Page 138 of Awry
No one loves me like these three boys, these three young men, loved me in these pictures.
“Zaya?”Rought asks in a soft, gentle whisper.He doesn’t reach out to me.
I don’t have to look back at him to know that no threads bind us.
We don’t share a bond.
We don’t share the friendship, the love, that is so clearly captured in these photographs.
I reach out and touch the edge of the picture frame.And for a stifling moment, pure rage streaks through me.
I want to yank the picture off the wall.
I want to smash it all over the floor.
I want to reach through the shards of broken glass and tear the photo asunder with bloodied fingers.
Because not only is it not a photo of my life, not my past— it won’t be my future either.
Because the Conduit doesn’t have a future filled with love and family.
The rage leaves me so suddenly that I sway, exhausted all at once.I drop my hand from the picture frame, my fingertips from the caption.
“Did I get a tattoo as well?”I ask.
Rought exhales heavily.“Yes.All four of us.About a week before … this … I think.At the time, I didn’t know Mack …” I feel more than see him glance around at the gallery’s worth of photos.
“You didn’t know Mack was taking sneaky pictures?”
“No.”
I turn to him, numb but no longer hollow.I’m filled with grief.I’m filled with loss.And hopelessness.
Rought has pulled on a plain black T-shirt over his black sweatpants.He still looks as though he could sleep for another twelve hours.His hair is tousled, and a thick ring of gold edges his blue-green eyes.His gryphon is present, watching.
“I have no tattoo.”
Rought slowly reaches toward me — his right hand, palm up.An almost-faded scar — teeth marks — mars the fleshy pad under his thumb.“No mating bite either.”
I raise my left hand.My skin is unmarred.But somehow … somehow I know it was my left thumb pad that he bit.“So that when we held hands …” I trail off because I just can’t continue.
“Yes,” he says simply.
“We know each other.”
“Yes.”
“We loved each other.”
“Yes.”
“But … I … I can’t remember any of that!”I stumble over the words, but I’m shouting at the end.
Rought’s tone stays even, calm.“I know.”
“How?How?!”
“I know because you never would have left us otherwise.”
