Page 26 of Way Down Deep

And figuring out precisely what it is I want to do with you next.

In the meantime, tell me about your childhood.

I’m not asking for a banquet here, just a few forkfuls. What was your first pet, or what was the view out of your bedroom window? Did you like to jump in puddles, and if so, what color were your boots?

Anything. Anything at all.

3.33pm

Now I don’t know whether to be happy or annoyed at myself. I forgot that you had asked me not to give you any hang-in-theres. The urge to tell you how amazing I think you’re doing just took over my fingers, and I couldn’t seem to do anything about it.

Call it excitement over the balcony.

Adrenaline or something.

Though I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t love knowing that it was encouraging in some way. That they made you feel so much, and part of the feeling was pride. Because you should be proud.

Of what you’re doing for him. Of what you’re doing for me.

You are doing something for me, Malcolm. I don’t know what it is either, but I can tell it’s there. I wake up more hopeful about what the day might bring. More excited about my life, because now I know my life can have something in it. I can talk to someone without smashing to pieces and feel pleasure without following it up with guilt or shame.

Even the thought of you going away doesn’t terrify me like I thought it would.

Though I hope you take that the right way.

I don’t ever want you to feel like I couldn’t be without you.

But oh, I would love you to stay.

3.44pm

Damn, I keep skipping your questions. I got as far as thirty seconds into MasterChef before I realised. But in my defense, there always seems to be so much to say. It’s easy to miss things out, even if I don’t mean to.

Or maybe I mean to a little, when it comes to childhood.

Even though your questions brought up so many sweet memories. I had red wellingtons, as bright and glossy as glace cherries. And I loved them so much that I actually hated puddles. I avoided them so my lovely boots could stay looking so pretty. No marks on them, no streaks of mud. Just two perfect little jewels, always waiting for me by the front door.

Instead of the usual series of hand-me-downs and things worn to a thread.

And I never had a pet.

Pretty glad about that now.

What about you? Tell me your favourite thing from childhood.

6.22pm

I should have known better than to ask.

With every question, I keep expecting to learn something about you, to get a solid, tangible answer I can hold in my hands, a new shard of a vessel I’m trying to piece together to contain you.

But every answer only hatches a hundred more questions and leaves you somehow more nebulous than ever. Like maybe this pot is as big as a pyramid, and even a bathtub full of shards can’t help me.

That’s not a criticism, though. I’m not annoyed, and I’m not going to pry. Not just yet. For now, I’ll take what I can get and turn your eerie, beautiful, melancholy little details this way and that in the light, and enjoy them for the puzzle pieces they are.

As for me, my favorite thing from childhood…

I have a lot. I have tons.