Chapter 17

Sevina

“I did it,” I casually mention at the dining table. “Five pushups you all wanted me to do so bad.”

Corrin has been teaching me to fight for two months now and, hating every second of it, I got used to doing those damn pushups, sit-ups and all. But mostly I drag my feet like an old hag while Corrin struts around with no effort. I get it why Dan called him little chicken.

Corrin leans back in his chair, pride crossing his face. Our partnership fell into a more or less peaceful groove.

“That true,” Lenore chimes. “I saw it myself.”

“Five pushups, wow. Princess deserves an award,” Aida chuckles and Terrel supports her with a laugh, but then gives me a subtle thumb up.

“Can you do one for me?” Quint’s once-over is full of lust as is his corny smile. I got used to it, but Corrin furrows his brows and snaps.

“Please, will you stop it.”

Quint raises his hands in defense. “Fine, fine, mate.” It’s fun watching them get at each other’s throats. Definitely helps Corrin to think of something else besides his past.

I chuckle. I bragged about my pushups because I hoped for a response like Good, do ten and we’ll take you to work. I wasn’t expecting them to be encouraging of this little thing. Or they’re aware that no matter how hard I try I won’t be good enough.

Corrin finishes his sandwich and stands. I check the time on my phone— Corrin and I finally got them back— and we have a decent amount of time to spar today. We help Lenore clean up before heading out to the ground level. Whenever she manages Lenore watches us and tries to learn. Today, she again falls in behind us.

“Lenore, no.” Terrel stops her.

She stomps her foot. “But I’m old enough!”

I tilt my head at her with sympathy. “Next time, okay?” Pouting, she slumps into a chair nearby.

We descend and I notice a bounce in Corrin’s gait as he walks. He’s doing better day by day.

I’m glad taking him to the roof two months ago worked, even if to his benefit I lied. I pitied him and understood that in a partnership both parties have to support each other. Whether I forgive him or not has nothing to do with the goal.

I do not forgive him.

But it’ll be easier for him to think I do. I merely hoped my trick, combining the open roof, fresh air, and the memory would work.

And I’ll be damned. It did.

While it was hard I searched his memories for something genuine, something that would be powerful enough. There were lots of choices from his childhood, especially with his mother. The kite memory included open spaces, fresh air and all the love a mother can give to a child. It was the strongest imprint from his early years. Though the memory was so distant, all but forgotten, I could feel her warmth and softness, following her baby each step of his way.

It, too, left a question on the edge of my mind. How could she marry someone like Corrin’s father? She must’ve been one mysterious woman.

At the bottom we begin with our casual routine— warm-up, light stretch. The ground level is calm. Kids got clear instructions not to bang or scream into the vents so we can practice in peace without any observers.

Corrin is very light on his feet, despite gaining most of his weight back over the two months. He smiles twice as much and bags under his eyes are gone. After I had taken him to the roof we had a very long talk with Terrel and convinced him into letting Corrin stay there, under the open sky. He agreed under the condition that Corrin would check the generators regularly, saving Quint the job. For the first week, I visited the generators, as Corrin slept on the roof. He had nightmares, but he was able to fall asleep in the first place. A week later he pulled himself together enough to begin spending days inside again, even if he still steers clear of the makeshift walls and paces past the corridors with all the flashlights he can muster.

“Ready?” Corrin blows a hair from the front of his eye.

“No,” I murmur, adjusting my fighting stance. He bounces on his tiptoes, his fists up, head deep between his shoulders. He loves it.

Training wise I’m in Corrin’s care now and both, Aida and I, are happy with it. He doesn’t beat me as Aida did. Day to day we drill the stances. I learn to cover myself from a punch or swiftly shift my feet. It’s clear Corrin knows the basics and was trained compared to Aida who thought freestyle learning would achieve any results. Perhaps on the long run ‘trial and error’ training would be sufficient. But we don’t need the long run.

