Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 124341 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124341 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
She brought her hands gently to his golden stubbled cheeks, cupping her hands in their shape, though only brushing his skin. Their eyes met, and there was a world of raw need in his. Autumn remembered what it was like to crave touch, something that was rare when she was younger. She’d become such a tactile person as a result, so it hurt seeing what touch did to Sam. He was an ADHM baby too, motherless just like her. Had he ever been held or caressed or simply cared for gently?
“Thank you, Sam,” she whispered again. She returned to her chair and sat down across from him once again. “Will you tell me why you memorized it?”
He blinked, looked away, ran a hand over his short hair. “Your words…the way they made me feel. I’d never felt that way before.” He paused and met her eyes. “Repeating them made things easier. The surgeries…the pain.”
She pulled in a shaky breath. She felt honored and overwhelmed. She gave him another smile, and he smiled back, this one appearing more natural as his broad shoulders lowered.
She kept the journal on the table but used one hand to thumb through it, catching passages, poems, word combinations she’d liked, descriptions, poorly drawn sketches—one of him. Her boy made of moonlight. A smile skittered across her face as she remembered the girl she’d been then. “These were my thoughts during that time,” she said. “This was who I was.”
He watched her so intently. “What do you mean? Who you were?”
She closed the book and picked up her fork, taking a mouthful of macaroni. “Well, we’re different during different phases of our lives, don’t you think?”
“How so?”
The question appeared to startle him, maybe trouble him slightly too. She was beginning to understand his facial expressions and body movements. He hadn’t told her nearly enough about himself, and she felt strongly he was holding quite a bit back, but even so, she’d begun to know him, to understand him, even if his “tells” were subtle, his mannerisms extremely reticent, his personality almost…muted.
He was rough around the edges, introverted, often withdrawn, but there was a world of tenderness that lived inside him too. He protected it, and she understood that he had great reason to do so. Those who had “raised” him had not valued that quality, nor encouraged it. If anything, the opposite was true. So the fact that he’d managed to protect it anyway spoke to his strength of heart and his iron will.
She also knew he didn’t see it that way.
He was so deeply complicated, and some part of her wondered if she’d ever really know him, even if he allowed her in. Because she sensed that he didn’t fully understand himself. His own thoughts. His own feelings. What she did know was that despite his rough exterior, no one who didn’t possess a tender soul would have given her the gift he had.
She thought about his question. “Don’t you think you were different when you were in the hospital than you are right this minute?”
He took a bite, chewed, looked thoughtful. “I know more now. I’ve had different experiences.”
“Right. And those things change you. They alter your views of the world, of people. Your tastes change and expand.”
He looked thoughtful again. “Experiences change your mind, but do they change your soul?”
It felt like something clanged inside her, dull and echoing. “No, but souls don’t need changing. All souls are good. The minds are what get warped.”
“Maybe. But souls can be ruined too.” He said it so matter-of-factly, in a way that made her heart thump hollowly, similar to the way she’d felt when he told her his soul never sang.
“Do you think your soul is ruined, Sam?”
“Sometimes.” But his expression told her more. His expression said, All the time. He gave her an unpracticed smile. “But this is supposed to be a nice dinner, so let’s talk about happier things.”
She watched him for a moment, taking in his golden lashes and his full lips, that square jaw, and the matching scars at his temples where metal plates had been embedded under his skin. He’d told her that the doctors had healed him and then been forced to use metals in place of body parts that had been damaged by the pharmaceuticals. But what could have possibly been damaged at his temples? How did medicine ruin ribs? Or knees?
Something was terribly off.
And not just about him. About her own experience too. She sensed something deeply sinister, even beyond being left in the woods so that “trainees” could practice hunting with real prey. Her.
But he was right. As many challenges as they faced, they also needed moments of lightness in order to deal with the things weighing them down. She gave him a secretive smile. “There’s a box of cake mix in that cabinet,” she said, gesturing behind Sam. “We can make dessert too.”