My eyes are wide and I ache to lunge into their room and hold Pax. His eyes are watery and a tear finally breaks rank and slips down his cheek. I ache to go to him and Dr. Tyler must know that, because he turns and looks into the camera—at me.
“We’ve got to know,” he says quietly. Calmly. He’s talking to me.
Fuck.
I perch on the edge of my chair, my fist pressed to my mouth as they continue.
“What happens next, Pax?” Dr. Tyler asks. “Remember, you are safe. He can’t hurt you now.”
“I am crying and the man slaps me. He’s screaming again. ‘You f**king kid. This wasn’t supposed to happen. You f**king little snot nose kid. I’m not going to jail for this. No f**king way. And there’s only one way to make sure that doesn’t happen.’ He grabs me by the neck and shoves me onto the bed next to my mom. I look down and her blood is on my shirt. I grab her hand and hold it. The man is telling me to close my eyes. The gun makes a clicking sound. I close my eyes tighter. But nothing happens.”
I realize now that I am holding my breath. This can’t be happening. This can’t have happened. It’s too grotesque, too unreal. No wonder Pax is damaged. No. Fucking. Wonder.
I am numb as the doctor asks Pax what happens next.
“The man tells me that he can’t kill a kid. He says he just can’t do it. He takes my hand and holds it down tight. He squeezes it too hard, but I don’t cry anymore. He pulls a big knife out of his pants and cuts my hand with it. He makes an X. Then he dips the knife in blood and traces over the cut again and says, ’Swear on your mother’s blood that you will never tell what I look like. This X is to remind you that I have marked you. I can always find you, anytime, anywhere. If you ever tell anyone about me, I will kill you just like your mom.
”Then he says, ’You’re the one who killed her. They’ll take you away too, you know. And bad men in prison do bad things to little boys who killed their mothers. They’ll hurt you over and over, every day.’”
Pax has tears running down his face now, like the seven-year old boy that he currently is in his memory. I am literally aching. I look at the doctor and I can taste my own tears.
“Please,” I beg. “Bring him out of this.”
I know the doctor can’t hear me. But I can’t help but beg anyway. For Pax. For the little boy who shouldn’t have to see this anymore.
The doctor nods, finally. He must have decided the same thing.
“Pax, you are safe. When I tell you to wake up, you will wake up. And you will remember everything that you have told me today. Do you understand?”
Pax nods.
“Wake up.”
Pax opens his eyes and they meet mine through the TV screen. His are filled with a horror that I have never seen before and I hope to god I never see again. I leap from my seat and burst into their room, dropping to my knees next to him, stroking his back, gripping his shoulders, holding him tight.
The man with the yellow teeth scarred him in so many more ways than one. He didn’t need to carve up his hand to do it. His heart will be scarred forever. I honestly don’t see how Pax will ever be able to overcome any of it.
The thought makes me weep.
“Are you okay?” I whisper to him, forcing him to look at me. It’s a stupid question, really. Of course he’s not okay.
He stares at me. “I don’t know,” he says honestly. “I just don’t know.”
Chapter Twenty
Pax
I am numb. Utterly frozen as I watch the doctor write out another prescription for Xanax and hand it to Mila. She promises to have it filled in case I need it. He tells her that I shouldn’t be alone and she agrees. She won’t leave me, she says.
I can’t imagine why not- not after what she heard today. I’ve always told her that I’m f**ked up. But this… this is f**ked up.
The doctor spent an extra hour talking with me after I woke up, but I can’t remember anything that he said. It was all words and blurs and noise. Static. It doesn’t matter. There’s nothing that he can say that will help. He has to know that.
Mila grasps my elbow. “Ready?”
I nod and we walk silently out to the car. My feet feel wooden.
“Want me to drive?” she asks as she looks up at me.
“I’m good,” I tell her as I open her door automatically. I’m on auto-pilot now. I’m moving, but not feeling. Mila slides in and looks up at me again. I don’t know what she’s waiting for. I close the door.
I buckle in and sit still for a second, staring at the snow in front of us. Everything seems to be a blur to me. Blurs of movement, blurs of shapes. Colors that bleed into each other. Nothing makes sense.
“Pax,” Mila whispers. I can feel her eyes on me, waiting for something. What the f**k is she waiting for? But I don’t ask. She leans over and embraces me, wrapping her arms around my shoulders and burying her face in my neck. I don’t feel her warmth. I’m too numb.
“It will be okay,” she finally whispers as she pulls away. She’s wiping her tears away and I wonder why I’m not crying. I’m the one who should be, but my emotions seem to be gone. I can’t feel a thing.
As I start the car up and drive, the silence yawns between Mila and I. I keep my eyes on the road, unable to focus or concentrate. I feel numb, every bit as numb as I felt after I dove in the lake after Mila. My heart is like a block of ice; frozen, suspended.
“Pax,” she murmurs, staring at me. I can feel her gaze, her soft expression. I don’t want to see it though, so I don’t look. I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve her goodness.
“We should talk about this.” Her voice is soft, but insistent.
She puts her hand on my leg. Her fingers are cold. Normally, I would grasp it, hold it, tuck it into mine to warm it. Not now. I don’t deserve to touch her with the same hands that killed my mother. So, I keep mine clenched on the steering wheel and I stare at my scar. It is jagged and deep, the edges of it white.