Page 116 of Enemy
Sure enough, the light inside my cabin is on, which relaxes me a little bit, despite the annoyance of having to follow Clyde all the way here to find out what’s up. I stroke Nutter’s head in passing and go straight inside.
“It’s me!”
I know something’s not right when I walk into the bedroom to find Clyde stuffing a sweatshirt into a travel bag. He looks up at me with distracted eyes. “I… I need to go,” he chokes out, and the hairs at the back of my neck bristle.
“What are you doing?” I ask, taking two steps closer to the bed where we spent most of the afternoon imagining a future in this place. My chest fills up with something dense and heavy, until it bothers me so much I need to hold my hand against my breastbone. “Did something happen?”
In the warm glow of the bedside lamp, Clyde’s hair is like liquid gold, and I find myself itching to touch his locks, and then hold him, so he can’t leave.
He takes a deep breath, clenching and unclenching his fists. “This was a mistake. I can’t be here.” Clyde shakes his head and glances at the bag, as if assessing what else to pack, but he doesn’t have much right now.
I wish I could inhale his thoughts and not struggle like this, because he’s not like himself, and I need to know what’s up right the fuck now.
“‘A mistake’?” I repeat and join him by the bed in just two more steps. The smoke from the fire still clings to his hair, but under it is the scent of the shampoo he used, and the aroma of warm skin, which at this point feels so painfully familiar.
Something happened while I wasn’t around, and fuck, I should have never left him on his own so early.
“Where can’tyou be? In my house? Or with me?” I ask as my blood slows, freezing over like the nearby stream in winter. “AmIthe mistake?”
His lips tremble, and he looks so much younger right now. His blue eyes are wide open, and even the scar can’t make him seem any rougher. What could anyone have possibly said to him that affected him this much? He’s Clyde fucking Turner.
“No! No, no, no.” He strokes my cheek, but his breathing is unnaturally fast. Is he… on drugs? “You’re not the mistake. Never you. Listen, you just pack the essentials, and let’s go. Leave it all behind.”
I blink. “What? No. This is my home. I can’t just leave—” I mumble, making a broad gesture toward the porch, in hope that a bit of humor might make him more comfortable and share what caused this fit in the first place. “Who’ll feed all the cats?”
I was expecting him to tease me about them not being ‘my’ cats, but he peeks out of the window so distressed I need to hug him. “I… I don’t know. If you don’t want to go…”
Then… what? Is this about his house? His club?
I raise my hands, clutching at air. “Oh, come on Clyde! Will you tell me what the fuck happened? Did someone tell you something? Is that it?”
It’s like watching glass shatter under pressure. He bites his bottom lip, but his face twists, tears form, then streak down his cheeks, and he lets out a heart-wrenching sob.
I feel like each shake in his voice is a stab, and feel instant regret about raising my voice. I have no fucking idea what’s going on, but it doesn’t matter. I just want him safe. I want him to trust me.
“Fuck, I’m sorry,” I say, dragging both my hands down my face as my heartbeat speeds up, getting ever faster, until it’s like a powerful knocking inside my chest. “I just… don’t know what could have—” caused this.
What the hell could have turned Clyde Turner,myClyde, into such a mess?
“It’s fine,” Clyde says between one sob and another. It’s definitelynotfine, and him covering his face can’t hide that.
I wanted to give him space, but I can’t fucking deal with seeing him so sorrowful and pull him close, tucking his head under my chin and tightening my arms around him. It eases some of the tension inside my chest, and I exhale, knowing that he can’t leave for as long as I hold him. “Don’t lie to me.”
“It’s… too awful. I don’t want you to know,” Clyde whispers, awakening new layers of worry inside me. The way he’s clutching at the back of my vest and melting into me for comfort is both a relief and terrifying. He reminds me of a kitten I found trembling in the rain during a storm, and that isn’t like him. He’s Clyde Turner, who set off a bomb in our warehouse and wanted to murder me in a hospital bed. He’s been through so fucking much, and I never imagined anything could put him in this frantic state.
I try to steady my breathing, because me losing my shit too is the last thing he needs. I can be his rock, the deserted island that offers him shelter in the middle of a stormy ocean. “You can tell me anything. Whatever happened, we can deal with it. We don’t have to go back to the bonfire tonight, and tomorrow, we can go for a ride, after you pick your new bike—”
He pulls away, and if I didn’t grab his arm, I swear he would have tripped over the bed. His red, tear-streaked face turns into a mask of fury. “I’m not going to see that fucker! I don’t care if he’s your buddy! I’m not spending another night here!”
It’s like a puzzle, and I’ve just found the corners, but I’m missing so many pieces I don’t know how to continue putting it together. My gaze zeroes in on his, and I put my hands on his shoulders, determined to find the solution. “What did he do, Clyde?”
A silent battle goes on behind the blue eyes and I can only hope that his trust for me wins. Whatever it is, I can handle it for the both of us.
Clyde takes a deep breath. “I recognized the tattoos on his hands. It’s been years, but I swear to you, it’s him. I would not mistake them. But he’s everyone’s friend, your favorite mechanic, Prophet was so happy to introduce him. Who’s gonna believe me?”
He’s turning the puzzle pieces face up, but I still can’t see the full picture.
Or maybe I’m unwilling to do it yet, clinging to the illusion that what’s coming will not shake up everything I know. But I’ve been through so much shit I don’t need comforting lies. What I do need is to know what’s going on with my man.
