Page 83 of A Light in the Darkness
“I know it’s stupid.” My voice is a whisper, strained past the heavy breaths slipping past my lungs. “I just…”
“It’s not stupid.” She says, cutting me off before I can say anything more. “Fear is how we know we’re alive.”
I blink, studying her delicate face. “Living hurts.”
I don’t know what made me say it, and I kind of hate myself the minute it slips out. I’m supposed to be helping her, and here I am, whining about my fears to a teenager.
“It sure does.” Her lips quirk into a little smile. “Would it help if I sing?”
I’m not sure what she means until she tips her head toward the stairs that descend into the dark. “I’ll hold your hand and sing, so you know I’m with you.”
I feel so absurd that I want to cry and laugh all at once, the sound of the fire alarm filling the back of my skull and red lights cutting through my vision.
“Yeah,” I nod, slipping my hand into hers.
She begins singing the minute her fingers close around mine, and while I don’t recognize the melody and I think she’s singing in a different language entirely, her voice is beautiful and the sound is soothing. I feel for the banister with my free hand, using it to guideme down the stairs, and to ground me in reality. We’re halfway down the first set of stairs by the time the light flickers on with a resounding click that showcases the ugly linoleum walls. I don’t say anything, though I do breathe a little easier, and Taissa doesn’t stop singing, doesn’t let go of my hand.
We stay linked together the whole way downstairs, until we spill out into the hotel’s ambient-lit lobby.
It’s weird. I’ve spent the last week in a hotel with Remy, and now I’m here in this one with her, and suddenly, I realized it’s the first time I’ve stayed in a hotel. And the penthouse suite we occupied in Washington is hardly a real hotel experience. But this, with Taissa? It’s a weird first to note, but for some reason, I tell her anyway.
She stares at me for a moment, like she’s trying to imagine my life story, and then smiles a little. “It’s my first time in a hotel, too.”
The confession takes me by surprise enough that I stop walking to face her. I know why this is my first time in a hotel (or second, if I count it as a separate incident). I didn’t get vacations as a child—apparently the families I stayed with were too busy spending all their money trying to keep me to be able to enjoy a getaway. As an adult, everywhere I’ve stayed with Rhea has been lavish— someone’s home or a vacation rental.
“You’ve never stayed at a hotel?”
“No.” She laughs, glancing nervously around. “I… I didn’t have a normal childhood.”
“Me either.” I laugh ruefully, the memories of Addison’s confession making rage pool in my stomach. I can’t acknowledge it—I won’t acknowledge it in front of her.
I pull her in the direction of the kitchen, wondering if Elaine is up baking or something. I can’t imagine she ever gets a minute to rest with all these people to cook for. I hope Remy is compensating her enough for all the extra work.
“I’ve never been outside until the day they rescued us.”
Taissa’s words are rushed, like if she doesn’t say them fast, they’ll never get out. They give me pause to face her just as I turned the kitchen light on and notice her pallor for the first time. “What?”
She’s stark white, enough for me to see the web of veins under her skin. The irises of her eyes are the palest blue, a color like ice when she peeks up at me through her silver hair. And for her, my heart shatters. “My mom had me there. They let her keep me, because they said I was so sickly I’d die anyway. I never did, but when I was ten, she did. Her body gave up, and I had to step up into her spot.”
She bites her lip, like she thinks she’s said too much, and I bite mine to keep it from trembling. “You… stepped into her spot?”
“They don’t care for you for free.” She shrugs. “I got used to it.”
Her words feel like a knife to the heart, a stabbing pain that twists deep inside. It’s hard to breathe as I contemplate the honesty of her statement. I don’t know how anyone could ever get used to it, and I don’t even know exactly whatitis.
“How old are you?”
I know I’m about to hate myself for asking, because the answer is terrible no matter what it is. But she wants to talk to me… I get the sense she hasn’t had many people to talk to lately. Despite that, she speaks well.
“My mom has been dead for five years, I think. So… fifteen?”
Despite my best intentions, a sob breaks from my chest, and I shake my head profusely. “I’m so sorry. I…”
“It’s okay.” Taissa shrugs. “You didn’t do anything.”
“No.” I sigh, wiping a hand over my face to clear the tears that are threatening to fall.
Five years of abuse, and fifteen of captivity. She was only ten when they started letting men…
