The Boy with the Hidden Name (18 page)

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Skylar DorSet

“Selkie,” he says, and what he says next almost makes me

hate him. “I love you. I do. And I love that you trust me. I’ve

never had anyone— that’s not something I— we’re not very

good at it, not naturally. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to— ”

“I
trusted
you,” I correct him, and I hope I sound cold

and overbearing about it instead of small and wounded.

“I
trusted
you, more than I’ve ever trusted anyone else in my life. You were my constant. You were the one who was

always there. You made me feel safe and protected, and you

were…” I admit it then. “You were
mine
. But you weren’t.

You’re not. I trusted you, when everyone told me not to,

and then you left, and you made me feel insignificant

and
stupid
.”

“Selkie,” he says desperately. He takes a step toward me,

but he must see me tense, because he doesn’t come any closer.

“Selkie, I handled it poorly. I’m
so
sorry. Please, I just— I handled it poorly, I can— ”

“Never trust a faerie,” I remind him. “You told me that I

was appallingly bad at remembering that. You told me that

right here, right where we’re standing. When I said that the

only faerie I trusted was you, you told me that’s why I was so

appallingly bad at it. Do you remember?”

“I— ”

I don’t give him a chance to respond. “I don’t know why I

didn’t listen to you then, but I’ve learned my lesson now. I’m

sorry, Benedict.” I use his full name very deliberately, and I

see the blink of reaction in him, a small flinch, even though I

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haven’t really intended to name him. I just wanted to put dis-

tance between us, have him not be, for a second, the famil-

iar
Ben
of lazy summer days on the Common. “I think you

could promise the world now, the moon and the stars and

your undying love. And how could I ever believe you?”

He looks stunned, too stunned to manage to say anything.

I feel very tired now that this conversation seems con-

cluded. I wonder if I meant any of it. I feel like I did, but I

also feel like, if Ben would like to hold me right now, I would

be okay with that. If Ben would like a second chance, if he

would like to beg me for one, it probably wouldn’t take me

long to change my mind and give it to him.

It would’ve been nice if I could’ve fallen out of love with

him the minute he broke his promise to me.

I feel as if I am swaying on my feet. I actually stretch out

a hand to steady myself on something, but there is nothing

there to serve that purpose.

Ben’s eyes are no longer stunned; they are concerned. “Are

you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I lie. “I mean what I’m saying.”

“Yes,” he clips out, frowning. “I’ve grasped that.”

“I’m happy you’re safe, I am. I’m glad we were able to save

you. I don’t want you to
die
.”

“Good to know,” drawls Ben.

“Just don’t kiss me again.” I turn away from him, and I

want to be able to walk off grandly, head held high, showing

how very okay I am with all of this.

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Skylar DorSet

Up is down and down is up. It’s like being kissed by Ben.

It’s like being…it’s like…falling over. Or it is falling over. I don’t know. Am I on the ground? Am I in Ben’s arms?

“Selkie,” he says and shakes me, hands on my shoulders.

“
Selkie
.”

“Don’t kiss me,” I manage blurrily.

“Would you stop it with that?” he snaps. “Tell me what’s

wrong with you. I can’t fix you until we figure it out. Selkie.”

He shakes me again.

“I feel sick,” I inform him and tip forward against his shoul-

der. I am shivering violently, but I am burning hot, and the

world rocks around me, making me queasy. I close my hands

into Ben’s shirts. “Stop moving,” I beg him. “Stop moving.”

“I’m not,” he says. His arms go up, holding me to him, and

I should tell him to stop that. “I’m not. Selkie, darling, you’re wearing my sweatshirt. Let me put the charm back on you.

We need to push this off— ”

He is probably making sense, and I am willing to listen

to what he has to say, but first he has to stop twirling me

around. “Stop moving,
please
,” I plead.

He is gone suddenly, I am crumpled to the ground in a

heap, and the ruin spins around me like a carousel. Then Ben

is pushing at my coat. Is he
undressing
me?

“Don’t,” I try to frown at him.

“I have to get this coat off you. I think it’s killing you,”

he responds. His voice sounds frantic with worry. I wish

I could understand what he’s worried about. Maybe if

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he stopped touching me, I could pay attention to him.

“Selkie,
help
me, come on, darling,
please
.” He keeps tugging at my coat.

“It’s cold,” I tell him. “I’m not having sex with you here.”

He rolls me, still tugging at my coat. He is practically man-

handling me, and I am trying to resist but I am doing a ter-

rible job of it.

“Plus,” I continue, “I feel sick.”

He seems to have succeeded in getting my coat off me.

Now I am shuddering even more violently, and he gathers

me up in his arms, pulling me close, and I am grateful for the

warmth. The world looks like twilight; it is a swirl of violets.

I can barely make out Ben, and I blink, trying to clear my

vision, but the dimness is better. I can no longer really see the world whirring by me, and that’s better.

“Selkie.” Ben’s voice is low and urgent. “Selkie, listen to

me,
please
listen to me.” He presses his forehead against mine.

“Love me, just for a little while, the way you used to,
please
.

Love me and let me in. I can’t fix this with you fighting me

this way. We’ll finish this fight later, I promise. Love me now.

Love me the way you used to.”

