Within These Walls

Chapter 20

"What do you think you saw?"

"Maybe Alec is right. I'm going crazy." He glances at my frustrated expression. "In my hallucination or whatever you call it, they were getting it on in one of the bedrooms. Five minutes ago when I walked in on you two, it felt so real I wouldn't have believed otherwise, but now . . . now I feel like I've woken up from a dream and I know it was all in my head."

"Okay." How does one make a mistake like that? Confuse reality with something his mind has obviously created? Maybe the seizure really did affect him in other ways.

"Like I said, forget it ever happened," he says, looking uncomfortable. He rubs his upper arm, drawing my gaze to the blood on his sleeve. I'd forgotten all about the injury he sustained when Harper attacked him.

"Did you get that bandaged?" I say, gesturing to the arm.

"It'll heal."

"If it doesn't get infected first."

I walk over to the metal dresser against one wall and pull open the top drawer. It's an invasion of privacy, what I'm doing, but the need to stay on the move compels me.

Holding a brand-new first aid kit, I approach him and gesture for him to give me his arm. He lets out a weary sigh and rolls up his sleeve, exposing an angry red gash that's stopped bleeding. Out in the real world, he'd need to get stitches for a wound this deep.

Careful not to show how queasy I am, I work on sterilizing it. He sucks in a breath but doesn't voice any complaints. The whole macho thing, I guess. Or maybe he and I are a lot more alike than I thought. Maybe he's used to hiding his vulnerabilities, too.

"I don't think many people understand how much it changes you."

I keep my mouth shut and focus on cleaning the wound, worried he won't continue if I say something. He does so hesitantly. "Rudolph—Steve was this living, breathing guy and in the blink of an eye, it was over. Sure, he was a dick, but I didn't want his blood on my hands.

"You were right. Any time I get angry at someone from now, there's a chance I'll kill them." He clenches his fists on his thighs. "This super-strength is useless. I can't use it for the things I need to do, like break us out or remove this stupid bracelet, but it's there when I could do without it."

"Maybe you can learn to control it," I say. "You can learn to make it work without becoming angry, and shove it down when you are angry. You just need more practice with it."

"I guess."

What has come over him? I've never seen him so agreeable, so easy to talk to. It makes me want to reach through his tough layers, right down to the protected center. It makes me want to know him more than I've ever wanted to know anyone else.

"Can I ask you something?" I ask, reaching for a bandage. "What's your life like? Outside this place?"

Silence fills the air, creating an ever-widening chasm that takes us farther away from the place we were just moments ago. Then, "I live in a group home."

"I thought you were adopted."

I can't see his face, but the change in his tone is unmistakable. "Nope."

I smooth the adhesive ends of the bandage over his bicep. The skin is warm against my fingers, pulled taut over his muscles. There's strength and power beneath his flesh, but his voice is devoid of all of that.

"And the man who raised you?" I ask. "The one who taught you the power behind names?"

"Raymond. I stayed with him when I was a kid. He was an asshole who got paychecks to take care of a couple of little pricks. That's what he called me and Frankie."