Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 100716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
“Ark… I’m s-so sorry.”
He shakes violently, but since the lid has been lifted on years of secrets, he can’t reseal it. “I didn’t know about any of it until just before Karolina couldn’t handle the shame he forced on her for a second longer. I assumed his mother hated me because he hated her. I had no clue he was hurting my sisters because she had hurt him. I swear to you, I didn’t know. I would have stopped it if I had known.” It is a fight not to wrap my arms around him and hold him tight when his voice dips with shame. “I should have known. It’s rare for the abused not to become abusers.”
“That isn’t true.” When he grunts as if he doesn’t believe me, I speak loud and clear. “The rate of abuse amongst individuals with a history is approximately s-six times higher than the base rate for abuse in the general population.” I talk even faster so he can’t interrupt me. “But that’s because those figures don’t include the choices—”
“Choices? What choices? They take them all away.”
I allow his snapped comment to affect my vocal cords for only the quickest second. “Th-that’s the point I’m trying to make. They chose to abuse. They chose to act on their delusions. They chose to ignore consent and a person’s God-given right to give it. They chose, Ark. Just like we choose to do the opposite.” It hurt to hear him say he believes all survivors turn into abusers, but I know in my heart he doesn’t honestly believe I am capable of hurting Tillie. “We know the pain, so we would never…” My words fade to silence as my eyes slide to Tillie’s bedroom door. “I would never do that to her.”
I choke back a sob when Ark mutters my name in vain. “Mara… Fuck. That wasn’t what I meant. You would never hurt Tillie.” He steps closer, the honesty in his eyes bursting through the protective bubble into which I’m trying to fold myself. “I know that.”
He stops just before he reaches me when I reply, “Just like I know you would never harm her either.” I dance my eyes between his, the pain in them weakening with each bounce. “What happened to us doesn’t make us monsters, Ark. It makes us strong. We survived. We survived them.”
My eyes stop stinging with tears when Ark snatches up my wrist and pulls me into his chest. They stream down my cheeks and soak into his shirt until there are no more left to shed.
28
ARKADIY
Acreak discloses Mara’s tiptoe into the kitchen half a second before her scent. I take a moment to gather my thoughts before placing a dollop of milk into a freshly brewed coffee and then spinning to face her.
My breath catches when our eyes lock. She should be looking at me in horror, disgusted by the ugliness of the skeletons in my closet.
Her expression isn’t anything close to appalled.
She looks radiant and relaxed. I’d even go as far as saying free. She doesn’t look close to a woman who fell asleep on my lap for two hours with her hands knotted in her dressing gown so her fight to touch me would never be defeated.
A shiver racks through me when I recall how desperately I wanted her to lose her battle. Our stumble from the entryway of her apartment to the sofa in the living room presented the perfect excuse, but she was as scared to touch me as I am to admit I want her hands on me.
I’m not scared because I believe she is capable of physically hurting me. It is wondering how she will react to a quirk I obtained from years of abuse, and if it will change the headrush that bombards me every time she looks at me.
The crinkle between my brows smooths a smidge when Mara asks, “Have you eaten this evening?”
It is a struggle for her not to stutter. It is only achieved with conscious effort, but I appreciate how far she will go to hide her fear from me. She is determined to prove I am trustworthy, and I honestly don’t know what I did to deserve her faith.
Her smile when I shake my head shoots a rush of desire through me, soothing some of the agitation our nap on the couch didn’t take care of. “Are you hungry?”
Her smile doubles when I murmur, “More like starving.”
“Shall we eat in or out?” Her nose screws up when she floats into the kitchen to check her cupboards and refrigerator for supplies. Her act of having guests over is so natural that it feels like we’ve been living together for years. “I have enough s-supplies to whip up a quick stir-fry, but that’s about it.”
“Stir-fry sounds great.” I join her by the refrigerator before peering at the limited supplies inside. “Though I wouldn’t recommend using that chicken breast. It is looking a little funky.”