I stood from my chair and began pacing the room. I did not know what else to do in that moment. It gave me a chance to collect my thoughts without looking in his eyes and all the conflicting emotions I saw there. Unfortunately, in my experience, Alex’s story was not unique. At five, he might have been adopted if his father had been dead, or had relinquished his parental rights. For better or for worse, the system is set up to place children into a holding pattern—sometimes for years—until the biological parent is available to become a caregiver.

The rights of the biological parents are the system’s first priority. That meant Alex, at five, waited with strangers until his father was ready to take care of him.

“Was he ever released?” I asked, standing still for a moment to look into his eyes.

He nodded. “Yes. But then he’d go back to prison for some other crime, and I’d go back into homes.”

I sank onto the couch, then stood and paced again. “And when you were eight, you were attacked?”

Alex’s voice was a monotone as though the words were rote, as though he were reporting something that happened to someone else. “They institutionalized me after it happened, which—in a lot of ways—saved my life I think. We had access to computers for the games they had us play as part of our therapy, but we had no access to the Internet. I’d always been good with computers. I started hacking by figuring out ways around the safeguards they’d built into their intranet.

“Even at eight, it was so easy, it was fun. So when I gained access to the Internet, I read all that I could. I read about how to program and write code; how to decipher mathematical patterns, algorithms, and network structures—just anything I could get my hands on. When I was released….”

“Back to your father?”

He paused, his jaw set, his eyes unfathomable. He ignored the question, gave me his profile. “When I was released, I was behind in school. I had a lot of time to myself when I was supposed to be focused on catching up. The catch-up took no time—math, elementary school science and English, geography—it was a joke. So I used the time by myself to form relationships with the hacking community.”

“Is this where the bitcoins come in?”

He didn’t nod. He held perfectly still, his eyes widened slightly. I realized that this was territory where I’d be better off not knowing.

“Never mind,” I said quickly. “Forget I asked.”

He glanced at me, frowned, then looked at his hands. “No, no. I want to tell you.”

At this, I needed to sit again, and decided the best spot was directly across from him again. “Should you tell me?” I asked, my voice laden with meaning.

He clenched his jaw. “Probably not, but I want to.”

I winced. “Is it because I’m so easy to talk to?”

“No. It’s because if I tell you, then you will never be able to leave me. You’ll be trapped.” He met my eyes then, dared me to look away.

“Alex, that’s not an okay thing to say.” I shook my head. “That’s not even okay to think.”

“But it’s the truth, and I meant it. Maybe I am unbalanced.”

I met his gaze squarely. “You shouldn’t want to trap someone if you care about them.”

“I do care about you.”

“Then….”

“But I also want to trap you.”

I choked on nothing, wiped my face with my free hand, and realized I was still dressed in only a bed sheet. “You are…you are completely…you are just absolutely….” I peered at him through my fingers. He was watching me with his phantom smile. I breathed out slowly and let my hand drop. “You’re just tired of being alone.”

“No.” he shook his head, his tone flat. “I never minded being alone. I’ve been alone my whole life. Being alone is easy. What I don’t want, what I don’t think I could survive, is being without you.”

“That’s because I’m your first. I’m the first person you’ve been physically intimate with.”

“Nope.” He shook his head.

“You’re confusing sex with stronger feelings.”

“Sandra.” My name held a warning.

“You’ll see clearly after….”

“I won’t. I won’t ever see clearly again. If you remember, I was in love with you before we made love. I told you that.”

I bit the inside of my lip and my eyes fell to the floor. “You just said I was a fantasy, perfect. You can’t be in love with perfect.”

“I’m not in love with a fantasy. I’m in love with Sandra Fielding. Even though she won’t say it, she’s in love with me. If my math is correct, then that means we’re both already trapped.”

My earlier assessment of him as a live wire was proving eerily apt.

Or maybe….

I gasped, looked at him, considered his steady expression. Maybe he was playing a part, and we were still in the game. Maybe this was a test to see what I would do, how I would react. Maybe none of this was true. I hadn’t yet said true or false.

“Alex….” I licked my lips, got up, and sat on the table in front of him. My hands were shaking. “Alex, are we still playing the game?”

He didn’t say anything, but his eyes flashed lightning and his jaw ticked.

“Alex. This is false. This is all false.” I said the words desperately. “Your mother didn’t die when you were five. You did not live in foster care. Your father wasn’t in and out of prison. You did not ki….” I swallowed the word kill before it left my mouth; instead I opted for, “You did not defend yourself against another child when you were eight. You don’t want to trap me.”

Alex smiled. “Oh, Sandra…you’re so wrong.” He looked immeasurably sad. “It’s all true.”

I heaved a watery sigh and covered my mouth with my hand as the first tears tumbled down my cheeks. Soon they were a waterfall, and I hid my face in the sheet.

I felt Alex’s tentative hand on my shoulder. After a brief moment, as though testing whether I’d accept his touch, his grip became stronger, and soon one hand became two and he pulled me to his lap, and I cried against his chest.

I cried because I couldn’t unknow the dismal truths he’d just shared with me. I cried because I would miss my feelings for him, the ones before I knew how completely wretched his life had been. I cried because he’d been right all along; I couldn’t fathom how I would be able to stand by, ignore all my training and instincts, and just let him be broken. I cried because he’d finally been honest with me, and I was crying like a selfish cow.

But mostly, I cried because I loved him and he’d suffered, and there was nothing I could do to fix or manipulate the reality of his past.

***

We didn’t speak for a long time, even after my tears dried. The desire to stay on Alex’s lap, cradled in his arms, sharing his warmth was strong…compelling…overwhelming.

But I had to pee.

Therefore, I stirred, pushed against him—gently—unfolded from his arms and stood. But I didn’t move.

My face hurt, and I knew it was a bloaty, snotty, crusty mess. I didn’t care. It was me.

I glanced down at Alex from the corner of my eyes. He wasn’t looking at me; his attention was affixed to the bay window and the city beyond. He’d moved his hand to his mouth, his thumb and index finger tugging his bottom lip as if he were lost in thought.

I cleared my throat; even so, my voice was thick and nasal. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

He nodded; it appeared to be an absentminded, autopilot response. He still wasn’t looking at me.

I cleared my throat again, this time louder. “I’m going to start the bathtub. Can you give me a few minutes before you come in?”

He blinked, his eyebrows drew low in plain confusion, and then his eyes flickered to mine. A spark of desire—to hold him in my arms, keep him safe, fight his battles, and never let him go—swelled within me.

Instead, I asked, “Have you seen the amazing tub in this place?”

He shook his head.

“It’s big enough for four people.” I gave him a watery smile.

“Sandra, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Please?” I sniffled, swallowed. “I just want to be close to you.”

He breathed out, closed his eyes, and shook his head. “You’ll see it as the end. You expect me to let you go, to say goodbye. That’s not going to happen.”

I blinked against new tears threatening to spill over. “I don’t know what I expect.”

“I do. And I have no plans to make things easy for you.”

“Fine. What would you have me do?”

“Want me. Just…want me.” His eyes opened. He did not lift them to mine. Instead, he reached for my hand, cradled it in both of his then leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and brought it to his forehead.

When he spoke next, the back of my fingers were pressed to his brow, and he spoke to the ground. “When I was younger, I wanted plenty of things, plenty of people, until I realized there was no point in wanting. Since then, I’ve never had something I wanted, not really. Not ’til you.”