her with respect or compassion, simply because she was another human being.”
I was so overwhelmed with emotion that a tear slipped out of my eye. “You weren’t like them. You were never like them.
He looked over at me for the first time since he’d begun the story. “Sometimes I felt like it. Like I was just as dirty as them. There was a lot I had to let slide and not respond to, in order to affirm my cover. Things I shouldn’t have allowed, people I should have protected.”
“You were protecting people, though. You were protecting more of them by doing what you were doing. Think about all the people whose lives are better because you did what you did, because you helped take them off the streets.”
He reached out and wiped the tear from my cheek with his thumb, the way he had that dark night in that basement room. “When they first put you in the room with me, I saw your face when you saw me. You thought I was one of them too.”
“Only at first—because of how you looked. I know you’re not like them. I knew it that night too.”
“But I let it happen. I didn’t protect you either.”
I could see on his face how much this fact was eating at him. Aching emotion rose up in my throat. “But you tried. Gideon, you tried. No one could have done any more than you did.”
“Knowing I tried doesn’t change anything.” His face twisted briefly, evidently from emotion like what was shuddering through me. “I didn’t protect you when you needed me to.”
I choking on sobs now. I hadn’t cried for months until last night, and now I couldn’t seem to stop. I brushed the tears away and forced out what I knew was the truth. “It does change things. I told you the truth that night on the phone when I said you were like a glimmer of light to me that night. You changed things for me. I’m not sure I would have even come out of that house alive, if you hadn’t been there, if you hadn’t done what you did—that night and for the eight months before it. You changed things for me .”
He made a rough sound and pulled me into his arms, and I cried against him for a minute. I don’t think the embrace was just to comfort me. I think he needed it too.
I pulled away when I’d mostly composed myself. “I’ve never blamed you, Gideon. You know that, right?”
He nodded. “I know. But that’s because your heart is...so sweet.”
I didn’t think my heart was sweet. Not anymore, if it had ever been. But I didn’t object to his words because I liked how they sounded. I sniffed and said, “No. It’s because I know what happened. Because I know who you really are.”
He gazed at me, his eyes deep with naked emotion I couldn’t fully identify. Then he finally said, “Thank you.”
I nodded and sniffed and wiped my eyes. “Thank you—for telling me that, I mean.”
He nodded, his expression changing. Like he was waiting for something.
I suddenly knew what it was.
I was the one who had told him—who had thrown the words out to him like a challenge—that if he ever opened up to me himself, then I would open up to him.
Just a week ago I’d said it. Being absolutely certain it would never happen.
But he had, after all. Which meant it was my turn now.
I was tempted briefly to tell him that it wasn’t fair, that he was manipulating me by twisting it around like this. But he didn’t deserve that. He was being good to me now, just like he always had.
I wanted to be good to him too.
“I’ve been doing that a lot. On the elliptical trainer, I mean.” I stared down at my empty coffee cup, feeling exposed and so young.
His voice was incredibly mild, as if he didn’t want to spook me. “For how long?”
“Since I moved out here.”
“How often?”
“Every day. For hours and hours.”
I heard him take a jerky breath. “Can you tell me why?”
“I don’t know. Not completely. I think it just hurt so much that it clouded all the other stuff. It was almost satisfying. Like I wanted my body
I was so overwhelmed with emotion that a tear slipped out of my eye. “You weren’t like them. You were never like them.
He looked over at me for the first time since he’d begun the story. “Sometimes I felt like it. Like I was just as dirty as them. There was a lot I had to let slide and not respond to, in order to affirm my cover. Things I shouldn’t have allowed, people I should have protected.”
“You were protecting people, though. You were protecting more of them by doing what you were doing. Think about all the people whose lives are better because you did what you did, because you helped take them off the streets.”
He reached out and wiped the tear from my cheek with his thumb, the way he had that dark night in that basement room. “When they first put you in the room with me, I saw your face when you saw me. You thought I was one of them too.”
“Only at first—because of how you looked. I know you’re not like them. I knew it that night too.”
“But I let it happen. I didn’t protect you either.”
I could see on his face how much this fact was eating at him. Aching emotion rose up in my throat. “But you tried. Gideon, you tried. No one could have done any more than you did.”
“Knowing I tried doesn’t change anything.” His face twisted briefly, evidently from emotion like what was shuddering through me. “I didn’t protect you when you needed me to.”
I choking on sobs now. I hadn’t cried for months until last night, and now I couldn’t seem to stop. I brushed the tears away and forced out what I knew was the truth. “It does change things. I told you the truth that night on the phone when I said you were like a glimmer of light to me that night. You changed things for me. I’m not sure I would have even come out of that house alive, if you hadn’t been there, if you hadn’t done what you did—that night and for the eight months before it. You changed things for me .”
He made a rough sound and pulled me into his arms, and I cried against him for a minute. I don’t think the embrace was just to comfort me. I think he needed it too.
I pulled away when I’d mostly composed myself. “I’ve never blamed you, Gideon. You know that, right?”
He nodded. “I know. But that’s because your heart is...so sweet.”
I didn’t think my heart was sweet. Not anymore, if it had ever been. But I didn’t object to his words because I liked how they sounded. I sniffed and said, “No. It’s because I know what happened. Because I know who you really are.”
He gazed at me, his eyes deep with naked emotion I couldn’t fully identify. Then he finally said, “Thank you.”
I nodded and sniffed and wiped my eyes. “Thank you—for telling me that, I mean.”
He nodded, his expression changing. Like he was waiting for something.
I suddenly knew what it was.
I was the one who had told him—who had thrown the words out to him like a challenge—that if he ever opened up to me himself, then I would open up to him.
Just a week ago I’d said it. Being absolutely certain it would never happen.
But he had, after all. Which meant it was my turn now.
I was tempted briefly to tell him that it wasn’t fair, that he was manipulating me by twisting it around like this. But he didn’t deserve that. He was being good to me now, just like he always had.
I wanted to be good to him too.
“I’ve been doing that a lot. On the elliptical trainer, I mean.” I stared down at my empty coffee cup, feeling exposed and so young.
His voice was incredibly mild, as if he didn’t want to spook me. “For how long?”
“Since I moved out here.”
“How often?”
“Every day. For hours and hours.”
I heard him take a jerky breath. “Can you tell me why?”
“I don’t know. Not completely. I think it just hurt so much that it clouded all the other stuff. It was almost satisfying. Like I wanted my body
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