“You’re good.” I watch his feet. I’m a little jealous, but my words are intentional. Corrin loves praise, so I ballyhoo him from time to time. He then juts his chin forward like a proud peacock and does his chores twice the speed for the rest of the day, and sleeps better afterward. I admit, seeing him joyous makes it easier for me too.

I watch his chest in front of me. In fighting my eyes and my habit to look down is a combination of disorienting and annoying. I’m scared to look, but at the same time I have to focus on both— my opponent’s body and head, and preferably the eyes.

I keep my attention on Corrin’s lower body and try to concentrate on the micro-movements, possibly predicting his next move.

“Keep breathing,” he reminds. I hold my breath for too long when I try to control my movements and my eyes at the same time. I exhale and glance up at him intuitively like I’m used to. My gaze drops to the floor as my body tenses with the prospect of beating. I never looked my bullies in the eyes, never raised my head at them. And even while practicing I can’t break the habit and shed the fear. It’s one thing when I know I’m going to see a life; I concentrate, I ready myself. A whole another, when it’s unpredictable, better yet if I get punched while I do it. Whatever focus I have when I look in a more or less calm environment, departs from me like all the staff used to in the restaurant’s kitchen.

Corrin throws himself forward. All I am supposed to do is swerve or use a few blocks or breaks from the wrist clutch, but even that rarely works out. “Crap.” I let out when he’s behind me, twisting my arm and holding me firmly.

“You have to somehow eliminate this reflex to look up. It throws you off balance,” he releases my arm. “Or you have to keep your head straight and learn to observe your opponent whole.”

I rub my arm.

“Sorry, did it hurt?”

He got stronger, that’s good. “No. Let’s try again.”

I can risk it. In recent months I got used to the lives of the hideout people. Murders, blood… I choose to forget most of it, but still cringe at the images that involuntary stay. Yet the hardest five seconds pass fast enough. I gulp those emotions and other existences down, take them in even if it costs me a couple hours of dizziness afterward. I wish Corrin was right. There has to be a way to learn. Sooner or later I’ll have to look someone in the eyes while I fight. I’d rather it’d be Corrin.

I hoist my fists. Can I somehow look and forget his life?

I don’t need his life, just the skills. The fighting… ah, just look at him!

I fixate on his eyes. It takes him aback, but he keeps quiet.

I flinch, but I know it all already. There is nothing new…

Skills… fight… anger…

I’m standing in the kitchen. Here lies Rovy… and his mother. I’m backhanded by a stern surface of the pad.

Skills that murdered Rovy…

I charge at him, my body adjusting itself automatically. My fist clutches into an iron ball before I myself know it. I throw it at his side, wrapping my hand around his neck. He tries to swerve, dragging me with him, but I keep hammering his side with all the strength I have. His hands catch my wrists, stopping the shower of raging punches, and he tears me off of himself.

“Sevina, control it!”

What control?

Hate, pain, mistrust, deception— a summary that explodes out of me towards him. This man in front of me— I despise him!

“Sevina!” I train my eyes on him and he does his best to look away and still look at me. I cling to him, pulling his hair.

Skills were my goal. I had to concentrate on the skills—

My back thwacks against something solid so hard it snaps me out of it in an instant. I yelp in pain, feeling my wrists pinned above my head.

I blink the ache out. Aida, Quint and Terrel, their faces perplexed, stand on the second level. Lenore and a bunch of other kids gawk at us wide-eyed. Corrin, in front of me, pinning me against the lifting pillar in the middle of the pit. His left temple is scraped. Did I do that?

“Tell them it’s crack.” Corrin’s breath is hot in my ear.

“What?” I gasp.

“They never saw you fight like this and now you all but beat me?” He hisses in a hurry. “Tell them it’s crack that made you go berserk. It won’t be as suspicious.”

“But they don’t have crack. And crack doesn’t do that,” I hiss back. In my peripheral vision Terrel’s striding toward us.

“Tell them you found it.” Corrin releases me and steps away. I stay leaning against the pillar, now sick to my stomach.

What just happened with my concentration? I completely lost it.

“It was crack,” Corrin says to Terrel.

