Blake’s standing with his back to me. His hands are on his hips, his face pointed to the floor. Shame and anger funnel within me. If I didn’t hate Stewart enough already, I despise him now.
I was convinced that leaving would solve my problems. But geographical distance doesn’t mean shit when the poison is imbedded so deep within that it’s become part of us. The destruction he left behind sabotages not only our relationship with each other, but ultimately our future.
“I’m sorry you had to see that.” There has to be something more I can say, something more poignant, but that’s all I can manage.
Words of eloquence were never your strong suit.
Fuck you, Stewart.
Blake faces me, and there’s a tenderness in his eyes that’s hard to look at. “She’s drunk. I’m sure she didn’t mean—”
“I deserved it.”
“No, Mouse. You didn’t.”
The loathing creeps in. My own destructive thoughts attack what little self-esteem I’ve managed to build. “You don’t know me.”
He dissolves the space between us. “I want to know you. Tell me.”
He has no idea what he’s asking. Busting the locks and tearing the chains off the vault that stores all my humiliation would be like reliving it. I’m not strong enough.
“I’m not doing this. Not with you. Not now.” I storm past him into the hallway and to my room. My eyes burn, but not with sadness as much as frustration. Because I’d give anything to purge my soul of the ugly secrets I’m hiding. I kick the door shut with my foot but swing around when I don’t hear it slam. I should have known.
Blake’s big body stands in the doorway. “Yes, you are.”
I lean toward him and point in his face. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
“No, you’re right. Don’t do it ’cause I’m telling you to. Do it because it’ll help.”
“Leave.” I force an edge in my voice.
His lips twitch, and his eyes lock on mine as he steps into the room and closes the door behind him. “Sweetheart, you don’t scare me. Don’t forget, I saw your moves earlier tonight. That shit will not get past me again. So you yell, take it out on me, I can take it. But when you’re done, you’re going to talk. You feel me?”
Blake
She stares at me, unblinking. The long, thick waves of her hair drape her face. No make-up, tired eyes, and yet she’s strikingly beautiful.
I’m in so much trouble. I know I should back out of here, climb in my car, point it towards home, and never look back. But if there is one thing I’m sure of, more sure of than my own name, it’s that in this moment nothing could drag me away.
“If you knew the things that I put her through…” Her whispered words taper off, and she drops her chin.
“I don’t know much, sweetheart, but from what you’ve told me about…”—fuck, I can’t say the asshole’s name—“him, whatever you did, it was so you could survive.”
She lifts her face to lock eyes with me.
“If a man murders for the sake of enjoying the kill, that’s homicide. Punishable by death. But if a man murders to protect his family, that’s justice. Commendable. Same crime, but circumstances decide whether it’s right or wrong.” I give it a second to sink in.
With her shoulders slumped, she sits on the edge of her bed. I study her small room. Tan carpet, beige walls, the only color in the place is Layla’s bright red bed comforter and orange and yellow pillows.
I lean against her dresser, making sure to keep my distance, because I know if I get too close, I won’t be able to keep from pulling her into my arms. Silence is thick in the air, but so is her contemplation. Her fingers knot in her hair, and her eyes dart around the room.
I wait her out.
“I put myself through hell because I thought I was doing the right thing for Elle. For years, I bit my tongue and grinned, hoping to give her the illusion of a good life.” She pulls at her hair. “God, I was so wrong.”
As much as I want to comfort her and tell her that we all make mistakes, the guilt and pain she feels seems deeper than any words can fix.
“I never wanted it,” she says to her lap, so quietly I barely hear her. “Not one time. Not the first, not the last, and not the times in between.”
I grind my molars together and clench my hands into fists. I’ve got to calm down. This is what I asked for. Don’t fuck it up now by blowing shit up in here.
“He’d hold me down, cover my face with his hand or a pillow.” Her hand slides up to cup her neck. “I couldn’t breathe. As bad as it felt and as scared as I was, that’s the thing I remember most. His chest pressing down against my ribs or my back while he took me over and over—”
A fierce growl fills the room. Her wide eyes dart to mine. Shit.