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I didn’t answer her.
Happy wasn’t the word I’d use. But neither was tragic or hard or awful.
It was us.
Quintessentially us and no one else’s.
Margot kept me pinned in her stare, and Dylan hung on my every sentence. The mention of a break didn’t seem to entice them so...I gave them the only words I could. The words that came next.
“The rest of that camping trip went as well as you’d expect. Aslan kept his distance from me, yet his eyes tracked me wherever I went. Joel tried to kiss me again, but I declined and said I’d changed my mind. Rita and Molly attempted to have their dirty way with Aslan the next night, but he firmly told them it would never happen. We did our best to stay busy with local tours into the rainforest, a bush-educational walk, and took turns cooking bare essentials and learning how to use the barbecue in the campground.
“By the time the three days were over, I’d never been more grateful to get home. Even if my father asked a million questions and my mother flinched when she looked into my eyes, most likely seeing the cracks left in my heart by the boy who lived in our garden.
“Aslan didn’t act any differently toward me in their company. He still hugged me, smiled at me, spoke to me, and watched out for me. He didn’t tell my parents that I’d lied about being supervised out there. He didn’t tell them what’d happened between us or about Joel kissing me.
“He kept my secrets and I kept his, and by the time a few months had passed, we slipped into an understanding that no matter what we felt or how much we wanted, we would never speak of it again.
“That was...until I went and did something that made Aslan well and truly snap.”
“What did you do?” Margot asked.
“I tried to replace him.”
“Replace him?” Dylan frowned.
“I couldn’t have him. Therefore, I had to find someone I could.” I sighed. “Needless to say, it did not end well.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
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Nerida
*
AGE: 16 YRS OLD
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(Sea in Japanese: Umi)
“HEY.”
Aslan groaned and pulled the pillow over his head. “Neri, go back to bed.”
“I will, don’t worry. No one saw me, and I won’t be long.” Closing his door on the solar lights flickering in the garden, I tiptoed through the dark and sat on the end of his bed.
He moved his long legs to give me room, his lips thin and wary.
Four years he’d lived with us, yet he never changed this sala-bedroom.
Never spent the money my parents paid him.
Never complained that for four years, his routine of hanging with us, working for my parents, and keeping to himself had become a rut.
He didn’t have friends because he didn’t trust anyone to get close to him.
He didn’t have a girlfriend to ease whatever urges he felt because...well, same problem.