I prop my hands on my knees. “It wasn’t crack. It was some other substance I found. Some kind of an injector. A stimulant.”

Aida and Quint leap down too. Aida rushes all the kids away, but they sneak back.

“I got to get me some of this drug,” Quint says, thrilled.

“I found it when I snuck out.” I won’t involve Corrin in this. Shit will come rolling downhill if he loses his roof.

“I knew it!” Aida pulls her gun. “A rat!”

“Whoa! Whoa!” Terrel stretches his arms out between us. “Aida! Not in front of the kids!” Corrin stands in front of me. I straighten and sway back only to bump into Quint, who eagerly offers me his support.

“Maybe it’s about time they saw what it’s like!” Aida thrusts her finger aside.

“No one’s killing nobody!” Terrel’s voice levels to his looks, deviating into a deep and sinister growl.

I push away from Quint, swaying to Terrel. “I left because I was searching for a way out, so I can help him.” I turn my head over my shoulder, indicating Corrin. Terrel knows Corrin’s dealing with things and I can tell he believes I was trying to help. “And the injector… I just found it.”

Terrel throws his finger at Quint. “Do not let her out of your sight.”

“With pleasure,” Quint answers as he leans into me. “I want that crack or whatever that was. I haven’t tried that one before.”

Terrel turns to Aida, ready to deal with her—

“Terrel!” A frantic call jolts us all. We jerk our heads at Lenore, puffed out on the third level. “Sonny’s dead!”

Sonny—one of the working ones?

Terrel and Aida trade terrified looks. Terrel points to Lenore. “Watch Sevina. Quint come on!”

Quint lets out a worried sigh and leaves with them. I turn upstairs, Corrin rushing after me.

I can’t fight.

When I reach my level shouts blaze from above, but I’m too out of myself to care.

In my room, I slump on my cot.

I shouldn’t have fought… I can hurt people… I lost it.

Corrin enters and Lenore peeks from behind the curtain.

“I can’t look while I fight,” I choke out, my head low. I must not.

The cot dips as Corrin sits next to me. “What happened?”

“I… don’t know.” I wrap my hands around my shoulders. “It’s so different with every person. I let your life slide and thought about your fighting skills. About the power I would have. It went haywire. I felt so much—”

“Hate,” he says. That might’ve been it. Together with my fear and lack of focus on his life I lost myself and attacked him with the hate he feels for himself. What I feared most in fighting— it happened.

“You hate yourself so much, you’re so angry,” I say. Corrin shifts, silent. He knows I’m right.

“One failure doesn’t mean you’ll never learn, right?” He ran out of words to try and explain my powers to me.

“I won’t look at people in action situations. I can’t.” With a shudder I realize that if I were as strong as Corrin, I might’ve killed him. “I have to have as peaceful environment as I can get. I can’t focus on the skills. I must first look and only after I cooled off for at least a minute, use the fighting skills.”

He nods. “All right, I’ll take that into account.” Then almost to himself. “I wish we knew what kind of powers we were dealing with.”

I shake my head. I hate this power. “No. I never want to know the secret of it.” It always pained me to allow the possibility that I might be some governmental experiment, even if med exams showed nothing wrong. Toxic—that’s what those thoughts were. So I stopped caring, stopped worrying about it. Even if only passively existing in the city I woke in, seemed far better choice than getting locked in some facility with needles jabbed into my scalp and eyes. All that matters is whatever my eyes are or whatever I have planted inside my head works. And I can use it to help others. I know I can, even if I hate it. “Sorry, I hurt you.” I lie down, forcing Corrin off my cot. “Let me rest.”

“Sorry, I slammed you against the wall,” he replies before he leaves the room. I listen to Lenore’s mumbling as he softly orders her not to disturb me, then the wall rattles as she plops on the ground outside, guarding me.

…

The following evening after the chores Corrin and I keep to the simplicities like we did for the past two months and I do my best to focus on his shoulders and upper body. Since Sonny was killed Terrel hasn’t approached me yet and I haven’t had a chance to explain the crack. But nor Corrin, nor I craved to stay in the upper levels anyway, where guesswork flowed and distressed kids tried to calm each other.

