Page 144 of Adam
“The kid you’re talking about …” I say hesitantly.
He nods once, slowly. “It’s Adam.”
Such a strange story. He speaks in riddles about his mother, but from what I’ve understood, and from what I’ve seen, he was scared of her. She didn’t sound like a good one. Maybe even worse than mine.
And yet, his childish, innocent mind kept trying to please her, still hopeful enough to believe that trying harder might make her happy.
“Have you known him long?” I ask, resting my face in my palm.
He adjusts his glasses, thoughtful.
“I’ve been with this family since before Adam was born. I was twenty-four, maybe twenty-five, when his father hired me to help around the house. Alice didn’t have children then.”
After a moment, he adds, “Not long after, she became pregnant with her first.”
“Adam has a brother?”
He nods. “Cain.”
He takes a sip, his eyes distant.
“Soon, Alice grew worse. Much worse. She started slipping. The pills, you see … there were too many. Some days, she barely knew where she was.”
He hesitates, fingers tightening around the mug.
“And then she … she got pregnant again.”
“Adam?” I ask.
“M-hm.” His eyes darken. “My poor Alice went through so many things. She was in no state to protect herself back then.” He shakes his head, almost to himself, lowering his gaze. “I should have been there more. I should have noticed sooner.”
MyAlice …?
“She only smiled when Cain was around,” he continues. “Cain and Judas.”
“Who’s Judas?”
“Her brother’s kid.” He adjusts his glasses again, not looking at me. “Adam’s cousin.”
The question has been gnawing at me. Wasn’t she happy when she was with Adam? Only with the other two? Why?
I want answers, but they’re not mine to demand. If Adam wants to tell me, he will. Eventually, he will.
“He’s never spoken about this place,” I say, taking a sip of my coffee.
“It was never pleasant for him,” he replies. “So I suppose being here must be for a very important reason.”
He looks at me then, a playful glint in his eyes.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“As a kid, he always had nightmares,” he says, staring into his coffee. “Strange for someone his age. But then again … maybe it wasn’t, considering the way he grew up.”
He exhales slowly, rubbing a hand over his mouth.
“People called him an asshole. Said he rebelled too early. But I know better. He was exhausted. Sick of everything.” He gives asmall shake of his head. “He just wanted out of this place—and he couldn’t get away.”
He pauses, fingers tightening around the mug again, then continues, quieter.
