After Will finished, he handed the letter back to Sophie.
“So?” he asked. “What are you going to do about this?”
“What do you mean?” Sophie’s brow knit together.
“Well, someone claiming to be your mother is writing you, apologizing for all the shit she put you through, asking to be allowed back into your life,” Will said. “Are you going to let her?”
Sophie shrugged her shoulders, gazing across the long, green field. The sun was starting to set along the horizon, causing the sea to sparkle more than it already was. They were the only two occupying the green terrain. Most of the school was still on break, and probably wouldn’t return for another ten days. It was quiet, still as a graveyard. For whatever reason, this compelled her to whisper, and Will followed suit.
“I don’t know,” Sophie answered. Now, her sapphire eyes were focused on her tennis shoes and mismatched socks—one white, one pink. She had the itch to reach up and play with her hair, but it was already swept into a high ponytail, and she didn’t want to reveal just how nervous she was about the whole thing. “I mean, she abandoned me. There’s no nice way to say it. She and my dad packed up all my toys and clothes, and left me with two garbage bags at the door of a fire station with a note that said they couldn’t take care of me. I had no idea what I did wrong or what was happening. One of the firemen wanted to adopt me, but his wife wouldn’t let him, so I was put in foster care. I hated my parents for what they did to me. I hated them for it.”
“But?” Will guessed.
“But,” Sophie agreed, “they’re still my parents. I … I don’t know. A part of me still wants to hear them out, ask why they did what they did.”
Will nodded. Sophie finally looked up at him and could clearly see the tension in his face. He really was trying to be understanding, but she could tell he was holding back his real reaction. If they hadn’t gotten together in the cabin, she was almost positive he wouldn’t hold back on her now.
“Listen,” she murmured, locking eyes with him. “Just because we’re … you know, I just don’t want that to change us. It shouldn’t. If you have something to say, say it. You can still be supportive and voice your opinion, can’t you?”
“I can try,” Will replied.
They had yet to move from their meeting spot, though they were supposed to be training; a light jog around the grounds, and then on to weights. Sophie had pointed out she didn’t need to increase her strength, and Will replied that she could always improve her muscles. It might serve her in the long run, and it would build healthy habits. Sophie hadn’t objected; she didn’t particularly mind the weight room.
“I think this whole thing is fishy,” he told her. “I think it’s no coincidence that you’ve settled at your new home, your permanent home, and suddenly, your parents want to be back in your life. I think it’s bullshit.”
“You think it’s bullshit that my parents want me?” Sophie asked, feeling her voice catch. She hadn’t realized how emotional she was over the subject, but clearly she was.
“No, no.” Will gave her a warning look. “Don’t do that. Don’t do that girl thing where they take your words, twist them around and manipulate the situation. Don’t. That’s not what I mean.”
Sophie crossed her arms over her chest. “What do you mean, then?”
“Hey, there’s no need to get defensive. You told me to talk to you, remember?” He arched his brow. “All I’m saying is that I think it’s strange that your parents want to find you and be in your life after you’ve made a life for yourself already. Why now, and not two years ago?”
“Maybe they couldn’t find me two years ago,” Sophie pointed out. “I’ve been in and out of homes since they left, Will. Maybe they couldn’t keep track of me when they realized that leaving me was a mistake. Maybe they’ve been trying for all these years, and now that I have a home, now that it’s something stable and will keep me for as long as I need it to, they found me and want to try and work everything out.”
“And you’re going to just forgive them?” Will asked, giving her a look of doubt. Her insides churned with guilt, though she couldn’t explain why. It wasn’t a look Will typically gave her, but she hated it all them same. She hated the way it made her feel. “Just like that?”
“I never said that,” Sophie told him. “But I want to see them. I want to at least hear what they have to say. Don’t you get it? Don’t you think it’s something I’ve wanted to know, even more than wanting to know how I was born with this super strength? In the grand scheme of things, I couldn’t give a shit about my power. It’s something I was born with and it’s nothing I can change. What’s kept me up at night is wondering how two parents could give up their only child. And now I have that opportunity to figure it out.”
“Are they even your real parents?” Will asked. It was brusque and more than a little rude, and he knew it. He looked like he was going to apologize for it, but something stopped him, and his guard—the one she had worked so hard to remove—went up.
“What?” she asked, not quite sure she understood the question correctly.
“Are they even your real parents?” he asked again, this time more confident with his question. “Don’t think you’re the first student who has random family members coming out of the woodwork once they hear about your ability.”
“Yeah, but my parents abandoned me because of my ability,” Sophie pointed out.
Will gave her a look. “Exactly,” he said. “You’ll be able to tell whether or not they’re your parents, kid, once you meet them. But you don’t know right now if they are. What if they’re using that as a ploy in order to get you to meet them so they can kidnap you and force you to be in some sick sideshow at some terrible circus?”
Sophie started laughing. She felt bad, but she couldn’t help it. “Has that ever happened?” she allowed, making sure her voice sounded innocent and genuinely curious.
Will’s brow furrowed so much that it nearly covered his eyes. “No,” he admitted, causing Sophie to laugh.