Corrin adjusts my stance with his foot.

“Weird Lenore left us,” I say. She was keeping a watchful eye on me for the whole day, but ten minutes ago she stood and bolted to the emergency stairwell.

“Indeed.” Corrin lifts his palms for me to punch—

“Sevina! Corrin! Come up!” Lenore screeches above our heads, echoing from the very top.

I drop my hands, my heart leaping, and we dash to the emergency stairwell. On our way I check my phone and notice three missed calls from Lenore.

She meets us at the top.

“What happened?” Corrin’s hardly out of breath. It surprises me but so am I.

“Quint’s hurt!” Lenore beckons for us to follow. “The job’s gone bad… the hell with it, it’s not the job, it was another gang member.”

“Will we be able to help?” I ask as we hurry after her. “We’re no doctors.”

“Sonny was our medic, but those punks killed him. Terrel knows some basics, but he’s out with Aida. They should be back soon. I called them. Everyone else is out.” She zips past the bathrooms like a carrier drone. “Hurry!” We peel right after her.

“What about the doc in the safety blocks?” I ask.

“Quint was attacked closer to home so he came here.”

We pass the generator room, this time lit with fluorescent lamps, and take a right, leading to a corridor with symmetrically aligned doors.

A pained gasp echoes from behind the dark plastic curtain that shields an empty door frame of a medical room. The smell of alcohol rids the air and Corrin next to me contains a gag.

We enter to find Quint standing with half of his weight leaned on the counter, his one hand at his side, keeping pressure on the sticking out knife handle. His other hand rummages vials and pills stored in the boxes.

I hurry to him. “What do you need?”

“I need some…” pain twists his face,“…adrenaline.”

“What’s it called?”

Panting, Quint doesn’t reply. I hover my hands above the box, having no idea what the med term for adrenaline is. Frantic, I snap my head to Corrin. His shoulders tense and hair on his arms rises. It’s the first time he sees gruesomeness after his trial. I can’t rely on him, but what do I do? “What’s it called?” I repeat, grasping Quint by his armpit.

“It’s epinephrine.” Corrin comes closer. “You don’t need it.” He grips Quint’s wrist and carefully turns him away. “Lie on the table.” Quint complies and we lay him onto the metal gurney.

“You have to get it out,” Quint hisses, his hand shivering over the knife.

“Lenore, I’ll need bandages, tape, and disinfectant.” Corrin pulls a white towel hanging on the wall. When he passes it to me his hands are cold as ice. “Keep the pressure on it.”

“Corrin,” I utter. “The kite. Think of the kite.”

“I am,” he answers almost inaudibly.

“Get it out of me,” Quint growls, growing delirious. He’s surprisingly calm for having a knife sticking out of him, but the guy had his ear cut off, that has to count for his resilience.

Corrin reaches for a pair of latex gloves. “No, we shouldn’t do that.” Without hesitation he slides them on and turns away to the box of vials.

Quint grasps my wrist, tearing it away. He plucks the knife out, releasing the bloodstream down his side. I clamp the wound with the towel. “Corrin!”

Corrin nears us and I move aside. “Talk to him.” He jabs some injector a few times around Quint’s wound, a painkiller or a numbing shot, I guess. Lenore passes Corrin another clean towel. I sit on a stool, leaning into Quint’s face, my arms around his head.

“Can I have some of that crack now?” He breathes.

“That crack was terrible,” I say, my eyes on the table. “Don’t talk.”

“You better do.” His eyelids flutter.

“Don’t let him pass out,” Corrin orders, his gloves getting a sharp gradient of thick ruby as he works on Quint’s wound.

What do I do to keep Quint awake? Communication isn’t my strong suit, but I could use the same distraction technique I used on Corrin.

“Have you ever been to a beach?” I grasp Quint’s sweaty palm. “Beaches have lots of girls in bikinis… uh… during summers.”

