Simple Math - sneak peek

“Da?” Penny points at the guest room. “Bunny?”

“Aye lamb, Bunny.” He tries not to look at the door, tries to push away the avalanche of despair. If he could burn it from his brain, he would. He’d take it away from everyone, you, Si, himself. He’d rewind time, take it all back, start from the beginning and fix it all.

The memories burn like fire. They’re ash in the back of his throat.

“We’d never hurt ye, we jus’ want to take ye home.”

 What a lie. Who were they kidding, doing this? Pretending they were some knights in shining armor, coming to rescue you?

They became everything you feared.

Pen nestles into his neck, gripping his shirt as she wiggles. “Story?”

“We’ll do one after bath time, okay?” She signs okay, and sighs.

“Gus?” He grits his teeth.

“Gus is downstairs, it’s bed time.” He can feel the tumultuous slope of a tantrum, Penny’s mood ratcheting up and up until it explodes. She’s tired, and stressed, too much like her Dad, reading the emotions in the house like its second nature. She knows something is wrong.

“Gus Gus,” her lower lip trembles, legs kicking. “Want Gus Gus.”

“Ye’ll see Gus in the morning at breakfast.” She doesn’t understand anything that’s happened, and the guilt eats at him, at what they’ve done to their family, what they’ve brought into their home.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

He holds her tight, kisses her forehead. “I love ye, Penny.” She sniffles.

“Luh you.”

He tells himself not to, but it’s hard to walk past your door without trying.

There’s no answer to his knock, as usual. Silence beyond the knob, consequences resounding and painful.

“Hey,” he settles in the rickety wooden chair at the side of the bed, leaning forward with a hand on the mattress.

No answer.

You blink at the ceiling.

“Wanted to check in, see if ye needed anything?” Please, say something. Say anything. “Somethin’ to eat, maybe? Si said ye didnae eat much of your dinner. Are ye feeling sick again?”

When you turn to look at him, he almost wishes you hadn’t.

There’s a lifetime of pain in your eyes. Fear. Anger. Hurt. All of it caused by their hand, their decisions.

He tries anyway. He has to.

“Penny is in love with Gus, talks to him all day long. Did ye know goldfish can grow up to ten inches? Researched it when we…” he swallows the lump in his throat, “when we got home.” Still nothing. Your fingers twitch on the edge of your kindle, and he’s overcome with the urge to place his hand there, to hold yours. “Ye know, Si an’ I were talking, it might be good for you to get out of this room for a bit, ye know? Maybe ye could come downstairs for breakfast tomorrow? See Penny?” Using Penny is low, but he’s grasping at straws, and he doesn’t know how much farther they can sink at this point.

But it’s all pointless.

You give him one last long look, a glare overflowing with malice, with pain, before rolling to your side, turning your back to him, effectively shutting him out. What’s left of his heart breaks all over again, just as it does every day.

“Okay,” he whispers, “I’ll… leave ye be.”