38. RAVEN

38

RAVEN

She said yes. Not to me doing wicked things to her or using her body the way I see fit. She just wants me around. Or maybe it's wishful thinking because my little guy was the one asking, and she won't say no to him. I knew it and used it to spend more time with her.

I constantly try to gauge Maddy's reaction and find hidden meaning in her movements and tiny emotions that reflect on her face. But everything is somehow significant and charged with a meaning that's probably not there.

I'm not stupid. I know I'm affected by everything she does. When you don't care for someone, it's so easy to read them like a book. With her, I'm subconsciously projecting wishful thoughts because I can't read her very well anymore.

I know this is trouble. I don't ever lie to myself. This, us, was supposed to be a game. Instead, she's become my deepest craving. The little dude is weaving his charms into me, too. I look forward to spending time with him, occasionally thinking—I know, that's fucked up, but it's absolutely the truest craziest thought I've ever had—what it would be like if he were our kid, even though Maddy is too young.

I wonder what it would be like to kiss her, to have her kiss me. You think sex is intimate. Nah. I did some hot girls without ever remembering their names. And then there is this one, the one I've had a taste of, seen her naked in all positions, tried out my deepest fantasies. Yet I still feel like I haven't reached the true level of intimacy.

I was sure from the start that it would be a matter of days until Maddy gave up on her silly rule and kissed me. I was wrong. There's only one reason for it—she stands by her rule and doesn't want this besides it being a deal.

"You, Raven, and me," she says as her eyes lock with mine.

It sounds like a different kind of life.

I take a seat on the other side of Sonny and try to relax, but the words don't leave my head.

You, Raven, and me. You. Raven. And me.

Sonny puts the iPad away and snatches Maddy's phone from the coffee table in front of him.

"Take a selfie of us! Your arm is longer," Sonny asks, passing me the phone. The little dude loves looking at himself. "Take one! Take one!"

Maddy laughs.

I open the camera and snap a selfie of us, not looking at the screen but rather at her, watching her reaction.

"We take many pictures," Sonny says, taking the phone from me right away and opening the picture folder. "Look!"

He starts flipping through the pictures, and Maddy doesn't stop him, only watches.

There are many pictures. She and Sonny are cooking. Watching a movie. There are dozens of selfies of Sonny with goofy expressions. I'd like to have them on my phone.

Then his thumb does something weird, and the pictures zoom out into a collage.

"Oops," he says.

There is one, just one, so strikingly white that I reach toward it and click on it.

It's Maddy in a white string dress. A simple selfie. Damp hair, no makeup. The glow of the lamp colors her skin with a soft glaze of honey. She looks like a bride, and the picture takes my breath away.

"That's Maddy," Sonny says proudly and turns to smile at her, then at me.

I flick a glance at her, and she looks right at me, unblinkingly.

Sonny clicks the phone shut and puts it on the table, then grabs the iPad. "Movie time!"

Maddy tears her gaze from me as Sonny nudges her and points his forefinger at a movie trailer.

While they choose a movie, I watch her like a junkie needing a fix watches another dose being waved in front of him.

I can't look away. I erase the context—that this is a deal, a barter, or, to be exact, me blackmailing her, and the kid is just playing along, and we are just sticking together for the night because the storm might get bad. And my mind creates another scenario. Like this is my normal, everyday life. I imagine her in my bed, and that hasn't happened yet, because why would she want to go to my place?

I imagine what it would be like if we came home together. If we had a home, she and I and maybe Sonny and maybe some silly parrot or a sugar-glider, because Sonny read about them in an encyclopedia, and it's become another thing in his long list of fascinating things.

Maddy. Me. Home. Her white socks permanently on my floor. Her clothes on my couch. Her panties in my laundry basket, touching my boxer briefs like nobody's business. Her books next to mine—I would read them all. Waking up in the morning to her scent, her touch, her warmth, her feet rubbing against mine. Her sleepy smile, happy, too, because she sees me next to her. Breakfast together, though I hate breakfasts.

There's no stopping once these fantasies spin out of control. My feelings are growing like a monster, and I have enough for both of us to keep her interested in our deal.

And then I think about Sonny, his goofy grin and nudging Maddy with his elbow as they cozy up on the couch while I make them dinner. I would cook all sorts of things for them. His obnoxious shouting, "Rave! Ra-ave! Ra-a-ave!" Because he just learned something exciting and wants to share.