He cocks his brow at me, for a second forgetting about the bloodbath on his torso. “Are you trying to turn me on?”

I feel myself flushing, but not for long. I need to calm him. I need a good memory to get his attention, just like with Corrin. But what if I faint? Corrin doesn’t need another problem. But I have to practice, and I’m quite used to seeing deaths by now. “Quint, are my eyes beautiful?”

Clenching his teeth, he looks me deep in the eyes.

I gasp as phantom pain shoots through my side.

“Are you okay? You’re red,” Quint breathes. “I’m the one in distress here.”

“Just… imagine something that distracts you.”

“You distract me,” Quint says, concerned with me sweating next to his face.

I exhale, my body relaxing and pain fading. The first five seconds have passed. Ugh, it wasn’t the best idea after all. Weakness overflows me and my head swarms with Quint’s story.

He’s twenty-three and his kill count is four. He’s proud of the day he lost his ear and survived.

Also he doesn’t like me. He hides it well under a solid sheet of one-liners for me and Moira, intentionally stapling himself with a womanizer label. But truth be told, the newest person he has hots for—is Corrin.

I guess things are not always what they seem.

“You want a smoke?” I utter, still filtering his life.

Quint frowns at me and I realize he never smoked in front of us and that I just slipped up. I gather myself. “I-I…ugh—”

The curtain swooshes and Aida and Terrel dash inside.

“You need to bring him to the doc, ASAP,” Corrin states, his attention on the wound and his face blanched. “I shot him up with an anesthetic to numb the pain.”

Aida pushes me aside and takes over my duty. I take place behind Corrin in case he passes out from all the red. Unlike him, I can take blood. I have seen quite some of it back in foster care. “It’s okay.” I rest my palms on his shoulder blades and cold dampness radiates off his body into my fingers. “I got your back.”

Terrel helps him bandage the wound and they both finish with worn-out sighs. Shuddering unhealthily Corrin leaves the room, swaying as he goes. I fall in behind him, but Terrel catches my elbow. “Help us clean the blood.”

I do until one of the workers, a tall and muscular young man with an ill-bidding shadow on his face, enters the ward.

“Oh, let’s better leave now.” Lenore, who sat in the corner like a rat, leaps and takes the rag from my hands. She throws it into a bucket in the corner of the room and rushes me out.

I stop by the curtain, leaning on the gray wall with my back.

“What are you doing?” Lenore whispers.

“Shush.” I motion with my palm in a silencing gesture. “Let me listen.”

“Terrel, three more left for the other gang, and now Quint’s hurt,” the man says, his words laced with enraged disapproval. “There’re only ten of us now!”

“What?” Even Aida’s surprised by the statement.

“Sonny and now Quint. Think it doesn’t scare our people?” Worker’s voice and harsh steps as he paces around.

Silence.

“We need people, we need a future workforce,” Aida says.

“Those kids will not become us.” Despair creeps into Terrel’s tone.

“Look around you, man,” the worker says. “They already are us! Fifteen of them know what happened. They took it fine and they got potential. Begin taking them into the field. Me and two other guys have good positions in one family. There’s a chance they’ll recruit us. We might supervise the incoming shipments. Maybe we’ll manage to take Aida. We have a chance.” The man’s words are all but a demand, an ultimatum he’s presenting Terrel.

But Terrel doesn’t give in as behind the curtain his tone levels to the worker's, just as authoritative. “We’ll make it. Just need to work harder.”

The worker curses him out. “You were left this place, so keep it alive! If you don’t, we all will leave for the other gangs where we don’t have to feed a shit ton of brats!” I jolt when he hits the wall, a wave of shivers passing my back. “Hope those who left have enough dignity not to spill to the other gangs about the pile of shit we’re in. Although they probably did as Quint is lying here! They’re attacking us out in the street, right next to our doorstep!”

He storms out and I press my shoulders flat to the wall. He notices me and Lenore but leaves without a word.

“That was cheerful.” Lenore wipes her bloody hands on her sides.