“You’re cute, Will.”
“And what is that supposed to mean?”
“It means, you’re being a little ridiculous,” she pointed out. It was starting to get cold now—the sun had set completely, leaving a trail of light in the night sky, but darkness was fast approaching, and with it, a cool sea breeze that caused the hair on her body to stand erect. She started rolling to her tiptoes and down to the flat of her feet over and over again in order to help keep herself warm. “I have super strength, Will. Even if you’re right and this is one big joke, don’t you think I’d be able to defend myself? I did it before, with Michael and the club. Don’t you think I’d be able to do it again?”
Will narrowed his eyes. “I don’t like to talk about that,” he told her, referring to the night Sophie, Jane, and a couple of their friends had snuck out to a dive club in downtown Catalina, where Michael had tried to get a hold of not only Sophie, but Jane as well. The club was currently being rebuilt, and Jane stayed in the nursing station for a few days, though she hadn’t been physically injured.
“You’re protective,” Sophie stated. “I think it’s cute.” She glanced out at the sky. “Listen, if we’re going to train, can we start now? It’s getting cold and I want to turn in early.” She wanted to avoid Jason and his friends if she could. “Plus, I have something to tell you.”
It seemed like Will was going to say more on the topic. In fact, he wanted to. But he pressed his lips together in a thin line and glanced away. She could practically hear him counting down in his head from here.
The sight made her smile. He was trying.
“What would you like to tell me?” Will asked, springing into a jog.
Sophie kept up with him. “Well,” she said. “I broke up with Jason today.”
After training, Sophie went back to her dorm to take a shower. She and Will didn’t talk about her parents again that evening, and she wasn’t sure if she was grateful for it or not. A
s much as she appreciated Will’s concern, he didn’t quite understand what it was like to be abandoned by people who were genetically programmed to love her. It wasn’t like she wanted some big reunion or anything, yet she did want to know why they left her. She wasn’t ready to forgive, but that didn’t mean she wanted to close the door on them, either.
After changing into pajamas and wrapping her red hair up in a towel, she sat down at her desk. Her room was quiet; Jane was with Depogare, and probably would be for the next couple of weeks, and Elle was still with her family. She didn’t actually mind the quiet as much as she thought she would. She wasn’t even scared, either.
She took out the letter her mother had written from the top drawer, and read it one more time. Then, without hesitating, she pulled out a blank piece of paper and a pen, and began to write. She didn’t write about how happy she was that her mother wrote. She didn’t write about what she wanted to know. She didn’t even ask questions. Instead, she answered the question.
Dear Stephanie,
I am open to meeting with you and Issac some time next week. I can do either Thursday or Friday at lunchtime. Please let me know if this works for you.
Best,
Sophie
She read her response with a critical eye. It was detached, perhaps uncaring. She stopped the guilt pooling in her stomach at her tone and pushed it back down. These people abandoned her, she reminded herself. She didn’t have to be nice. She didn’t have to pretend that everything was okay when it clearly was not.
After two more read-throughs, she decided it was sufficient. Folding it up, along with the original letter, she put it back in her drawer. She would put her response in the mail tomorrow, and from there, she would wait.
18
It was five a.m., and Jane was up, tears in her eyes. Her back hurt more than it had been, and she wondered if she strained it too much the previous day. She was currently on her stomach—an uncomfortable position for anyone with big boobs—but she couldn’t move lest she risk more pain flooding her senses. She didn’t even remember how the pain started; all she knew was that she had been asleep, something woke her up, and she couldn’t reclaim that slumber.
You should consider calling for Depogare, a voice pointed out.
Jane refused. She didn’t want to wake Depogare and ask him to help her. She wasn’t quite sure how he would, anyway. This was something she would simply have to suffer through by herself. Certainly it would die down, and she could go back to sleep.
Except it didn’t, and before Jane could stop herself, a tiny cry of release emerged from her throat. She immediately clamped a hand over her mouth to prevent any more sound from being emitted, but it was too late. The damage was done.
“Jane?” Depogare asked from the doorway, his eyes half-mast. He was leaning against the frame, clearly having just woken up and probably thinking something bad was happening to her, rushed to her room without thinking.
His hair was the messiest she had ever seen it, dark copper strands going every which direction, and he wore simple pajama pants. They were black in color, and were neither loose nor tight. He didn’t wear any socks, it would seem, even in winter. And he also did not wear a shirt. His torso was completely bare.
The sight caused the pain to pause, albeit briefly, so she could take the sight of him in and commit it to memory because she absolutely knew she would never see it again. His skin tone matched that of his face—it wasn’t a shade lighter—and he had tattoos everywhere. They all seemed to be in the same style as the cross on his forearm, and she wondered if they had anything to do with his Russian upbringing. Despite his Southern accent, Depogare was Russian, and had been around in the days of Anastasia. His chest and stomach were toned; he even had a six packed of well-developed abdominal muscles. His shoulders were broad, his arms defined. She would give anything to see what his back looked like, but knew she was pressing her luck even now.