“Don’t kiss me,” I tell him. I seem to remember that this

is important. I close my eyes and lean into the press of his

forehead, to the solidity of his body. He is the only thing in

the universe not spinning. He is the only fixed point I can

find, and I am half- annoyed at that, for reasons I can only half form.
Must
he
always
be
my
fixed
point?
I think.
Must
he
always?

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Skylar DorSet

“I’m not going to kiss you,” he assures me. “Just tell me you

love me. Tell me it once, Selkie, just this once. Just whisper it in my ear and I’ll pretend I never heard it. Just
tell
me.”

What
harm
can
it
do?
I think.
Maybe
I’ll tell him, and then
he’ll leave me alone, he’ll put me down, and the world will be
right side up again
. “I love you,” I say. And then I figure he might as well know the rest of it. “And I’ll always save you.

Don’t worry.”

For a split second, the world is finally still. I hear Ben take

a breath that is more like a shudder, and then he presses a kiss to my forehead. I want to remind him that he promised not

to kiss me, but then I think that maybe he meant kissing my

mouth
and so maybe I’ll let him off on this technicality and be more specific next time.

“Likewise,” he says shakily into my ear, and I don’t really

remember what he’s
likewise
- ing.

I’d think harder about it, except that the world finally spins

itself out and I find myself in blackness.

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T he world is loud and it is soft. Sometimes there are people

shouting all around me, and sometimes there is nothing

but the whisper of a breath beside me. Sometimes I am so

hot that I feel that my skin is on fire and I push at everything near me in an effort to find some relief, and sometimes I am

so cold that I shiver until it hurts and it doesn’t matter how

many things are wrapped around me.

It is lonely and I am all alone, although it seems to me that

whenever I think that, Ben’s voice drifts through my head, a

low murmur.
I’m here. I’m right here.

And he is.

I open my eyes, and I am in my room. My own bedroom,

at home, on Beacon Hill. It is dim in the room, twilight, or

else early morning, just before dawn.

I feel hollow and fragile, like if I move I might be ill, so I

stay in exactly the position I’m in, concentrating on breath-

ing and trying to remember how I got here. Because I wasn’t

here. Was I? I don’t think I was. My mind is a massive tangle;

getting a handle on the recent past is like trying to stagger my way through brambles.

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Skylar DorSet

So instead I try to focus on as many present sensations as I

can— the slide of the sheet against me and the cradle of the

pillow underneath my head. I am on my side, tipped toward

my window, and my hands are…caught up in something I

know I should recognize…

I close my hand into fists, and someone sighs, the mattress

shifting a bit under me.

I look down. Ben is in a chair next to me, and he is clearly

sleeping, leaned over, his head on the bed next to me. It

looks as if it should be uncomfortable, but after he finishes

stirring, he seems to fall back into a deep sleep. I look at

my hands, closed into fistfuls of his hair, and then slowly,

carefully, I uncurl my fingers and disentangle them. Ben

sleeps on.

I stay very still, no longer just because I don’t want to get

sick but because I don’t want Ben to wake up. Although it

appears to me that I’ve been sleeping for many hours, if not

days. Honestly, I feel exhausted, and I don’t feel up to another argument with Ben. The truth is I can’t quite remember how

we left things. Everything from the moment he gave me the

coat is a vague blur. There were kisses, but there was also…

there was…I told him, didn’t I? That I couldn’t trust him

anymore? Did I make him understand that? I am too tired

to try to untangle the complicated interweaving of heartbro-

ken devotion.

I am concentrating so hard on trying to remember how

the conversation with Ben ended that I’m not sure how long

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I lay there staring at him before I realize that he’s awake.

He has turned his head, still resting on my mattress, and

is regarding me calmly, his eyes pale, barely a hint of color,

and inscrutable.

“You’re awake,” he says eventually, after we look at each

other for a long moment.

I feel too weak to even speak to him. I manage to nod.

“Really awake,” he says. He reaches out a hand and presses

it against the curve of my cheek. I close my eyes, even though

I don’t want to.

He takes his hand away and makes a curious shuddering

sound. I open my eyes, since that’s not what I expected, and

he’s buried his face in the bedspread.

I want to say something to him, although I don’t know

what, and he lifts his head before I can decide. I realize for the first time that he looks awful, pale and drawn, dark smudges

under his eyes. His hair is not the good kind of unkempt. I

wonder if he’s been sick too.

“I’m sorry,” he tells me. He leans back in the chair. “I didn’t

realize the coat was cursed.”

This feels like the precursor to a serious conversation,

which I do not have the energy for. I am dying for a glass of

water, and I wonder if Ben is the right faerie to ask to find

me some.

But there is no need, because then the door is flung open

and both of my aunts scurry through and fall upon me, a

mass of hugs and kisses and exclamations from them, until

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finally somebody thinks to give me some water. When I

am able to take stock of things again, every person is in the

room— my aunts and Will and the Erlking and Kelsey and

Safford— except for Ben, who is nowhere to be seen.

Kelsey and my aunts are clustered by the bed, looking at

me in concern. They look as if they might never stop looking

at me in concern.

“How do you feel?” Kelsey asks me.

“Fine,” I lie, because I feel terrible, but I’m not delirious or semiconscious, so I suppose that I am fine in comparison to

that. “What happened?”

“We weren’t there…” Kelsey begins, looking to my aunts.

“We don’t know,” Aunt True says with a sniff of disapproval.

“Well, we know what Benedict
said
,” Aunt Virtue

contributes.

“He staggered through the door with you unconscious