I Am The Wind by Sarah Masters Read Free Book Online Page A

is to be loved, to have someone who wants to stay, who won’t leave him. So I reckon we’ll do all right. Everything happens for a reason. We need each other, Alfie and me, suit each other down to the ground regarding our wants and needs.
    The sounds he’s making, shit, it tears me up inside, and part of me wants to join him. Cry until I’m all cried out. But I have to be strong for him, put my own hurts aside and help him cope with his. He’s got a greater need, and to be honest, thinking about someone else’s problems will help me forget mine. Me staying here, us growing together, getting over hurdles, means my problems will be gone anyway.
    I stroke his back, my small hands seeming even smaller against the broad expanse. He must work out. His muscles, they feel hard and toned beneath my palms, and I stroke him, murmuring that everything will be okay, he has me now.
    It’ll take years for him to trust me. I’m not stupid in thinking I can fix this in a matter of days or weeks, but this has been a huge step. We’ve both faced up to our pasts, brought the bogeymen out and looked them dead in the eye, and from here onwards I think we’ve got a pretty good chance of making a go of things.
    They say time is a great healer, and I know in this case that’s true. I’ll stay home with Alfie, that’s what I’ll do, let him keep the doors locked and the keys hidden for a while. And when he trusts me enough to take me out, I’ll hold his hand the whole time, squeezing his fingers every so often to let him know I’m still there.
    I can do this thing, take care of him, heal him.
    I can make him believe.
    After a while, he lifts his head and looks down at me. His eyes are bloodshot, his lashes wet and sticking together. I smile, move a soaked lock of hair, tucking it behind his ear. He studies me, for signs of deception, I’m sure of it, and it seems he finds none because he smiles back, relief bleeding into his features.
    I did that. I made that happen.
    “We’ll be all right,” I say, cupping his cheek. “Now we’ve got each other we can get through anything. I won’t leave, I promise. I’m not fucking going anywhere.”
    “No,” he says, pulling one arm out from under me and stroking my eyebrow with the backs of his fingers. “I have to stop this shit. You can stay—if you really want—but I’m not locking the doors. Well, only at night. But they keys’ll be on the table in the hall, and you can use them whenever you want. I have to trust you.”
    “But it’ll be too hard. I hate the thought of you worrying yourself stupid if I walk out to get something from the shop, you know? It won’t feel right, knowing you’re hurting.”
    “But you’ll come back. I know that deep down. I just have to teach myself to cope. It’ll be all right, won’t it?”
    I nod and shift beneath him. “Come on, get up. I’m getting squashed down here.”
    “Sorry. I’m sorry. I—”
    “Stop that. It’s okay.”
    He lifts off me, watches with fright in his eyes as I walk over to the fire and place the guard in front of it. I look down at the rug, at the lush pile, and smile sadly that the fibres are fluffy and no dirt nestles between them. Poor bastard has a lot to deal with, but he’ll come through.
    “Can I see the rest of the house?” I ask.
    He nods, gets up off the sofa, and takes the lead out of the living room. He pauses, leaning on the frame, and looks across at the front door. I follow him out, watch him take the security chain and unlatch it. It swings, pendulum-like, before coming to a complete stop. He pushes off the frame and takes a key out of his pocket, twisting it in the bottom deadlock then placing it on the table. He sighs, his shoulders lifting with the intake of breath, then turns to face me.
    “It’s okay,” he says.
    To himself, I know.
    “The kitchen?” I raise my eyebrows, acting as though this is totally normal behaviour. And it is, isn’t it? We just happened to do things arse about