LXIX

After dinner, Max and Eleven lie on her bed. Since it is not particularly wide, their arms are pressed against each other.

Eleven doesn't mind.

"You know what's the worst part?" Max's voice is barely a whisper.

Eleven keeps her eyes on the ceiling. "What is it?"

"That mom didn't react. When Neil did this to me," she explains.

Eleven closes her eyes.

"From what you've told me, Billy's mom did stand up for him," she murmurs. "All those times… She did defend him, to the point of taking Neil's punches."

"But she… she abandoned him," she says without any intention of judging the woman; it's merely the truth.

Max lets out a dry laugh. "All this time I thought Billy and I were complete opposites, but look, here's something we've got in common: at the end of the day, neither of our moms loves us enough to protect us."

To this, Eleven has nothing to say. She just reaches for Max's hand and intertwines her fingers in a gesture that she hopes can bring her some comfort.

She says nothing, either, as her friend sobs next to her.

Max finally succumbs to exhaustion. Eleven, however, is unable to fall asleep; she has too much on her mind. Fearing that her anxiety might lead to her accidentally waking up her friend, she gets up and leaves the room.

As if by instinct, she glances towards Henry's room: to her surprise, the door is open and the light is on.

"Can't sleep?" he asks quietly as he sees her peeking through the door, lying on his bed with a book on his lap. She shakes her head. "Me neither; come on, I'll make you some tea," he tells her, getting up and putting the book aside.

She follows him downstairs, into the kitchen. Eleven sits down to drink her tea; Henry, on the other hand, stands with his back against the dining room wall, turning the spoon of his cup absently.

"What do you want to do?" he asks after a few moments.

Eleven doesn't want to answer that—or rather, she doesn't want to ask herself such question—but she knows it's necessary.

"I want to support her."

"And you are doing that." Henry sighs, finally abandoning his teacup on the table and, with it, any pretense of drinking it. "But in the long term?"

She shoots him a serious look. "Not that."

Henry stares up at the ceiling theatrically as he answers in a monotonous voice: "No, Eleven, I don't mean that."

"Then…?"

His gaze is sympathetic when he looks back at her. "In her mind, I saw that she, despite everything, loves her brother," Henry murmurs. "There's sincere affection for him and frustration at not being able to share a deeper bond."

Eleven makes a face at his words. "You shouldn't have read her mind…"

"I'm not going to allow anyone to enter this house and have access to you without first knowing their motives," he replies without any trace of guilt. "But that's okay: I won't do it anymore. Your friend is not a threat."

She knows it's the best she can expect from him in this situation, so she just nods.

"Anyway, I'll go back to bed." He yawns, levitating the mug to the sink. "Just leave your cup there, I'll wash it tomorrow. And… tell me what you plan to do once you know. Good night." He says the last thing as he ruffles her hair in a loving gesture.

Eleven watches him go up the stairs in silence.

…

Not a single word of reproach from him, even though this entire situation is the logical consequence of her actions.