“Does she know that?” I asked, turning to get a better look.
“I think so,” he mumbled to himself. “I hope so.”
“Maybe make sure,” I pulled my phone from my pocket. “Also, you recognize that Xaden’s actual issue is with himself, right?”
Finn’s brows furrowed, shaking his head. “No, Daph. It is most definitely with me.”
“Think about it. You were his best friend. He trusted you. He let you in…”
“If this is you trying to help, you’re doing a shitty job at it!”
“I am just saying that Xaden blames himself more than he blames you, and someone he trusts has to help him let that shit go, or at the very least, forgive himself for things he could not control. Have you said that to him?”
“Said what?” Finn huffed, turning down the rocky driveway to my cabin. “I’ve apologized out of my ass to that guy, and he doesn’t give a shit.”
“But have you taken accountability?”
Finn breathed deep, rolling his neck in a way that suggested he was done with me.
“Have you told him that you and Tess made choices together that were out of his control, and none of this is his fault?”
“Nope,” he said, behind a grin that closed the conversation for good. “What about you and that whole architect thing you brought up in a café?”
Because what better way to get the spotlight off yourself than to shine it somewhere else?
“Are you asking about Thay or my childhood?” I asked, popping the tab on my sparkling water and taking a sip.
Despite being parked outside my cabin, I had the distinct feeling I was going to be here for a while.
“Both, I guess.” He shrugged. “I mean, I shared the darkest spot in my existence with you. The least you could do is even the battlefield.”
I took another gulp. There were no dark splotches in my life. The whole thing was blotted out.
“The second I tell people about my story, they act differently around me. And while I am not ashamed, it’s exhausting to deal with repeatedly.”
“I’m not as shallow as you think,” he said, giving me an expression that poked at something uncomfortable inside me.
“Fine,” I exhaled. “But if you look at me with the slightest shred of pity, I will ask for a new preceptor. Understand? I’ve already lived through this shit; I do not need to do it twice.”
“Deal!” he consented, urging me on.
“As I said before, my parents did not know I existed until they did. I can’t even comprehend how I made it to six years old. I have almost no memories of being fed, dressed, or taught to bathe. All I know is that I spent most of my life on a dirty mattress in the center of a moldy bedroom at the edge of Seattle, across the way from a boy about my age. I used to see him pace through the window in my room, especially at night when the lights began to flicker.”
Finn listened, leaning his head back against the headrest.
“His parents liked to play sick games, poking at him to see how long it took for him to piss himself or making him playguess the numberwith a syringe full of heroin waiting if you got it wrong.”
Finn shifted uncomfortably, and I wondered if I should stop. This wasn’t easy for most people, and that was okay. It shouldn’t be.
“Go ahead,” he urged, meeting my eyes to tell me to continue.
“One night, he climbed through my window after his father put an iron to his back and basically never left. We looked after each other. He became my family. He fed me, and in return, I made sure he did not disappear. Over the years, we kind of just melted together.”
“Holy hell, Daphne.”
“After a stint in juvie, he found me beaten to a pulp after my father pimped me out to a bad mustache with too much muscle. When I fought back and didn’t stop, he promised to return with friends. That night, Thay packed what little shit I had, and we ran away together,” I gulped. “I guess the rest is history.”
History that was none of his business.