“Well, for Empaths, we just sort of absorb excess emotion from people and it makes us stronger.”
“So you’re kind of like vampires, feeding on other people’s life force.”
“That’s silly.”
“Fine, leeches then, or parasites. I mean, excess? You really think that people don’t need every bit of the emotions they are feeling? That anything you can tap into is just spare?”
“I…” I hadn’t thought of it like that. “I just thought the powers were part of being a hero.”
“Pretty people, hot cars, wads of spending money, bank jobs- do you think that’s what it means to be a hero? You have no idea.”
“And what do you think a hero is?”
“Someone who doesn’t think about themselves, that puts others before them always, even their life. Someone like my…”
Dean stood up without warning and dumped his empty plate into the sink. He paused there for a moment then came back to sit next to me on the lounge. I chewed my toast slowly and stared at my plate.
“I wish I knew how you were feeling.” Why did I say that out loud? I blushed and rambled on. “I just mean, you block all our feelings away for whatever reason, so much that it extends out and blocks Empath powers too. If I knew more about how, or why, it might help.”
Dean made eye contact for a moment before returning his focus to the stained carpet.
“If you could work out how to let emotion out a little, it might be easier to also pull them in more, create a more powerful block than your normal one. Something that could lock down an Empath permanently, like Jake said blockers can do. Do you think you could try letting some emotion through?”
Dean shook his head. “I don’t think I can just… do that.”
My suggestions weren’t working and Dean seemed less and less interested in trying them. But he had let emotions through in the past, or at least had been surprised out of holding them back so much they blocked my powers. In the alley, and when he was shot, he was too shocked to keep a tight rein on his feelings. I hadn’t actually read his emotions those times, but I hadn’t exactly tried. Other things on my mind and all. If I could just surprise him again now, I could see what happened.
I acted on the impulse before common sense or embarrassment could stop me. I leaned over to Dean next to me on the lounge and pressed my lips against his. They were soft and cool and spread slightly under mine. My eyes fluttered closed and a shiver crept over my scalp. I felt the coldness leave me and opened my eyes, surprised that my impulsive action worked. Dean’s gray eyes looked into mine, just inches away, just as surprised.
I focused on reading any emotions I could in them, drawing them into me. What I felt was heavy with depression, hiding something smaller, tentative and warm. Something guarded even closer. I moved my lips back away from Dean’s. His breath was fast and hot on my face.
The depression I tapped overwhelmed me, like a heavy weight around my chest dragging me into black water.
“Oh, depression, gross.” I made a sound with every vowel and a heavy grunt at the end. Only too late did I realize how insensitive my reaction was. Dean was confused, hurt, and then the icy chill spread through me again and I couldn’t read him anymore.
“Oh no, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to react like that. I just wanted to try surprising you into letting your guard down. I guess it worked. The feelings were just a bit much for me. But I’m sorry, anyway. I shouldn’t have done that.”
Dean had closed off completely. He didn’t look sad, or upset. He didn’t even look angry. But now I knew inside he kept hidden an ocean of grief. Pressed down, out of sight. I could tell his life wasn’t easy. Everything around us screamed poverty line. His dad didn’t seem to work, and was probably an alcoholic, but Dean seemed smart, and able, and so… kind. My own chest ached wondering what had caused such despair here.
I tried to smooth things over with Dean. He didn’t talk much for the rest of the day, but remained cooperative, nodding and trying a few more suggestions. We tried some visualizing techniques but honestly they just felt wanky. It was still early when Dean started looking gray and tired, and I could tell his arm troubled him. We ended the day frustrated and without any headway on locking down my powers.
I insisted Dean kept his own bed and I curled up on the beanbag. He fell asleep before me, and for a while, before I found my own rest, I stared at him, remembering the sensation of the deep, black despair he kept inside.
***
Thursday morning I woke up to Dean trying to tiptoe around me.
“What time is it?” I asked, squinting at the window. The blinds were still drawn but barely any light came in.
“Six thirty. I need to get to work.” Dean put on a dark blue hoody with holes at the elbows. “I’ll be back about three.”
I sat up quickly in the beanbag. It shifted under me and I almost fell on my side.
“No, you can’t. If you’re out working all day Jake might find you.”
“I have to work, Livvy. I didn’t even get to cash Dad’s welfare check this week and I’m out of money.”
Not only had I been taking up all his time, eating his food, and getting him in trouble in the first place, it was my fault he couldn’t get to work or a bank. He couldn’t work now anyway, not manual labor.
“No, I won’t take any arguments. You can’t go, not with your arm like that. I bet it’s hurting.”
Dean sat down again with a slight wince.
“Yeah, I thought as much. Can I have a look at your arm? We should put a clean dressing on it. Or at least that’s what people seem to do in movies. Then you can walk me into town and I’ll see about some cash.”
“And that will be safer than me going to work?”
“I’m not going to rob anywhere if that’s what you’re thinking. And at least if I’m with you, I could knock you out or something and use my powers to get us out of there if things go wrong. If you show up at your job with a bullet hole through your arm, people are going to talk and Jake will find out who you are and where to find you.”
“Well, you have worked out one way to shock me out of my blocking ability,” Dean mumbled.
I blushed and went to get more makeshift first aid supplies. Once I got some cash in town I’d get some real bandages and dressings.
I unwrapped and cleaned Dean’s arm. It hadn’t gotten any better, and the skin around it was red and inflamed. I bandaged the wound with the last clean washcloth available in the trailer and Dean walked me into town.
It proved hard trying to walk casually while still keeping an eye out in all directions for Jake or the team. We made it to the main street without any sign of them. The bank was closed up, police tape webbed across the front flapping in the slight breeze. I went into the pawn shop I saw last time I was here and sold my heart pendant necklace. I got less than half what I had paid for it new last week, but it was something, enough to get by a couple more days.