Fuck…

It feels like family, though I don't know what a happy family feels like. I've only ever known Mac, who gave me a slightly normal understanding of that concept.

And I'm a lunatic. Because who'd want a family with me? Why would I want to jeopardize my peaceful solitude? But despite the odds, I want all these things with her.

The thunder cracks above the bungalow, making the house tremble, and Sonny ducks just a little and looks up.

Maddy's arm slides around his shoulder. "Are you afraid?"

"Nah." He shakes his head. "We had one bad last year. Guys flip' the metal box to its side and clean' it out. So we built a shield with a metal sheet and made a fire inside. Was fun. Water got in though, but it was fine."

Maddy frowns. "A metal box?"

"Yeah, those big ones, behind the warehouse at the port."

She shifts her eyes to me, not understanding, and I don't want to say it but she's seen worse.

"A dumpster," I say quietly, and her eyes widen just slightly.

"Yeah! That one!" Sunny says cheerfully. "Look. This one?" He immediately shifts his attention to the movie he picked.

Maddy bites her lip. We've both seen a lot in this life, but children's poverty just hits differently, the way they don't quite understand it, how they are able to live through it with a smile. Some children build blanket castles in their bedrooms. Others build shelters out of dumpsters during storms, and then they talk about it like it's the most exciting adventure of their life.

Sonny chooses E. T. , a movie about a boy who befriends an extraterrestrial. Sonny sets the iPad on the table, the screen too small for the three of us, but he is excited about it while Maddy and I just play along.

Most of the movie passes in silence, with the loud crunching of Sonny demolishing the three bags of snacks that Maddy brought from the kitchen.

Thunder crashes outside.

There's a loud crack on the porch—must be a broken tree branch.

Sonny makes occasional comments and questions, and Maddy answers. And I don't even pay attention to the movie but revel in the feeling of being around them.

At some point, Maddy turns to sit on her side, tucking her legs under her, facing Sonny and me, resting her head on her arm stretched along the back of the couch. That gives me the opportunity to study her openly, feeling her tense under my gaze. She feels it, I know.

By the end of the movie, Maddy occasionally wipes her eyes. She is crying. Sonny claps his hands and gets all excited when the little alien is sent home. It's a movie about friendship and kindness, but also hope. And family. Something I still have a hard time watching in movies because while most take family for granted, some of us didn't have the privilege of having one.

Sonny picks another movie, though I can tell he is sleepy. He constantly rubs his eyes, and twenty minutes into the action flick, he cozies up to Maddy and rests his head on her shoulder, while his legs and dirty feet end up being on my lap.

It's suddenly so quiet in the room during a silent movie scene that I'm acutely aware of the rain pounding and slashing against the hurricane shutters. Somewhere in the distance, the ocean roars. It's in tempest, angry and full of power.

But mostly, I'm aware of Maddy and me, only several feet apart and a kid's body between us. We've never been in a room together for so long without touching.

The movie is playing, but there are no comments interrupting it because Sonny is fast asleep.

I look at his dirty feet on my lap then lean over to look at his face. Yes, fast asleep.

Maddy casts a soft smile at him. "You'd think such a little human can't take up much space."

I chuckle. Somehow, seeing him sleeping between me and Maddy fills my heart with a feeling that burns my chest in a peculiar way, making me think of Mac.

"You should go to bed," I tell Maddy.

"Yeah."

Holding Sonny's head off her lap, she shimmies her way from under it, then puts a couch pillow in her place.

He shifts and spreads his arms above his head, literally taking up the entire couch except for where I'm sitting. I can sleep sitting up, no problem. I don't mind the little dude at all.

Maddy walks to a closet, takes out a sheet, and covers Sonny with it.

"We'll have to share the bed," she says.

My eyes snap at her.

"I meant to sleep," she explains.

"I can sleep here," I say, holding her gaze.

That little smile is back on her lips. "You are not sleeping sitting up, Rave."

"It's really not a big deal?—"

"Rave?" she cuts me off, and I shut up, not looking away from her beautiful eyes that glint with reassurance. "It's really not a big deal," she echoes my words. "We can share a bed. I don't bite. Not when I wear clothes." Her smile grows. "Come on."

