Page 67 of The Truth About You and Me
He looks across at me. Dark eyes burning. ‘You’re rare. You’re special. I wanted you to know that.’ He indicates the space beside me. ‘May I?’ I nod, my heart speeding up. He sits on the other side of the sofa, eyes meeting mine. ‘After you left, I didn’t know how to feel. I thought I’d misunderstood, or… or that you were, I don’t know…’
‘Crazy?’
‘No, not anything like that. I was trying to make sense of why you would say something like that.’ His throat bobs. ‘I guess I was trying to work out why you would think that was the truth. And then I couldn’t stop thinking about it, or you. I’ve… been doing some research.’ He scrubs his hand over his mouth as though he wants to rub the words away.
‘Research?’
‘Yeah, podcasts and such… There’s quite a lot out there when you start digging… about empaths and brain science and…’
There is a rush of something like hope. Like the moment the curtains pull back in front of the screen at Flicks, where there is the promise of something new about to unfold. All my life I’ve hidden my ability, kept it a secret, like Grandma had told me to all those years ago and here he is. Trying to believe me.
‘Youbelieveme?’
‘I… I’m hoping to. I want to understand.’ He tilts his head. ‘Tell me more about how it works. If I touch you, will you be able to hear everything about my life?’
I shake my head, dragging my eyes up to meet his. He has no idea what this means to me, that he’s trying to find a way to see the real me.
‘No, not everything, just what you’re thinking in that moment. Sometimes, if you’re more emotional, I can see thoughts too, but that doesn’t happen often. It’s hard to explain, but I… I can prove it to you.’
He frowns, a line forming between his eyebrows.
‘If you’d like? I can show you.’
He chews the inside of his cheek, looks away then gives me a small nod. ‘OK.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Yeah. I’m sure.’
‘Picture a place that only you know about, focus on a specific detail and describe it, like you’re writing it all down. Repeat it a few times so that is theonlything you’re thinking about.’
His eyes cast around the room as he thinks, looking up at the ceiling then back to me, a small knot of worry knitted in the corner of his mouth.
‘Ready?’
He nods. ‘As I’ll ever be.’
I take a moment to calm my breathing, then tentatively, I reach out and cup the side of his face. The bristles of his stubble scrape against the palm of my hand. He closes his eyes as his voice rings out, clear, slightly nervous.
It’s small and dark. Coats and boots are scattered on the floor.
I can smell lilac.
In my hands is a book.
The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.
Please let this be real. I don’t want to lose her agai?—
I drop my hand and shift back as he opens his eyes, searching my face.
‘It’s a small dark place. It smells like lilac and you’re reading a book.’ His eyes widen, his expression somewhere between impressed and scared to death.
‘What book?’
‘The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe,’ I say gently.
The colour drains from his face. And I know he’s scared. The truth is too much.
