Page 82 of Tormented
“The basics, yeah. But what happens to make parents’ abandon their kid?”
An elderly couple sits to our right, sharing a giant plate of roast meat and vegetables. Behind Sawyer is a family of three, the parents wrangling their child while the kid single-handedly tries to destroy everything on the table. I spin around and check out who’s behind me, but the seats are empty.
Nobody cares what we’re talking about, and yet, it feels so open. I may as well be standing at a podium for how I feel divulging things that I usually keep buried inside.
“If you’re still not ready to talk—”
“Not here,” I say. “I . . . nobody’s ever wanted to know so badly before. Well, nobody but Fingers.”
“You tell him?” Sawyer asks without a trace of jealousy or resentment.
“A bit.” He was bound to know something about me after the amount of time I spent in that garage with him growing up. I became property of the Fallen Aces at seven years old, and I first set foot off the property on my own early last year, at the age of nineteen. Twelve years is a long time to keep everything a secret.
“You had enough?” Sawyer gestures to my unfinished roll.
“Yeah, thanks.”
I sit in silence and watch the shift in emotions as he stares at the television mounted behind the counter. The sound is down, it’s only the pictures, but he still seems intrigued as he slides my plate across and finishes off what’s left of my roll.
Twisting in my seat, I take a look as well, wondering what has his full concentration. It’s nothing special: a news story about some person who was beaten and almost died out the back of a bar. The running text at the bottom of the screen gives a number to phone if anybody has information.
“You okay?” I twist back to face Sawyer as he frowns at the images.
“Yeah.”
Liar.
He hesitates, cheek twitching as he looks at me. I can’t quite pick if it’s because that damn voice in his head is at work again, or if he’s holding back from saying something else. His gaze drifts out the window at the dimming light, the clouds having rolled around again.
“We best get goin’ if you don’t want to be drivin’ all night with a wet shirt and your windows down.”
“Probably be a good idea.” The longer we’re out here, the more I find myself longing to get back to Lincoln.
I thought I could do this. I psyched myself up on the drive to Cali, but I guess when it all comes down to it, the scared little girl never went anywhere.
She just learned to love the dark a little more.