“Does it hurt?” Jay sounded tentative, meek and it was so unlike him that it made Kay want to shout at the man, provoke him and make him angry, make him shout back. Anything. He grit his teeth and fought the urge, instead he shook his head, lowering his hand, “No.”
There was no need for Jay to finish the question.
Kay took a breath, his fingers were digging into the smooth, wooden counter but his face, his voice, remained impassive.
Kay could remember being a child. Just barely. He could remember nights lying in his room in a house that smelt of tobacco, flour and coffee. He could remember lying in bed, wrapped up in a scratchy woolen sheet, clinging to it. He could remember the feeling of his hair, plastered to his forehead, his skin damp with fear. It was always too dark.
However, Kay was no longer scared of the dark. He knew that and he had to remember that.
He was not scared of the dark
After a long silence he answered, his voice low, quiet and almost hoarse, “Dark.” He whispered, “It’s very, very dark.”
And Jay didn’t seem to have an answer for that