Page 60 of Savage Vicious Heir: Part Two

“I’m privileged, sure. But that has come at a cost.”

“Your father?” she whispers.

“Yeah. I’ve done things. I-I—” The lump in my throat stops me from forcing another word out.

I try and swallow it down, but it only grows larger and larger.

I shake my head, trying to summon up the courage for what I need to do.

With one more kiss on her shoulder, I push away from her and climb from the bed.

“Where are you going?” she asks, panicked as she sits up.

With the lights off and only the silvery glow of the moonlight illuminating the room through the cracks in the curtains, I can only make out her profile, but it’s enough to know that she’s tense.

She thinks I’m going to refuse her request and run.

It’s just another reason to do the opposite.

She doesn’t think I’ll open up. She doesn’t think I trust her enough.

But my trust in her has never been the problem.

It’s my own issues, my own shame, that stops me from revealing the truth to those closest to me.

“Red,” I whisper as I tuck my thumbs into my boxers and shove them down. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Her breath catches as my underwear drops to my ankles. She might not be able to make out the details, but she can see enough.

“I asked for a secret, Elliot. Not for?—”

“Give me your hand,” I demand, holding mine out for her.

“This isn’t?—”

“Trust me,” I urge, my heart beating even faster with fear that she won’t.

“I… uh…”

I breathe a sigh of relief when her warm fingers brush mine as she shifts so she’s fully sitting up in bed.

Lifting my foot from the floor, I place it on the edge of the mattress and guide her hand towards the hidden scarred skin.

The second her soft fingertips touch me, I stop breathing.

The darkness I’m all too familiar with threatens to engulf me. The memory of creating the newest scar only a few days ago fills my mind as self-hatred and shame flood through my veins.

“Elliot, what is this?”

“You know,” I whisper, my voice so quiet I’m not sure she even hears me. “You know, Red.”

I know the moment she understands, the gentle stroke of her fingertips over my marred skin pauses.“No,” she breathes. “No, Elliot. You can’t?—”

“I’ve never judged you, Abi. Never. Not once. I couldn’t… I can’t because I know.” Silence fills the room, the weight of my confession sitting heavy on both of our shoulders. “I know the pain. The darkness. The feeling of being utterly useless and not knowing how to make it?—”

“Stop,” she finishes for me.

Reaching for the bedside lamp, I close my eyes as I flick it on, flooding the room with light and allowing her to see what no one else ever has.

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