LIV

Henry, who has lived his life with no one who truly understood him—with no one who actually tried, in the first place—is struck by the sincerity of Eleven's words. In fact, he finds himself having to suppress his first instinct: to put his hand to his chest and try to calm the erratic beating of his heart.

Eleven, unaware of this dilemma of his, just continues: "You can even threaten me, I guess…" she murmurs, then winces. "Even though I would hate that, to be honest… But… just as I can't ask you… to be anything other than the predator that you are... Just like that, no matter how hard you try… you will never be able to change my nature."

Henry presses his lips into a thin line and asks, without a trace of sourness in his voice: "And what is this nature you speak of, Eleven?"

Although the dimples that form in her cheeks accentuate the youthfulness of her features, Eleven appears to be infinitely older than her thirteen when she replies: "To protect the people I care about."

Mostly following the script instituted in his brain after years of confinement and abuse, Henry replies in a monotone voice: "You are too naive." He actually thinks so, but he doesn't find it as aberrant a crime as mere hours ago. Still, he continues: "If I had to choose between you and me, do you know what I would do?"

Eleven closes her eyes. Her expression is almost beatific in the moonlight.

She opens them back.

"Once… you told me… not to ask questions whose answers I already know."

Henry is unable to stop: for years, from the moment he saw the promise of freedom in front of him, next to Eleven, ambition has been infesting every part of him. Since then, he's meant to give her all and then ask her to repay him tenfold, certainly, but later, when she was so subdued as to consider following his carefully laid plans as her own idea.

And why not? If it is the ideal world for the both of us.

Part of his plan, necessarily, includes lying: for example, swearing to her that, were the worst to happen, he would save her, not himself. Make her feel loved, cared for, protected, to make her into the pawn he needs. A valuable pawn, yes, a pawn more than similar to him and the only person capable of understanding him, a pawn he would hate to see exploited in the hands of monsters like Brenner… but a pawn, nonetheless, whom he would not have hesitated to sacrifice if the need arose.

So yes, Henry is lying, but he's going about it all wrong; because he is lying when he says, through gritted teeth: "Then, you know what I would do, don't you? The best for me, first, always. Because it's the smart thing to do."

The smart thing to do. The smart thing to do would be to keep quiet, not to show her this side of him, the side that is as horrible as it is true.

Eleven frowns.

Ah. There it is. He's screwed up, of course: there's no way for Eleven to remain unfazed by his confession. His confession that, to top it off, is a lie, a lie that he discovers now, by pronouncing the insulting words.

Unable to deal with either the truth or her impending rejection, Henry turns his back on her and heads toward the trees at the far end of the yard, determined to put some distance between them.

"Henry."

And, of course, against all logic, he turns when she calls out to him. In her eyes, however, he sees neither rejection nor disgust nor anger.

He glimpses only resignation.

"I would never dream… of trying to change you."

He doesn't know if Eleven chooses to ignore or directly doesn't notice the obvious surprise that he knows is reflected in his face, because the girl just continues as if nothing had happened, once again shortening the distance between them: "I know your nature, Henry. I know it… perfectly."

Henry is no stranger to vulnerability. Certainly not: he knows what it's like to be at the disposal of parents and a sister who can't see beyond their noses, to be the victim of physical and psychological abuse, to force himself to bite his tongue and smile until it bleeds in the hope of spending a night without being subjected to physical torture. No, none of that surprises him, although he steadfastly refuses to tolerate it nowadays.

But this? The sincerity that colors Eleven's words, her shy smile and her firm posture, the most adorable oxymoron he has ever seen…

Henry's next thought comes to him like a peaceful balm, with the certainty of someone who is tired of lying to himself and is ready to accept the truth: I am vulnerable to this girl.

He doesn't have time to delve into this revelation when Eleven's cautious voice distracts him from his thoughts: "Henry…?"

Forced to return to present time, he clears his throat and shakes his head, aware that Eleven is still waiting for an answer: "I can't win, can I?" he huffs, disguising his happiness as a frustration that has actually been relegated to the background. "Alright, I give up," he finally concedes. "This is what we'll do…"

They come to an agreement: Henry will let her solve her own problems—or her friends', if she so desires—as long as she doesn't endanger them.

"Whatever you plan to do about Maxine's brother…"

"Max."

"Max, alright, whatever you plan, go ahead. But keep in mind, Eleven, that if something goes wrong, if I even suspect that you are putting yourself at risk for this girl…"

"It'll be fine," she tries to reassure him. "I have a plan."

Henry does his best to suppress the smile that threatens to break through even now; instead, he tries to make his look convey the seriousness of the matter by warning her: "I won't ask anymore because I have chosen to trust you; don't let me down."

That night, lying on his back in his bed, already wearing his pajamas, Henry places his hands on his stomach and entwines his fingers.

He can't stop thinking about Eleven's words. Eleven, who has fallen for a lie that was once the truth.

I am… happy, he notices, able to finally name the warmth he feels inside his chest—the warmth which he's been feeling for some time now, to tell the truth, but which he's been able to ignore until today. The admission is easier than he might have thought. And, well, yes, he still feels vulnerable, but not in a bad way—because this time, the person who makes him feel this way has chosen not to focus on his plans or machinations but has put everything aside… just to see him.

…

Henry gets under the covers and turns off the light with a slight movement of his head.

He falls asleep with the same tranquility, the same peace that he experienced more than twenty years ago, when he discovered what made him different, what made him special, what made him Henry Creel.

It is only logical—today, after all, he has discovered someone who completely accepts him, just as he is, with everything that makes him himself.