Capture

Just like my parents were.

But I didn't voice that.

He tensed beneath me as if reading my thoughts. Maybe with Linc I didn't need to voice things like that because he knew me well enough to know what was going through my head, which admittedly, sounded crazy considering it had only been around three weeks. But he was one of those people, the type that had such a magnetic, yet familiar, pull that you were powerless to stay a stranger for longer than twenty-four hours.

"You'll never be able to move forward," he whispered, "until you stop looking behind you." His lips grazed my neck. "You know that, right?"

"Is that life experience you're speaking from… or just wisdom because you're old?"

His good-natured laughter vibrated against my back. "Just promise me you won't put me in a home for my twenty-second birthday…"

"Dang it! I knew I should have hidden those brochures for Seaside Manor!"

"Very funny." Linc kissed me softly down the right side of my neck; his lips lingered over my pulse. "And I'm speaking, from… experience."

I tilted my head and glanced up at him, raising my eyebrows.

"Why, Lincoln, what do you mean?" he said in a ridiculous falsetto that was meant to represent my voice. "Tell me your deepest, darkest secrets."

I rolled my eyes.

"You were thinking it. I was just voicing it for you." He smiled as I made myself more comfortable in his embrace while keeping his face in sight. "Sometimes it seems stupid to share my story, like it isn't tragic enough to be important to anyone but the nine-year-old kid who had to live through it, you know?"

"Yeah." I played with the thread of the blanket, twisting it around my fingers until my circulation started to get cut off. "I still feel like that. I mean, my parents died, but at least I had parents."

Linc grunted. "Some days, I wished my parents would get in an accident. At least one bad enough that my grandma would have to come take care of us, or better yet, we'd be able to go live with her." He looked disgusted with himself. "It's horrible, admitting that out loud. Confessing that my prayers at night were for my parents not to come home, while your prayers were for them to come home unharmed. Twisted in a really sick way."

My body tensed; I couldn't help it. "Did they hurt you?"

Linc's eyes didn't meet mine. He watched the fire as he spoke. Maybe the memories were too painful; maybe he was afraid that if I looked into his eyes I'd run or see too much. "Our skin wasn't marred by physical abuse. Our souls, well, that was an entirely different thing. It's sad when you break your kids so much on the inside that they wish you would just break them on the outside so they could at least explain to their teachers or other family members how bad it is. But as a kid, it's always your vote against the adults, and with no bruises, no scars… who's going to believe you? I can't even count how many times my parents would say that to us. 'Who's going to believe you?'"

Feeling sick to my stomach, I almost didn't want to ask. But Linc kept talking, and for once, it was nice to hear about someone else's pain, not because it made mine hurt less, but because I was honored to share it with him. Pain recognizes pain, and his was suddenly so evident on his face that my heart threatened to break. Had I really been that blind? That wrapped up in myself that I no longer recognized when someone else was struggling? Better yet, when someone else was stuck in the same pit I was and trying desperately to claw his way out?

"It wasn't bad at first. When I was little, they bought my love. As I grew older, I realized that having the latest in technology was a crappy substitute for a mom's hug. I can still remember asking her for a hug, the look on her face. Damn, I may as well have asked her for a pet alien. She laughed and told me only good boys get hugs. I asked her how I could be a good boy, a better boy, and you know what she said?"

I shook my head.

"Figure it out."

I gasped.

"I was five, and because money was such a big thing in our house, I figured that the best thing to do, to be a good boy, was to earn my keep. I started doing chores around the house, got a job delivering newspapers, and for my mom's birthday, I bought her the most expensive necklace I could find. I even convinced my sister to pool her money with mine so we could surprise her. The day of my mom's birthday, we ran into her room, so excited to give her the present, only to find our mom in bed with another man and another woman. My dad was away on business."

I covered my face with my hands. "What did you do?"

"Well, she yelled…" Linc flinched as though hearing it all over again. "… and told us to get the hell out, which we did. Later that morning, when she was finally sober enough to speak to us without yelling, we gave her the present, and she threw it in the trash." His voice shook. "My parents… are both, quite possibly, the most selfish human beings in the history of L.A., and that's saying a lot. If it hadn't been for my grandparents, I'd probably be just like them. As it is, my sister, well, she takes after my mom, while I'd like to think I favor my grandfather."

"Linc…" My voice was heavy, emotional. "… I can't imagine a mother treating her son that way. I mean, why even have kids?"

"Tax write-off?" he suggested in a joking tone. "I asked my grandmother that, and she said it was a competition thing. Having kids was about keeping up appearances, showing everyone how perfect and rich she was."