He looked over his shoulder at me and the corners of his mouth pulled down in a frown. He brought me the second glass of water, wandered back over to the kitchen and started rustling his way through one of two rickety-looking cabinets that I assumed stored his provisions. “You want something to eat? It’s mostly frozen garbage and a lot of meat but I think there is some soup stashed somewhere in here.”
I didn’t feel hungry but it had been a long time since I’d put anything in my stomach. “I could probably keep some soup down, if you make it. What I really need is something for the pain in my shoulder. Do you have any Tylenol or Advil?” I really wanted morphine but with my history of addiction and overindulgence, I never hit the hard stuff.
“Let me check the first aid kit. I think I saw some in there when I was digging around for bandages to patch you up. If all else fails, I have a bottle of bourbon that’ll do the trick.”
I cleared my throat and pushed a wild curl out of my face. I usually wore my unruly locks pulled back, but after everything they’d been through the last couple of days, they were more than likely a wild riot of tangles curls, spinning and spiraling in a million directions all over my head. “I…ugh…I don’t actually drink. I won’t take anything stronger than Tylenol.”
Soup can in hand, he turned to look at me. He blinked slowly and cocked his head to the side. “Is there a story there?”
I wanted to shrug but knew it would feel like a thousand angry bee stings if I did. “There is. One that’s not particularly new or original.” I lifted my eyebrows at him. “How about you? Are you purposely avoiding telling me where you were before you were here?”
His beard twitched as a grin tugged at his attractively curved mouth. “You’re sharp for a chick that just rolled down a mountain.” That made me snort out a surprised laugh. “Where I’m from is a shithole of the worst kind, but it was my shithole and I miss it.” He turned back to the counter, where there was a single electric burner resting. “It’s a bad place, a dangerous place, and I did my fair share making it that way while I was there. That’s about all I can say about it.”
Well, that was the opposite of reassuring.
I’d always been a girl that liked herself a bad kind of boy. Part of it was because those were the kind of guys that gravitated to my lifestyle choices. I liked to party. I liked to have a good time, and I liked not being questioned about it. Now, as a much more self-aware woman, I knew that I always drifted toward those types of men because it was what was expected of me. My parents never had any faith in me, and somewhere along the line, I’d lost faith in myself. I stopped having expectations and was okay being a user, who in turn was used. But after my best friend died simply because she picked a guy that wasn’t all that different than the type I normally picked, I realized I needed to start being the person I really was, rather than the person everyone expected me to be.
I got clean.
There was no more using, of substances or people. I quit cold turkey, took my happy ass to rehab and therapy. I had made great strides toward becoming a better person. I didn’t look twice at boys that were going to be trouble and I avoided men that were going to disrupt my self-improvement at all costs.
Until I literally fell into Ben’s arms. He was on an entirely different level than any of the guys I’d messed around with before crashing into his life.
He wasn’t a bad boy…he was a man that just admitted to being bad. He was dangerous. He was quietly threatening and menacing…even though none of it was directed toward me. I had no problem imagining him doing really bad things in a place he wouldn’t give a name to. It made the fact I was alone with him and at a severe disadvantage because of my injury crawl uneasily across my skin.
“How can you miss a place where someone tried to kill you? How can you miss a place so violent?” My voice shook a little bit but he didn’t turn around from his task.
“It’s all I know.” He said it without a hint of remorse or regret. “Have you ever heard the phrase ‘absolute power corrupts absolutely’?”
He finally glanced over his shoulder at me and frowned at the expression on my face. I knew I was watching him like he might pounce any second but I couldn’t help it. I felt like prey with its paw caught in a trap. “Yeah. I think I’ve heard something along those lines before.”
He nodded and turned back to the pot he was methodically stirring. “It’s true. Whatever you’ve had, whatever you’ve tried…none of that compares to how instantly and wholly addictive power is. All you need is a little taste, just a hint of it on your tongue, and you’re a goner. Soon it’s all you can think about. All you want is more and more. Before you know it, you’re doing anything, even things that turn your stomach and make your mother disown you to get your hands on more of it.” He looked over his shoulder at me once again and I sucked in a breath because his eyes had shifted from the color of clouds to something sharp and deadly. “I don’t think your story and mine are so different, Pop-Tart.”