I watch her. I probably forgot it, but now I get it. This is what Terrel’s scared of. A bunch of thirteen-year-olds wiping off bloody hands with a face unbiased like Lenore’s, just like his sister did it.

“You know he’s right. Things don’t work this way.” Aida’s gentle tone brings some ease even to me. “What do you think will happen to this place if we keep following you?”

Terrel refuses to quit. “There has to be a way. We’ll find one.”

“We’re not another foster care, mate,” Quint’s whisper. “They’ll overthrow you if you let them know you run this place based on hope.”

Besides ragged Quint’s breathing the room stills, then I hardly pick out Aida’s words.

“Let’s run. You and I. Let’s leave it all. I care for the children, but I am tired, Terrel. We could offer a surrender, give this gang up for another one peacefully, or give the kids away to the foster care, the real foster care. I want a normal life. A simple one where I have a stable job and I get paid for it. I’ll settle for something simple, a maid even. But I want to settle… with you.”

Run away, Aida. I think to myself. Take Terrel, Quint, and run before it all turns to shit as it did to me.

“I can’t,” Terrel’s blunt, yet sad. “When we met. You helped me, you know why I do this.”

“Yes, but your sister, it was a long time ago…” Aida chuckles dejectedly. “You noble punk.”

“I’ll take Corrin,” Terrel says. “The boy’s damn capable.”

“The princess? I don’t trust her. Not after the crack or whatever that was. And she and Corrin spend a lot of time together. They both might be rats.”

“All Corrin is, is a traumatized kid. He’s not the rat material, but a good worker material.” By the shuffle of the feet I get a feel Aida opens her mouth to protest but Terrel continues. “But I agree about Sevina. She’s hard to understand. Though she’s not a rat material either.”

Aida winds up. “She was leaving, I told you she was involved. Did you see her fight? What kind of a crack does that?”

“Come on, Aida, look at her,” Terrel sighs. “She looks like she’s fallen from space half the time. And after the crack she did look stoned. It’s quite evident she wouldn’t survive in any of the other gangs, but there’s something else about her. I can’t quite decide.”

“Agreed,” Quint pipes. “She’s odd, but hot. Oddhot. ”

“I still have to question her,” Terrel says.

I head away, leaving Lenore to continue eavesdropping. My chest aches at the familiar dread. Corrin’s a hero and I’m some crack addict and maybe a spy.

Ease up.

It’s not about that, not about the damn jealousy or rivalry but about the goal and Corrin’s Father. They don’t trust me. Fine. But how long until they become totally paranoid? Somehow I have to gain their trust or think of another way.

Corrin’s got to be on the roof, but I halt at the red stains on the walls in the shape of a palm, leading straight to the men’s bathroom.

“You in there?” I crack the door, checking if it’s clear. It is and I enter to find him in one of the stalls. He’s shirtless and on his knees, leaning above the foul latrine. “Oh, man.” He wretches and I put my hand on his naked back. Bloody shirt together with latex gloves lie at his feet.

“Should’ve stolen less meat,” he gasps. “Wouldn’t be this bad now, after so much blood.”

“You’re still stealing it?”

He straightens, all filthy and stained in blood. “Well yeah, how else would I gain my weight back? Actually, Quint was letting me do it.” He wipes his mouth with his forearm.

“You did a good job. I never recalled you that good with first aid.”

“Thanks. I’ll be all right. You should go.” He gags and bends over again.

“I’ll meet you on the roof, okay?” My stomach begins turning from the stench. I need some air.

Corrin nods.

I climb to the roof where I first took Corrin two months ago. It’s shaped like a long rectangle with two more boarded exits, AC units, and some freeze-proof piping curling along. I lean over the ledge, observing the buildings and a deserted street below. Most of the structures in this part of the blocks, just like ours, a ten-story joined complex, have windows in. This part of the blocks was almost finished.

As I leisurely explore the roof I discover Corrin’s little nest—a thin cot mattress in a spacious nook under the cluster of pipes. His backpack is here as well.