I asked Dean about somewhere to get lunch, and he took me around the corner to a tucked away diner with a drug store conveniently next door. I bought a cheap first aid kit which had alcohol swabs, bandages and dressings then went into the diner, insisting on buying lunch for us both.
The diner had a mix of cracking plastic table sets and a line of tall booths along the wall. It was still early for lunch so the place was practically empty and we took a booth in the far back corner.
I bullied Dean into ordering something substantial, and after I’d paid I slid the remainder of the cash across the table.
“What’s that?” He was already shaking his head.
“It’s for you.”
“I can’t take that.”
“Sure you can. It’s your pay. I’m paying you to work for me, to keep trying to do this blocking thing. If you can’t get to your job because of me, then I’m your job.”
We locked gazes, both unwilling to budge with the money sitting on the table.
The waitress brought our food over and raised an eyebrow at our strange stand-off. She put a massive hamburger down in front of Dean, and milkshakes that came in tall retro glasses. My fish and fries came in an actual basket, already spotted with grease from previous meals.
I smiled at the waitress then pouted. “I’m trying to pay him back and he won’t take it.”
She wiped her hands on her apron and flicked her curly hair. “Just take the cash, kid, before I consider it a tip.”
Dean pocketed the money begrudgingly and the waitress left us to our food.
“You didn’t have to sell your pendant. Didn’t it mean something to you?”
“Other things mean more.”
I picked through the fries and battered fish bits. They were good but I didn’t have a big appetite. Dean seemed to barely be putting up with my presence.
I wasn’t surprised considering the trouble I’d brought him, not to mention crashing his house and sleeping in his room. Each day he seemed more and more irritated sharing close quarters with me. Or maybe it was my crazy plan and nagging to get this to work. But it had to work.
Back in his trailer after lunch we sat in his lounge room and tried again to practice his blocking abilities. We attempted turning them off and on, making them stronger or weaker, but nothing worked.
Dean’s wound bled through again so I rewrapped it with real dressings and the result looked a lot better. I hoped that meant it would also heal better. I didn’t like the way it was looking one bit.
Dean was just putting his shirt back on when his dad stumbled in the front door.
“Just finishing up with your little whore?” His words were slurred.
I winced. Great, an angry drunk. I liked him better when he was passed out and snoring.
“Dad, don’t.” Dean stood up and made a buffer between the two of us.
His dad’s gray hair was greasy and while his eyes were the same shade as Dean’s, they bulged, bloodshot, and gave him the look of a crazy-man. They fixed on me over Dean’s shoulder.
“I know you been sniffing around the last few days. I see it’s going on. Don’t think you can go shacking up here. No money to be sniffing for anyway, and you can’t having more of my booze.”
I opened my mouth but just shook my head. I looked to Dean for a cue on what I should do, worried how embarrassed he might be. I got nothing. I might as well have been a figment of his dad’s drunken imagination.
Dean put a hand on his dad’s shoulder, leading him to the room at the opposite end to Dean’s. “Why don’t you go lie down for a while?”
His dad swatted the gesture away. “You two stole my vodka! Don’t make excuses. I know what’s what and what’s gone. You get rid of that whore, Dean. Get her out before she goes leaves you anyway! Just like your mom.”
He turned the other way and left out the front door again, cursing and stumbling.
I sat speechless on the lounge.
“Sorry.” Dean stared at the closed front door and didn’t look like he would turn around any time soon.
“Is that it? Is that why your dad’s like that, because your mom left?” I blurted. I clenched my shaking fists. Dean hadn’t stood up for me, just let his dad call me a whore, rant like that to my face.
Dean remained still. “She didn’t leave. She died.”
“Oh, crap. No, I mean, I’m-” Sorry didn’t cut it. I was such an idiot.
“He wasn’t always like that. He just couldn’t handle the way she left.” Dean leant on the back of the door and still didn’t face me. I wanted to poke, to pry, to encourage him to keep talking, but decided keeping my mouth shut was the best option right now, in case another foot could fit in.
The silence extended and I thought he might not have anything else to say. He stayed leaning on the door. I stayed watching anxiously from the couch. Finally he spoke.
“My mom got sick. Like, never-getting-better sick. We weren’t badly off and Dad gave everything, every saving, every dollar he’d earned on any kind of treatment he could. Dad refused to let her go, refused to give in or stop doing whatever he could. The medical costs bankrupted us. We lost our house just to keep Mom in hospital in palliative care. She didn’t want to be there. She was fading, slowly, painfully, and steadily. She was ready to go and knew what the illness was doing to us.”
Dean didn’t move. His words were slow and held just the smallest edge of pain. I, on the other hand, mopped tears up with the neckline of Dean’s t-shirt I was wearing. I kept quiet, didn’t sob, but the tears just ran. The sadness I’d felt in Dean when I kissed him all came back to me. How long had his mother’s illness gone on for? What had their family been like before? What had Dean been like before? I’d never seen him really smile. I bet he could be gorgeous if he really smiled. It would reach those gray eyes and they would sparkle in a way they never did now. The neck of the shirt was sodden.
Dean’s next words came a moment after the others. His voice broke so slightly I wondered if it was my own imagination.
“Mom took her own life.”
I’m sorry.
They were such useless words, so flimsy. What anyone says when they don’t know what to say.
I thought back to my parents and how I’d judged them. The quality of their love. Under the right circumstances, or the wrong ones, would it be enough to break them? If I lost one of them, and then lost the other in a different way, I doubted I’d manage better than Dean. I’d up and left them behind, but only because they were so permanent. Like no matter what I did, I could always go back to home, to comfort, and there they would be. Even when distant they were a safe place in my heart. The idea of losing that seared my insides.