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The confusion in her eyes is adorable. I still. When the fuck have I ever used the word adorable?
“You’re right, how foolish of me.” I smile, watching her eyes soften as she looks at me, fear and confusion melting away. She’s quiet for a long time after that, her eyes roaming the cell and returning to mine. I only look at her, telling myself she’s possibly the last beautiful thing I’ll ever see.
“Do you know where we are?” she asks, her voice cracking with emotion.
“All I know is we’re underground and we’re somewhere near the ocean,” I tell her.
She gasps quietly. “The ocean? Really? I’ve only seen pictures…”
“Is that so?” I ask, realizing she’s more protected than I initially thought. Where has this girl been, literally under a rock?
“Is it as big as they say? Stretching farther than the eye can see?”
“Oh, it’s just as big, if not bigger.” I close my eyes, leaning against the wall and trying to remember the last time I enjoyed being at the ocean. I was still a kid, just a little boy, I hadn't yet been introduced to the life I’d lead, the people who’d follow me. Life was simple, sweet, and the only worry I had was if I could find enough clams for dinner.
“When I was a kid I spent hours at the beach, wading through the tide pools, looking for clams or mussels. Anything we could eat,” I find myself saying, even as I wonder where the fuck the words are coming from. I’ve refused to think of those days for most of my life. “My mom and dad were on the beach, laying in the sun and holding each other’s hands. Through the crystal-clear water I could see everything, and even though my bare feet slipped on the rocks and coral, I didn’t care.
“I found a starfish one afternoon. I ran up the beach to show my mom. Her smile was so bright, she was so thrilled for me…” My voice fades away, the memory tightening my chest. I shouldn’t have allowed myself to go there.
“My mother smiles like that too!” Fayla adds softly.
I open my eyes to see her looking off in the distance with a small smile on her lips. Something fills my constricted chest, expanding it…warming it. I reach my hand through the hole and sigh as she sets her face in my palm, both of her hands clutching my wrist with desperation. “If we get out of here, Fayla, I’ll take you back to your parents.”
“Promise?”
She’s crying. Fuck, she’s crying… “I promise.”
“Tell me about your parents?” she whispers, the pain in her voice palpable.
She needs a distraction as much as I do. Needs hope in one form or another. If all we can do is share stories through this stone wall, then I’ll give her every story I can remember. The edited version—she’s just a young woman. She doesn’t need to know how horrible the world is. Her parents have done such an amazing job of protecting her.
“I won't lie to you Fayla, that is the last memory I have with my parents,” I admit, and she sucks in a shocked breath. “They died in an…accident…shortly after that night. I went to live with extended family after that, and I had so much fun there. It took me a while to heal from the loss of my parents, but my uncle was a great reminder that there was still an amazing life out there for me.”
“I could never survive losing my mother and father,” Fayla says, her voice laced with pain.
“I didn’t think I could either, and for a long time I didn’t. I sank into a depression no one but my uncle could break me out of. He put me to work, kept me so busy I didn’t have time to think. After a few years, I realized the pain wasn’t so bad anymore. I missed them, gods I missed them, but my uncle helped me remember all the good they did, and all the good we still had to do.”
“You’re uncle sounds like a really nice man, Sebastian. My mother was a teacher before she met Father, and him? Well… I don’t know what he does, but I know it’s important. He’s only ever home on the weekends.” She sighs. “The weekends are the best.”
“Same for us. Weekends were usually for rest and relaxation unless we had a time sensitive…deadline.”
“What did you guys do on the weekends? Father would read me stories and we’d just spend time around the fireplace and talk. It was wonderful.”
She’s so damn innocent. I recall my last weekend before Angelica got me; it was full of sex and alcohol. We partied all weekend, even I took a woman. Not because I wanted her, because I wanted release. She eased my discomfort and she left, just like I like it, but I can’t tell Fayla that.
“We, uh, played games together.”
“Oh? Like Monopoly?”
Fuck, she’s sweet. I press my forehead to the stones to chill the shame burning me from the inside out. How in the world did this sweet innocent woman get locked up with the likes of me?
“More like…‘Life,’” I tell her, and the silence speaks volumes.
“You played Life? Isn’t that just like…living? Or is it like playing house? Like acting like you’re your mom and dad? I used to play that with my friend Mara. We’d pretend we’re sisters instead of me being an only child. I liked that game.”
“Umm, I guess we played like we were moms and dads…” I have to stifle a laugh. The only thing parental about what we did was the practice of creating a baby.
“That’s fun too,” Fayla muses. “Will you ever want to play Life with me?”
