Page 83 of On Your Knees

As he moves to stand behind me, I look over my shoulder, but I don’t turn. When he’s out of my line of sight, I look forward and see the paintings again. My eyes are caught on the one of his face, half gone, with the hand in his hair.

Behind me, he whispers, “These are my confessions.”

“A confession means you’ve done something wrong.”

“These are all wrong.”

“But not because of you.”

“You don’t understand.”

I see Ethan’s hand coming, but I don’t move. I let him lay his hand over my eyes, blinding me. I let him pull me back until I’m resting against him. I let him curl his other hand around my throat.

“What don’t I understand?” I ask.

Ethan’s fingers lightly stroke my throat. “I keep telling you that you’re not safe with me. Why aren’t you afraid?”

“Because that’s a lie. I am safe with you, and I always have been and I’ve always known it. If this is a room of confessions, then be honest. You would never hurt me.”

Ethan shudders so hard that it shakes through my body. His hands clench on me, squeezing my face, squeezing my throat, but then they soften. They fall away, sliding down to curl around me again, this time embracing me, holding tight. Ethan’s face presses into the crook of my neck.

My eyes are still closed, not to hide from the images around me but to feel the man behind me.

“I love you, Ethan.”

His shudders again. I feel his head shake no against me.

“I love you,” I tell him again.

His breath starts puffing harshly against my neck. I wrap my arms over his, holding him tightly to me.

He whispers, breathing out the words, “I love you too.”

Tears leak past my closed lids, spilling down my face. I turn in his arms. He softens his grip to let me. Then he tightens it again, holding me close, and I hold onto him too. I bury my face against him.

The horrors surrounding us seem to retreat. They don’t vanish. They can’t. But they draw back, at least for me. I hope they do for him too. I hope this tiny space that’s just us feels as safe to him as it does to me.

I’m not the one who hasn’t been safe. It’s always, always been him.

I feel anger stir in me again at the thought, but I make it subside. It doesn’t matter right now. All that matters is that I get him out of this room.

I tug at him. We draw apart enough to walk, but I take his hand and lead him out. I don’t dare look back. I just keep moving, even when he pulls the string and the light goes out.

We walk through the pitch black toward the strange, unpleasant light of the studio space where he’s constructed all these images, captured them in mirrors then in paint, speaking always only to himself, or maybe to God.

I lead him through it, then up the stairs. I lead him out.

TWENTY-SEVEN

Ethan

The house is dim when we emerge from the cellar, and I’m glad. I don’t think I could handle full daylight right now.

My grip on Levi’s hand feels weak and I’m scared of losing it, like I might just float away, but his fingers are locked on mine like that’s not an option. He leads me out of the pantry and down the hallway to the entryway, stopping at the table where both our phones are plugged in. My heart gives a heavy, sluggish thump. I don’t want to deal with anything. I don’t want to talk to anyone. I feel strange.

One handed, not letting go of me, Levi disconnects his phone from the charger. He pulls up his contacts and hits Patrick’s name, bringing the phone to his ear.

Oh fuck. Patrick. He’s probably looking for me. I didn’t take my phone.