to adjust to anything different to what I know, blah, blah, blah.
“Do you know her date of birth?” that guy says. “How old is she?”
There's a long pause before Charlie admits reluctantly, “She's young.”
“How young?”
“Told me she was eighteen.”
“Eighteen!” that guy practically yells.
Charlie laughs. “Don't look at me like that, Andres.”
Andres?He's talking to his brother!
I think I've gone white.
“She's a pretty girl,” Charlie says, praising me to the high heavens, “smart, witty, strong; keeps me on my feet because she's feisty as fuck.”
They laugh together like men do, pompous and proud.
“Well... shit,” Andres says when he's done laughing, “the only time you ever want to be with someone, she's barely a woman, mentally warped, and comes with a bent Russian military force.”
Charlie laughs again, sounding as smug as ever.
“Look, you obviously want her,” Andres says in a reasoning tone, “and you sound sure that she won't come with you, so how about I have a chat with her? You know how persuasive I can be. Maybe I can find out where she comes from. I might be able to save you the trouble.”
That's what this is all about—Charlie wants to know where I come from? I want to ask why; what does it matter?
“No,” Charlie cuts him off from saying anything more about talking to me. “You don't know Blaire. She won't speak to you unless Maksim says she can. It took me weeks just to find some common ground with her, and she actually had permission to speak to me.”
“Maksim gave her permission to talk to you?” Andres sounds confused again. “Why? And, why's she here with you anyway? You never said.”
So, whatever Charlie's agenda is, he's kept it to himself.
That makes me nervous.
Charlie doesn't say anything for a moment, but he soon brushes his brother off with saying, “It's a long-ass story, and I promised Blaire that it's our business, so I can't tell you.”
“That bad, huh?”
Charlie's voice is dark, almost filled with shame, as he says, “I reckon you'd think I'm a callous motherfucker if I told you how I came to having her.”
For some reason, the first night I spend with Charlie whips through my mind.
