myself kissing those lips, and closed my eyes. Against the backdrop of my mind’s eye, Carragheen’s visage morphed into Kraken’s, and I was imagining myself kissing the arrogant old priest. The arrogant old rapist priest, I reminded myself cruelly. Mom’s old boyfriend. A dull lurch saw the bottom drop from my stomach, and I suddenly tried to remember when I had last eaten.
“Did you know?”
He opened his mouth, squeezing my hand as he made to respond.
He knew. He freakin’ well knew about my mother and that freakin’ rapist.
I thought about the story. Tila, and Leisen. I knew it was all true, all he told me.
So why hadn’t he told me this?
Now I understood Mom’s fears. Did she see echoes of Kraken in his son? The shells reminded me how many unknowns remained and how much danger was waiting. And here I was. French kissing some mysterious hottie like a schoolgirl while women were being tortured, Doug was in the hospital and I was supposed to be saving the world.
A hottie who was keeping secrets from me. Important secrets.
“Leave,” I whispered, turning my face away.
He spoke into my mind. No.
I refused to go into his brain, and focused on a spot on the wall. “Leave.”
I am not him. He squeezed my hand again, harder, bringing one hand up to my chin to pull my face roughly back towards his. That nerve still jumped wildly at his temple. His eyes shone, darker than I’d ever seen them. You know me.
I turned to him, pouring all my fury stilling my breath so I could speak as calmly and slowly as possible, each word a perfect bullet. “I. Know. Nothing. About. You.”
Still, he held my gaze. This time I didn’t look away. “Leave. Now.” He dropped his hand from my chin, and wiped it on the towel at his waist, shaking his head. Seconds later, he shut the door quietly as he went. Saying nothing but looking like a man with a lot to say.
After he left, I sat very still on the couch in the place where he’d kissed me. The flat was death quiet, apart from the slow dripping of that tap. I looked over at the clock, but had trouble deciphering the numbers. I scratched at my arm, where the scar ran the length of it, but felt nothing. I pinched a twist of plasticy scar tissue between my fingers. Nothing. I thought about the homeless girls I’d met in the city, cutting deep trenches into their teenage skin, proof of life. For the first time, I got it. My limbs were leaden. I wondered if they would ever move again.
My cell suddenly buzzed and leaped on the coffee table in front of me. I stared at it as though it was some strange, alien artifact. After what felt like hours of its tinny buzzing, I picked it up to switch it to silent. As I did, the ringing stopped. But not before I caught sight of the numbers flashing on the screen. My brain whirred and clicked, trying to make sense of them, taking long moments to connect before coming through for me.
Susie.
The room seemed to snap back into focus.
I punched the voicemail button, suddenly aware of my breath again as my heart rate went from frozen to boiling point in nanoseconds. And then I heard her, words spilling out with girlish shyness at leaving a message. “Um… Rania. ‘S’me. Susie. Just wanted to tell you I’m okay. And I did it. I told mama about the dreams. And she made me hot chocolate. Bye.”
The breathy monologue over, I looked at the phone as I punched the “end” button.
Huh. Susie. She told her Ma. She listened to me.
I felt all the numb edges of my skin start to sizzle back into life.
This Carragheen thing was not the end of the world. Not yet, anyway. It was just a blip.
I took a long, deep breath. A breath that felt like the first I had taken since I’d seen him, sitting there on my couch. It was a blip, but it would serve a purpose. For a start, it would teach me to buck the habit of a lifetime and start trying to trust new people.
Any other time I would have gone to Mom straight away, and told her what I’d learned. Asked her about Kraken, about what had happened between them. But I knew that wasn’t the right course of action tonight. I couldn’t rush in. This was her history, Mom’s