Eager to test his bedding and if it’s better than my cot I slide into the nook and on his mattress. It’s worse—as rough as the ground. As I lay on my back my eyes land on a clump of little white stars, scribbled on the pipes above my head; the sort a child’s unpracticed hand draws with a crayon. Only those are drawn with a chalky rock.

I stare at the drawing for a long while until a breathy laugh escapes my lips. Corrin might’ve tried to act tough and cold like his Father, but he’s so far from all they tried to shape him to be.

I sit and reach for his backpack.

“You can’t rummage through other people’s stuff.”

I recoil, hitting my head against the pipe. “Ow.” I hunch. “A good way to unlearn it.” I pivot. Corrin stands a few feet away, cleaned and clothed in a black T-shirt and dark gray combat pants, together with brown laced-up boots.

“What is it?” He glances at himself.

I catch myself examining his physique. “It’s you. You’re… fatter.”

His jaw drops slightly. “Fatter? Are you sure? Because I don’t feel fatter.” He examines the fat on his arm and on his torso. “Muscular maybe?”

“Yeah.” I did mean muscular, just thought fatter would sound better. It’s as if only now, when he dressed in tight combat clothing, I notice how much muscle he’s grown. Good, the more protection for me.

“Terrel said I’ll be working with him tomorrow.” He slumps on his mattress and I, still holding his backpack, move to lean against the pipe perpendicular to him. He doesn’t want me rummaging through it, but as I understand I have the right. His guilt prevents him from stopping me.

“That’s good,” I say. “We’re… you’re moving forward.”

He double nods. “Yeah, I hope I’ll gather something useful.”

“You did good in there.” For his ease of mind, I hammer the point.

“I took med classes with all the running around. I forgot most of it and Dan skipped out on them.” Corrin shrugs and fixes me with a longing gaze, for a hundredth time forgetting about my eyes. I do nothing. I accept his life once again. And in that moment, in those five seconds I feel what he feels. I know what he thinks of and his frustration frustrates me.

He sees me tense. “How many times you saw my life already?”

“I don’t want to know.” From his backpack I pull a stolen pad. “The pad. Still have it.”

“You know they gave the tablet back.”

“It’s a pad,” I correct him.

“It’s a tablet, and a ‘barrel’ is a gun,” he chuckles.

“You keep saying that.” I grin as I turn the device on. “I’ll read something for you.”

The statement tugs at the corners of his lips. “At least pretend you don’t know everything about me.”

“Trying.” I don’t want to pretend. It feels weird not to hide it. I could never do it with anybody but one time with Rovy. “But… I don’t want to. You’re the only one who knows it all now.”

“Now?”

“Rovy did too…” He lets out a sharp sigh as if my words were hot iron. How stupid of me again. Could’ve foreseen it. He pinches at his elbow, his eyes darting away, suppressing regret.

“Corrin, it’s okay.”

He hesitates, embarrassed and remorseful, then shuffles into his nook and turns away from me. “Good night.”

If two months ago I didn’t feel anything, now I do; his guilt and cause, his need for human connection, need to be needed reaches the depths of me, impossible to ignore.

I inch closer to the piping and dip my hand into his damp hair. Is this how honest support is done? I remember his mom doing it, so I do the same.

“What are you doing?” He quivers under my hand. I know he likes it, but I still say. “I can stop.”

“No,” he bites out. “I…um… like it, but you don’t have to force yourself to soothe me.”

“I’m not.” I let my fingers caress his head, entwining in his chocolate hair.

I’ve never soothed anyone before, nor imagined myself doing it, but the lack of connection he feels forces me to keep this partnership together. It soothes me too, filling a hole in my chest a tiny bit with something nourishing. Same kind of warmth I felt when Rovy hugged me.

Why am I afraid? I can see people’s desires and feel their deepest needs. And I can meet those desires, just like I’m caressing Corrin now. He’s right. I can help. How did I think my powers useless not so long ago is beyond me.

The starless sky gazes at me long after Corrin falls asleep.