Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 22968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 115(@200wpm)___ 92(@250wpm)___ 77(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 115(@200wpm)___ 92(@250wpm)___ 77(@300wpm)
Her head tilts back, and she gazes at me, her hand pressed on my shirt. “Why don’t you ever take off your shirt?”
“They tell the truth to my past.”
“Will you tell me?”
The pleading in her voice pierces a part of my heart I thought died a long time ago, but the thing about the truth is it can rip everything to shreds. My past is so horrible that telling her could mean I’ll lose her forever, and there is no way I’ll risk that. “No, principessa. It’s not something I talk about. Ever. Now stop asking.”
“Why are you like this? Every time I try to get close to you, you have one arm out trying to push me away.”
I move her off me and place her on the sofa before I storm out of the room. I just need a moment to get myself together before I fuck it all up. Her footsteps break my concentration, and I flinch at the loud slam of the door. She’s pissed. I can’t understand why I have to tell her about the past. I don’t even want to know about my past. That shit was horrific. She doesn’t need to take on my shit. Telling her would just ruin everything. I don’t want to put that burden on her. I want to barge into the room and fuck her until she can’t see straight. It seems the only way I can make her happy is with my fuckin’ cock. Doesn’t surprise me. It’s one of two ways that people have always used me.
My eyes go to the liquor cabinet. I rarely drink, but right now I want to drown in the bottle of Jack and hope that I pass out and don’t have to deal with any of this shit. Soft moans interrupt my plans.
Was she crying?
My fist slams into the wall, punching a hole. “Fuck this.”
I barge into the room, not bothering to knock. Why should I? I own the fuckin’ place. My gaze takes her in. She’s in a fetal position, hugging a pillow, her body shaking as sobs rack through it. I’ve taken a lot of punches in my life, been shot, had someone stab me in the spleen, and been left for dead. But nothing is as gut-wrenching as seeing her crying because I’m not able to give her something that she obviously needs. I close my eyes and curse myself as I realize I’m about to rip my heart out. “I can’t bear to hear you cry, but hearing you cry because of me feels like I’m dying.”
At the sound of my voice, she shifts her body, making herself seem smaller somehow. The bed shifts as I sit on the edge, my back to her, not wanting to see the disgust in her eyes when she hears my truth. More than anything else, I want to touch her, but the idea of her recoiling from me after I tell her is something I could never bear. “I was thirteen. My parents and I were watching television. My sister was with my grandmother, but I really didn’t want to stay there. Gran was nagging me a lot, and I just wanted to be home playing my video games. I can’t even remember which one I was into. I was in bed when it happened. I just remember waking up ’cause I was hot, and then I saw the smoke. The house was on fire, and I didn’t know what to do. A kid who barely paid attention to anything, let alone fire safety.” I pull my shirt over my head. “I got caught in the fire. They say I was lucky. A firefighter found me before the flames did any more damage. The man saved my life, though sometimes I wish I’d died—actually, most nights I wish I’d died. A family took in me, respectable by community standards, but they weren’t. They ran an underground sex ring, mostly children.”
Reese gasps, and I close my eyes. Realization dawns on me. I won’t let her leave. I’m a sick fuck who will keep her even when she hates me, disgusted by me, ’cause losing her would be like stopping my heart. I silently pray to God, the devil, anyone who will listen, that they let her somehow want to stay with me, that she’ll want me. But I want her here because she wants to be, not because she’s forced to be. I know how fucked up it is to be someone’s prisoner, and I’m ashamed that I’m willing to do that to her if needed.
Her fingers gently touch the grotesque marks across my flesh, causing me to wince. No one has touched my bare skin in fifteen years. Those who tried saw the monster, a monster I’d created to protect myself.