“Jane?” he asked, rubbing his eye with the back of his hand. “What is the matter?”
“I—” Even the word that came out of her mouth sounded painful, and she had to stop herself from crying out.
This seemed to wake Depogare up more than anything. “You’re in pain?” he asked. When she nodded, he walked in and grabbed a container that had been left on the dresser. He didn’t even question the fact that she had been staring at him or that he wasn’t wearing a shirt; he took the container and proceeded to read the instructions as he took his usual seat by her bedside.
“This will ease your pain,” he told her finally. “I’m going to put some on your back. Do I have permission to remove your shirt?”
Jane laughed through the pain. What an odd question, coming from him, and said in the wrong context. But she nodded her head, because she couldn’t speak, and did her best to help him ease it off of her.
There she was, her torso nearly as exposed as Depogare’s. She could feel her face burn, and she couldn’t help but angle herself in a way where she wasn’t as exposed, where she was hidden from view. She was on her stomach anyway, so he couldn’t see much, but still …
And yet, there was a part of her that wanted him to see. That wanted him to look at her and take her in. He should be confronted with the fact that she was an adult, a woman, and she had desires like other women did. Her body was not a girl’s either. She had hips. She had breasts. She wanted him to know that, to understand it.
The most sensual part of her body used to be her back. It was her favorite body part just because of how feminine it was. It curved in and out, the skin tight around her muscles. And now … she hadn’t even seen what she looked like now. A part of her didn’t want to, worried it wasn’t the same. Not with those scars running up and down her back.
“I’m … I’m going to touch you, Jane.”
He sounded hesitant, uncomfortable. Of course he would be. She almost rolled her eyes, but her back was screaming and all she could do was nod her head, indicating that she heard him, that she gave him permission and understood. She took the pillow, placed underneath her, and bit it, just in case it hurt when he touched her. She wanted to muffle any noise she might make, and this seemed like the easiest way to do it.
Her body tensed, preparing for Depogare’s touch, and when his skin finally met with her back, she couldn’t help but flinch … until she realized that his hand felt cool and it didn’t intensify the feeling. If anything, he soothed it. She let out a little grunt of relief and nearly wept with joy. She knew Depogare was hesitant—it was clear in the way he touched her—but she didn’t care at this point. All she knew was that his touch brought relief, and she didn’t want it to go away.
His hands rubbed up and down her back in firm, long strokes. Jane could feel Depogare’s eyes burn into her back, and she wished the circumstances were different. The feel of him made her want him even more, and her face turned red once again just thinking about it.
She had no idea what she was feeling or how to get it to stop. She didn’t even know if she wanted it to stop.
By the time he finished, the pain had disappeared. Her hands released the balls they made, clutching her covers, and she tilted her head to the side to release the pillow from her mouth. She took a shaky breath in, and released it from her mouth. Her eyes, now at half-mast, glanced over at the professor, and surprisingly enough, caught him staring at her.
“You’re sweating,” he said.
Before either one understood what was happening, he took his hand and brushed away golden strands of hair that clung to her face. She didn’t care if there was balm still on his hand. It felt good. It felt nice. She closed her eyes and leaned into it, and hated that this was all she would ever get from him, at least in reality.
“Yes,” she said, though there was no reason for her to answer. He hadn’t asked her a question. However, she felt that she needed to say something, anything.
“Jane, I—”
“Thank you.”
Jane hadn’t meant to interrupt him, and she sc
olded herself for doing so. He was going to tell her something, and now she might never know what he was going to say.
“Jane.” There was her name again. “You don’t have to thank me. I want you to feel better. I want you to be better.” She watched as he clutched at his hair, pushing it from his face, not caring one iota if his hands were sticky “I hate that you’re injured this way. I hate that Kessler had to heal you. I feel as though this is all my fault.”
“How is it your fault?” she asked, furrowing her brow. “I know Ethan thinks that someone targeted me on purpose and everything, but that doesn’t make it your fault.”
“It is my fault,” he insisted.
She felt herself start to get angry with him. “How is it your fault?” she asked. “You weren’t there. You weren’t with me. You had no idea this was going to happen. You didn’t send me to the field. I left, remember? I left and I was by myself, giving them the perfect opportunity to attack me. You had nothing to do with it.”
“It’s my fault because everything you said that day was true.”
His words were firm and caused the air surrounding them to charge. It was like a rumble of thunder right before a storm. Jane froze, letting the words sink in softly like rain falling to ground during springtime. She had been right.
“I … I’m not good with feelings, Jane,” he admitted. His voice was low and indifferent, but she could tell just by looking at his face, in his eyes, that he struggled with what he was saying. “I do have feelings for you. I do care about you. But they’re completely inappropriate. We cannot be together. Yet that doesn’t mean I don’t want to. It doesn’t mean I don’t want you.”
Jane inhaled again, exhaled through her mouth. She needed to get oxygen to her brain, to pinch herself. What if this was a dream? What if this was all in her head and Depogare was really back in his room sleeping and not confessing his feelings to her? She wanted to make sure this was real. She didn’t know what she would do if she found out this was only a dream.
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