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“I never wanted to get close to anyone after my parents murder. Don’t you see Jordin, everyone I’ve ever cared about dies. My mom, my dad, even my gran. I didn’t want to get close because I knew that I would end up hurting you. Which is exactly what I ended up doing.”
“They were murdered?” I quiver.
“I was only a child when it happened but I was there. I saw it happen in front of my eyes.”
“But you were just a kid when they were murdered. Their deaths had nothing to do with you.”
“I’m cursed Jordin. I’m not meant to live in the light, only in darkness. I’m not a good person. I’m evil and have done evil things to good people, and to the bad. I’m meant to be alone.”
“I don’t think you’re evil, Caleb.”
“You wouldn’t say that if you knew even half of the shit I’ve done.”
I sit up on one elbow peering down at him to take his face in my hand. His rough stubble tickles my palm.
“That you have done or were made to do, Caleb? There’s a big difference”.
“There is no difference in our world, Jordin. You kill or be killed; you follow the order given and do what you’re told to do no questions asked. It’s that simple.”
“By Eric Garo?”
“Yes.”
“Have you ever hurt someone. I mean like really hurt someone?”
“Yes.”
“Have you killed a person.”
“Then answer my question.”
“Yes, Jordin. I have.”
I shudder.
“More than once?”
“More than once.”
“Does that change how you feel about me?”
“I’m not sure how to feel about that or about you,” I tell him honestly. “I’ve been confused since the day Colton told me the truth. My head has been all over the place like I’m on a roller coaster with a broken stop button. I want to hate you. I want to curse you up and down. I want to hurt you the way you hurt me,” I say, meaning every word because I’m angry and I won’t be a doormat.
His eyes shift downcast, his expression filled with deep regret.
“But I want you to hold me. I want you to climb in my window and lie next to me every night. I want you to kiss me and to make love to me. I want you to make me feel that I mean something to you.”
Propping himself up on one elbow he pulls my face to his tilting my chin up.
“You do mean something to me. I tried to push you away and keep my distance. And I thought I could but I can’t. Not anymore. I never meant to fall for you and I hate myself for it, but I did.”
I don’t say anything and for the longest time we just stare into each other’s eyes.
I wonder if this is part of some sick game he’s playing or is it real.
“Say something,” he pleads.
“Is this just another lie?”
