Glass House

THIRTY-SEVEN

Fiddling with the promise ring that hung loosely from my finger, I lay in this bed like a brick with my eyes wide shut. I was positioned away from Nas, aligning my body to the edge of the mattress with my elbows tucked at my sides because I figured he needed space.

He was positioned the same way on the other side, out of fear of startling me, I'm sure. Was it too soon to touch me? Was I scared? I couldn't have been, because I still tucked myself under his sheets after witnessing him beat a man within inches of his life.

Just like he'd done before.

"He deserved it," I whispered in my head, believing it a tiny bit more.

He wasn't asleep; his nerves rocked his legs back and forth as an attempt to self-regulate. Even though we laid here now with all our trauma between us, on opposite sides, in opposite worlds, I was with him.

Was he dead?

He had to be. I know what life looks like as it leaves a body, because I had seen it with my own two innocent eyes. I had caused it with my own two innocent hands. I knew what a cold body felt like: a palm pressed to a glass window on a winter day. Hard and dull. Pure nothing.

He had to be dead.

What even is innocence? His uncle was the opposite of it. People like him go somewhere worse than hell; where murderers, rapists, and pedophiles suffer an agony 10x more barbaric than the harm they chose to inflict on their victims.

Would it be fair? If I died tonight, would I be innocent? If the answer for me is yes, then the answer for Nas is also yes. Yes, despite how I reacted to seeing him that way, yes, despite the silence that lingered between us right now, and yes, despite what our future might hold for us. He was innocent. My victimhood isn't his fault, and I knew I had to stop punishing him for a trauma he did not cause.

"He deserved it," I told myself again. This time, I was unsure if I was talking about Nas' uncle or my step-dad. I couldn't be a hypocrite or a liar or a fake. I had gone through too much to not extend understanding to someone who always extended it to me. What we experienced made our hearts frigid, but Nassau Riley was thawing me quicker than I could have ever anticipated, and I wanted his warmth right now. And he needed mine.

I turned my body and my silk pajamas grazed the soft linen sheets. He wasn't there.

I popped up and snapped out of my thoughts. I could hear the metal of his belt jingling as he stepped down each stair.

Throwing my legs over the side of the bed and sliding into my slippers, I tiptoed to the top of the staircase where I saw him walking toward the door.

He turned to look up at me with lost eyes. The sadness of his gaze sunk into my chest, making me let out a heavy breath before joining him at the door. His eyes didn't leave me as I walked down, like he was afraid I would disappear if he blinked.

I approached him, subconsciously leaving a bit of distance between us. It wasn't intentional, but he noticed.

"How you 'ear me?" His cracked voice hit me harder than his shallow eyes. Frustration, grief, anger, sorrow, all laced into one and tied around his throat as he spoke, "Go back to bed."

"Nas...," I sighed, closing the gab between us and cupping his cheeks in my cold hands. I examined his face: perfect, but different. The spark that flashed in his eyes whenever he saw me wasn't there, replaced by something darker and heavier. Hopelessness.

His eyes bore down at me as he analyzed my face for anything. Any clue or emotion he could hijack just to rid the feeling of hopelessness.

"Tell me what you need," I stated plainly.