The Devil Child

Chapter Sixty-Three

 "You're just lucky my mom doesn't come up here," Alex mused as he watched Polly sketch in her book at the table. Her head was bent over, her blonde hair falling in soft waves down her back. He admired the way she looked in the dresses she always wore, but he knew she was off-limits to him.

Despite who she was, and despite why he needed her, Alex found himself falling into a comfortable place with her. With those wide blue eyes, that spitfire personality, and the way Polly carried herself when it mattered. She was careful, precise. He knew she was using him, too, and he didn't care. It had been too long since he had a friend to confide in, or even a friend to hang around. His life was lonely, as most politician lives were.

Polly didn't look over her shoulder. "I've never met her. Is she nice?" Polly's question had more to do with being polite than it did her own interest, but she needed to keep Alex on her good side. She needed him to gain freedom and to be able to draw. And she needed him to get on her mother's good side.

Alex's voice sounded closer when he responded. "She's a pleasant person, but she knows who you are. With your face on national television and all."

Polly's back straightened, and this time she did look over her shoulder. Her blue eyes were wide with surprise and fright at his words, as though it had never occurred to her that she'd be on television. "National television? But the elections are in Vermont."

Alex gripped the back of her chair, close enough so that she could smell his expensive cologne. His hair, always so perfectly groomed back, flopped over onto his forehead when he leaned down. She could see the stubble on his chin and the soft freckles on his nose. "When there's talk of a governor putting gay people in camps, there's bound to be talk everywhere."

Polly felt queasy all of a sudden, despite knowing this. She knew this would happen. It wasn't supposed to be a surprise, but in that moment, it was. She didn't even respond, and instead just blinked up at Alex, trying to find the words to say to him. Trying to act normal.

"Besides," Alex continued, "my father is running with Tanner's father. She knows exactly who you are."

This time, Polly stood up, knocking Alex's hand from the back of the chair. Her mouth felt dry, and her body began to shake. She'd had plenty of panic attacks before, but this felt almost worse, because she was just beginning to feel comfortable around Alex. Spending time with him was like spending time with Lennard; the two were similar in many ways when it came to professionalism, but this was different. She was getting too comfortable.

"You're in on this? You're trying to get me killed in gay camps?"

Alex felt the situation shift, and he immediately reached for Polly. "Wait, wait a minute. I have nothing to do with my father. Why do you think I'm here instead of in Vermont, living with him?"

She felt her body shaking, remembering Tanner and the camp, and how her body was strapped down to the table where she was abused. She felt her legs tremble, and then she slid to the floor, trying to breathe.

All she could think of was being back in that camp, trapped forever, strapped to a table with Tanner's father. The pain of being trapped, abused, and neglected on a table. The feeling of being less than human because of who she liked.

"I can't go back. I can't go back." She gripped Alex's shirt, but she wasn't really seeing him. She was picturing herself, back where she belonged, in Tanner's camp. All because she was a devil child, who belonged in the depths of Hell.

Alex had never dealt with panic attacks. He grabbed Polly's face, trying to tilt it up to look into her eyes, but she was looking at the ground, her chest heaving. Something like fear coiled its way into his chest as he realized that there was little he could do to make the panic go away.