“So tell me.” He takes a step toward me, holding his hands out.
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. You’ve told me the other things that bastard did to you. You can tell me this. I haven’t laid judgment, and I’m not about to start. Babe, I’m here…”
I shake my head. A tear drips from my eyelashes. “Forbes didn’t do this to me.”
His face freezes. I see his fingers curl into his palm. “Who?” His word comes out slow.
Fear courses through me. I feel exposed. I wrap my arms around myself, wishing so very badly that I was dressed right now.
“Who, Mia?” I can hear the anger rising in his voice. I know he’s not angry at me, he’s angry at who hurt me.
Another tear hits my cheek. I rub it away with the back of my hand and take a gulp of air.
“Oliver. My father.”
“Your dad did this to you?” The disbelief in his voice hurts me. It makes me feel like trash.
“Yeah, well not everyone is lucky to have a great dad like yours, Jordan.” I don’t mean to sound bitter, but I can’t seem to stop myself. “My father wasn’t the caring kind of man who loved his child like yours does. Mine was a sick, cruel bastard who used to beat me whenever the feeling would take him, usually with his belt. The scars are from that.”
I yank the sheet from my body, exposing myself. I turn my back to him. I’m feeling insane levels of pain, and have absolutely no sense of anything right now. I don’t know what I’m doing or where my mind is at. I’m just doing…
“If I’d been particularly bad, as he put it, which wouldn’t take much … just leaving the cap off the milk. Or the especially bad crimes I could commit … being a minute late when returning home from school – then he’d use the metal buckle end of his belt. You know, to cause more pain and damage. Helped make his point.”
Hot tears are dripping down my face. I leave them burning my skin so that I can feel something. Because I need to feel something. Anything.
“He taunted me with knives and guns. All part of his sick games – letting me know where I stood in the food chain. I’ve lost count of the number of cracked ribs and broken bones I’ve had. Broken fingers that I’ve reset myself. Dislocated shoulders. Popped out knees from his boots stamping on them.” I pull in a hard, painful breath. “So that was my life, and now you know all of it, and I’m leaving.”
I grab the sheet, covering myself, my self-loathing possessing me like a disease. All I want is to get out of here, but Jordan is quick.
His arms come around me from behind, caging me to him. I don’t fight to leave because part of me doesn’t want to. I want his care, more than anything.
I don’t want to be alone anymore.
I feel the tremble in his body. He presses his cheek to mine. My eyes close on the pain that’s burning me from the inside out.
“No, Mia,” he whispers. “No.”
The feel of his arms, his hands … his safe hands that I know would never hurt me…
I break.
Like glass shattering, I go. My legs give out, but Jordan is there, holding me. Lifting me into his arms, he carries me to the bed.
I wrap myself around him, burying my face in his chest as I cling to him and cry out years and years of deeply buried pain.
“I’m here … I’ve got you … always. I’ll never let anyone hurt you ever again, Mia. I swear.”
***
At some point, I fall asleep. The sheer exhaustion from crying, and reliving my past pain with Jordan had taken its toll.
When I wake, my eyes are swollen, and my head is sore and heavy.
I lift my head from Jordan’s chest, blinking my blurry eyes into focus. His are closed, but his arms immediately tighten around me.
“Don’t leave.” He opens his eyes.
“I wasn’t,” I whisper, my voice hoarse.
His hand rubs circles on my back. “How are you feeling?”
Rubbing my eyes, I rest my chin on his chest. “I’ve felt worse.”
He nods in understanding.
“Thank you … for being here, for listening.”
“I’m always here for you.” He touches my face. “Do you need to talk some more, now you’re feeling a little clearer?”
I shake my head. “I feel okay at the moment. I want to keep feeling okay.” I lie my head back on his chest and listen to the gentle drum of his heart.
My eyes graze over his tattoo, which covers his right pectoral, goes up over his shoulder, and down his arm, ending at his wrist. It’s tribal, with quotes woven through it.
I run my fingertip down his arm, reading the quotes I’ve seen before, but paying attention now…