Page 69 of Bittersweet & Strange

He doesn’t turn around. “I will.”

I stare at his back while his head rests against the wall beside the window. Usually there is something waiting for me when I enter this room, even if it’s anger. A glare. An argument. Some complaint he has clearly spent hours preparing for the instant I opened the door.

There’s nothing now.

When I make no indication that I’m leaving, he finally turns slightly toward me and lifts his arms to hug himself. “I’ll eat,” he repeats quietly.

He’s dismissing me. Or perhaps he’s simply waiting for me to leave because that’s what he’s grown accustomed to. I close my eyes and draw in a deep breath, then look at him again.

This is what I wanted.

The thought is uglier now that I can see it standing in front of me.

He isn’t trying to get past me. He isn’t asking about Bramble or his father. He isn’t bargaining for another hour outside his room. I could probably leave the door open tonight and find him standing in this exact place tomorrow morning.

I wanted him to stop fighting.

I never considered what would have to die in him to make that happen.

“I go into the village twice a year, usually,” I say. “There are supplies I need that I can’t grow here.”

His eyes lift to mine.

“I’ll bring you with me. You can see your father.”

I wait for something to happen. Euphoria. Relief. Gratitude. Even tears would make sense. Anything would be preferable to the blank expression he gives me before turning back toward the window.

“I’ll wait here,” he says quietly.

I stare at him, certain I must have misheard. “What?”

“I would rather stay here. Preferably with the door unlocked, but do as you see fit.” He rests his head against the wall again. “I’ll be here when you return.”

I can only stare at his back.

Weeks ago, Boone nearly killed himself trying to reach his father. He rode into a storm knowing I would come after him because seeing that man mattered enough that he was willing to risk everything. Including his life. Now I’ve offered him exactly what he wanted. I’ve offered to take him there myself, and he would rather remain locked inside this room.

Something is very wrong.

And I did it.

I don’t like admitting that, even to myself.

This isn’t Boone choosing me. It isn’t him finally accepting the castle as his home or understanding that I can give him a better life than the one waiting in the village. This is Boone no longer caring enough to choose anything at all.

Perhaps letting him go really is the only way to keep him.

Not because I suddenly care about freedom as much as he does. I don’t. If I could know with absolute certainty that locking him inside this castle would leave every other part of him untouched, I would turn every key tonight and never question it again.

But it won’t. I know that now. I can keep his body here indefinitely, but I’m beginning to understand that I cannot keep him that way. Another possibility occurs to me as I watch him. Perhaps he doesn’t intend to be here when I return. There are other ways to escape a prison besides walking through the door.

I look around the room, my attention stopping on the window in front of him. The height of this part of the castle has never mattered to me until now. I look at Boone again, at the way he’s holding himself and the complete absence of everything that used to make him impossible to ignore. Anger, fear, stubbornness, and endless defiance.

The possibility that he might take his own life to escape me sits so poorly that leaving him alone immediately ceases to be an option.

“We leave in the morning,” I say.

His body stiffens, but he doesn’t argue. He doesn’t ask where we’re going or how long we’ll be gone, nor does he remind me that he just said he wanted to stay here. He simply nods.