I watch her as she turns and undoes the bed, opening the top sheet, then crawls under it in her shorts and tank, covering herself but leaving the other half open for me. She pretends she's not paying attention to me as she picks up the remote, and one by one, the electronic candles go off, only several of them left, casting the room in almost complete darkness save for the candles on each side of her bed.

I don't know how to act and what to do. It's crazy to think that we've been together as many times as we have, and I barely ever was fully undressed.

I take off my shoes. She watches as I get on the bed and lie down on my back next to her. Her head is tilted slightly to the side, her humorous eyes on me like she's testing me. And then she scoots on her side right up to me, so I'm forced to lift my arm and wrap it around her shoulders.

Fuck me . So she made the first move. We are… cuddling.

She snuggles up to me, resting her head and hand on my chest, and I wish I could check her pulse to see if it's as crazy high as mine right now.

"I'm glad you came over," she says.

My doubtful brain tells me that she just needs to have someone around to feel safe, so I ask, "Are you scared of storms?"

She raises her face to look at me, her eyes dropping to my lips for a second. We are so close that if I leaned in just several inches, I could kiss her.

She smiles, meeting my eyes again. "Not at all. I thought maybe you are."

She chuckles as she buries her face in my chest, and I'm glad she's not looking because I can't keep my grin in check.

"I grew up among cruel men with fucked-up moral compasses," she says. "The worst things happened in the daytime. Occasionally, I was forced to watch. Night? I'm not afraid of the dark. You can't see the color red. Or pain in someone's eyes. Or broken bones. Blood is black at night."

Many do atrocious things at night because it's too dark to see their depraved selves. That's why basements are so common for committing crimes. I know it too well.

I think of Emily and try to shoo the grim thoughts away.

Maddy shifts in my arms, and I still, hoping she doesn't pull away.

"Darkness doesn't scare me, Rave. People do."

Am I one of those people? I stopped thinking about that. She is not scared of me, never was. Maybe despises me. That's probably even worse. Or puts up with me—that's the worst. Any emotion is better than indifference.

"Tell me something about yourself," she says.

"Why do you want to know about my past?"

I want to share part of myself with her. But why would she care? She doesn't need to know what a shitty person I was before Mac picked me up. I wish me and her met differently. I wish I was a more approachable man, with some of her goodness so that I didn't have to blackmail her into fucking me.

And here's the truth. That night I confronted her by the Thai restaurant, if she'd refused to go along with my blackmail, I would've never told on her. I would've never told Archer if she asked me not to, despite that secret jeopardizing Ayana and probably my work.

I hope one day she knows that. Not now, of course. She might break off our deal and would refuse to ever see me again, and then… well, then I would have to burn this fucking island down or do something stupid in anger. Or leave for the mainland, so I don't have to live with my regrets about her.

She doesn't look at me when she says quietly, "So you can fuck me in all ways possible, but I don't get to know you while you do?"

That's Maddy. She's become very straightforward lately. There's a peculiar fearlessness about her, the awkward honesty in the way she asks questions. I wonder if that's a no-nonsense Eastern European trait.

"Where did you get the scars on your body? There are so many," she says.

In the rare moments when I actually took off my shirt in front of her, it was impossible to miss them. My body is a map of all fucked-up things humans do to each other and to themselves.

She's not looking at me right now. Her fingers draw some invisible patterns on my chest, moving slowly, making my body hum in response.

And I talk.

"Fights," I say. "Accidents." It's easier to talk about scars than people. But I'm lying. Most of my scars did come from people. "Getting home late," I say, thinking about my foster father number three. Talking about the holy trinity that brought in all the suffering. "Doing bad in school. Talking back. Breaking the lawnmower by accident. Standing up for my little foster sister when he was drunk. Laughing too loudly."

"You have a foster sister?"

"She's gone," I say, my heart twisting at the words, because I never told anyone about Emily except Mac. "Technically, I had several. Multiple foster homes. But only one mattered."

"Why did you go to juvenile prison?"

So, she knows. I'm not surprised.

"For stabbing my foster father." Eleven times.

I expect her to raise her head and look at me in unease, but she doesn't. Her fingers continue moving in the same way on my chest.

She is silent for some time. "Why?" she finally asks softly.

And maybe it's time someone else got to know Emily, the only sister I ever knew.