Before I can answer, Rhyson slides his hands underneath me until I’m not only floating, but being held up by him. His facial expression shows nothing about the gesture and since I’m sure I look pretty shocked, I turn to face the sky again.
                          

                          
            “If I ask you something, will you give me an honest answer?”
                          

                          
            He’s silent for a moment before shrugging. “What kind of question?”
                          

                          
            “One about your past.” His hands tense underneath me, as if they want to ball into fists. “I’ll answer a question about mine,” I say quickly.
                          

                          
            “Shoot.”
                          

                          
            I close my eyes, the rising sun starting to get too bright. “How did you get the scar on your back?”
                          

                          
            If I thought Rhyson was tense before, he’s even worse now. He’s silent for a long time. I take the moment to peek out of my closed eye, only to see him staring out at the sky, his jaw tight.
                          

                          
            “Back before I came here, my home situation wasn’t exactly what you would call good,” he says quietly. “My mother left a long time ago, when I was only seven. She was sick of how my father treated her and one day when we came home, she was gone.”
                          

                          
            Slowly, I move off Rhyson’s hands until I’m standing in front of him, the water just touching my chest. I pull my hair until it’s all over my right shoulder and then take his hands in mine. He’s still staring off into the distance, remembering.
                          

                          
            “After she left, things got worse,” he continues. “He blamed my younger brother and I for her leaving because he couldn’t face the fact that it was his fault. My dad has always had a bad temper but it was worse when he was drinking. He would abuse my brother and I, if we screwed up, we were punished. If we mentioned our mother, we were punished. But one night, when my dad tried to beat up my brother for getting upset that our mom left us, I stepped in.”
                          

                          
            I squeeze his hands tightly as his eyes start to get glossy.
                          

                          
            “I finally lost it. I told him it was his fault, not ours. I told him everything that he knew but couldn’t face. I thought it would make things better, but I was far off. He had been drinking more than usual that night, so when he grabbed a knife from the kitchen drawer, I knew that this time he wasn’t just going to give me empty threats. So this time I ran. I made my brother lock himself in his room and by the time I was halfway up the stairs to mine, my dad was right behind me with the knife.”
                          

                          
            Rhyson’s face is completely horrified by now. Inside my chest, I feel my own heart breaking, as if this had happened to me. Blinking back tears, I let go of his hands and wrap my arms around his neck. He doesn’t return the hug.
                          

                          
            “He tripped up the stairs behind me, Gemma. That’s how he cut me and then he fell down them. By the time I realized that he wasn’t okay, he was dead.”