Page 34 of Captive

“Why?” she asks, the one-worded question spoken softly, faintly, so much so that I hardly hear it. The question is accompanied by a curious yet concerned look, as if she really does care about the answer.

Which is simply ridiculous. She wouldn’t. She doesn’t.

Does she?

She is terribly confusing.

When I don’t say a word, she tries to piece things together on her own: “Are you still upset about what happened between me and Royal? Is it because I’m here, a complication you didn’t see? Use your words, Hawthorne. Talk to me. I’m not that bad.”

“No,” I finally say. “It’s not any of that.” I haven’t told the Benefactor about what happened, and I don’t know if I will. I’ve also come to terms with the fact that she’s an unseen complication to our lives—but the thing is, I’m starting to believe she’s a much bigger complication than any of us could have possibly thought.

In the beginning, I assumed she was just a woman caught up in some far-fetched extenuating circumstances. Now? Now I’m not so sure. I was never a man who believed in fate, for how could fate deal such terrible hands to those who don’t deserve it? If fate was a kind, merciful thing, surely those we all love would still be here now. We’d have them instead of memories locked away in our heads.

But how else can you explain Abby? How else can you possibly describe how perfectly she seems to fit into our flow? Granted, she made Royal break one of our rules, but… is the rule really such a bad thing to ignore when, as she’s pointed out, she already knows everything about us?

We’re not a team who does everything. We simply hunt and kill. How much can a physical connection every now and then get in the way of things?

Abby leans forward, mere inches from my face as she seemingly peers straight into my soul. “Hawthorne, you’re lost in your head again.” The corners of her mouth quirk upward even more. “You do that a lot. I have the feeling your head isn’t a fun place to be, though. Am I wrong?”

I don’t like that she can read me like an open book. I really don’t. And yet, at the same time, it’s kind of nice not to have to speak things aloud, for her to simply know. “No,” I say again. “You’re not wrong. I’m… not like Royal or Ezra.”

“How so?”

“We’re all lost to the past, to some degree. Royal has moved forward, and Ezra has too, to some extent, but I don’t think I’ll ever get there. The person I lost… it didn’t happen overnight. It wasn’t some one-off from a stranger who took advantage. I was young, and I watched it happen for years before I took matters into my own hands.”

Abby lets out a sigh of a breath, but she doesn’t say a word more.

Strangely enough, her talkativeness must have rubbed off on me when I wasn’t looking, because I continue, “I could have saved her if I would’ve acted earlier. She thought she was strong enough to take it, that she could handle it. I was just a kid, and I believed her. I wanted to believe that, someday, I’d wake up and everything would be fine.”

“But it wasn’t.” The way she says it, she says it like she knows first-hand it’s never fine.

“A body can only take so much before it gives out.” Try as I might, I can’t ignore the flashbacks this time: me standing in the kitchen, staring at the knives. Listening to him make a joke about how she couldn’t take the heat. It was right after the funeral, and I was a fresh man of eighteen.

Old enough to be tried as an adult. Considering how gruesome it was, I certainly am lucky the Benefactor found me. I still don’t know how; I never dared to ask, always fearing it wasn’t real and that the rug would be once again pulled out from under me.

Abby’s voice is a bare whisper when she asks, “Was it your mom?”

I nod and look away, closing my eyes as I try to push the memories back down. They’re stubborn things. Now that they’ve surfaced, they don’t want to shrink back and release their hold on me. Memories like that, memories so strong, are enough to make your chest tight and the air around you feel as if it’s not nearly enough.

I hear a sound, and though my eyes are closed, I assume it’s Abby setting the scissors and comb on the island. Out of everything she could do, I definitely don’t expect her to do what she does next.

She hugs me.

It’s a little awkward, given my place on the stool, but it’s a hug all the same.

A hug. I don’t think I’ve gotten a hug since… I can’t remember. My eyes crack open, and though my head is turned to the side, I can see one of her arms since it’s wrapped around my neck.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, her cheek dangerously close to mine. “I can’t imagine what that must’ve been like.” She squeezes me harder before she lets go, and I hate to think it, but I feel the loss immediately.

I… don’t want her to let me go.

“I know it’s not enough, it’s never enough, but at least what you guys do might stop someone else from feeling the same kind of pain,” she says.

My mouth opens. She still stands directly in front of me, so close I could easily lift my hands and touch her, pull her in for another hug, something, anything, but before I have the chance, Royal strolls into the kitchen, clearly-mid workout if his sweat-covered torso is any indication. He goes to the refrigerator and grabs an energy drink, and then he turns to face us.

Standing on the other side of the island, he cocks a dark brow and says, “Am I interrupting something?” And then, to show just how unbothered he is, he opens his drink and takes a slow swig.

Abby glances at me, apparently giving me the lead, and I take it. I stand, let go of the towel around my neck, and shake out the hair that fell on it during the haircut. “Not at all,” I say, mostly because if I were to say anything else, I’d never hear the end of it.