Page 73 of Break the Rule
“Do you have any pets?”
Eden shakes his head, surprised at how goddamn soft Agnes’ fur is.
“What about growing up? You have any pets growing up?”
“No.”
Eden’s throat gets tight, and he continues to stare at Agnes, wishing the front door weren’t so far away. This is the part where normal people make normal conversation, but Eden isn’t normal. He didn’t have any pets because he didn’t have a home or parents.
“Never wanted any?” Charlie prompts, still trying.
Eden shrugs. He used to love animals as a kid because they wouldn’t care if he tried to use crayons like makeup or made skirts out of his sheets when no one was looking. Or at least he assumed so. None of his foster parents had animals, and it wasn’t like he had friends.
“We didn’t have any growing up, my parents were so busy, and it just never happened. But my youngest brother Alec cameout of the womb loving animals. He used to come into the house with lizards and injured birds and stray cats. Once my parents came home and he’d found a fucking turtle—a turtle—wandering around and turned their bathroom into a habitat. That’s where all mine came from. Birdie was on the kill list at a shelter because no one wanted her, and Alec called me sobbing and well—then I had a dog. He found Agnes near the college. We’re not sure where she came from, but we took her to the vet and put up fliers. No one wanted her, so she’s mine now. I’ve got two more cats who are around here somewhere, one of which you met already, but they’re assholes, so don’t bother trying to pet them unless you’ve got a treat for them.”
“Why did you keep them?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, did you want them all?”
“Well, not initially no, especially not that fucking hamster, but Alec’s persistent.”
“You have a hamster?”
“Yeah, there’s an enclosure in the other room. Little asshole is named Sweet Cheeks, but there’s nothing sweet about him. He’s the devil. He’s a pain in my ass.”
“Why don’t you just get rid of him?”
Charlie’s expression morphs into confusion. “What do you mean?”
“He’s difficult,” Eden says, unsure why the way Charlie is looking at him makes him feel like he might throw up. “You could get rid of him.”
“I don’t get rid of things because they’re hard, Eden.”
Eden’s eyes burn, and he clenches his jaw so tight his teeth grind. It’s just a hamster, not a kid, but suddenly Eden can’t stop wishing someone had said the same thing about him. He can’t stop wondering how different his life might have been if one—just one—of his foster parents hadn’t given up on him and givenhim back. Maybe his mom hadn’t given him away. The only thing he knows for sure is what was in the paperwork he got when he was of age and able to get his own records.
A drug addicted baby dropped off at a fire station. Someone working had seen a woman come and leave him there, wrapped in an old, stained sweatshirt and nothing else.
He’s just a more difficult baby than we expected. He doesn’t play well with other children. He cries too much. He fights too much. He’s not a good fit for our family. We can’t quite meet his needs. We think maybe he’d do better in a home without siblings. We think maybe he’d do better in a group home. We think maybe someone else can handle him better.
Always someone else. From the moment Eden was born, he’d been given away and shunted around. He thought he stopped caring, thought maybe most people would’ve done the same if faced with a high-needs baby that became a difficult toddler then grew up to be an argumentative, gender nonconforming queer kid that fit nowhere. Everyone got rid of what they didn’t like, didn’t they?
“Eden?” Charlie whispers.
It occurs to Eden that he’s crying.
Fuck Charlie for making Eden feel like this.Fuck him.
“You’re infuriating,” is what Eden says.
“Well, no arguments there,” Charlie replies, shuffling closer instead of further away. He should be running away from Eden, not getting closer. He continues to slowly scoot closer like he’s afraid if he moves too fast Eden might bolt. He’s not wrong, the itch is there. It’s only the fear that if he runs, Charlie might not follow that stops him this time. He shouldn’t care, but he does, and that makes this all so much worse.
To his relief, Charlie doesn’t mention the wetness on his cheeks and holds out his cat instead.
“You wanna hold her?”
“She won’t like me.”
