Page 30 of Dare To Fall

I lower my head and rest it against my knees.

Here it comes.

“What do you know about Eli’s past?”

“Nothing really. I heard his mom died when he was fourteen.”

“That’s right. He was with her. There was a car accident while they were driving here. No one is sure quite what caused it, but the car flipped and rolled down an embankment. It hit a tree. They found out afterward that Eli’s seatbelt was faulty. When the car flipped, it came undone and he was thrown about. He went through the window. Those scars on his back are from that and then flying across the ground at however many miles an hour it was.”

My back is burning. I know the pain isn’t real. That it’s not really there. It’s the memory of those first few weeks after the accident replaying in my head.

“What about his mom?”

“They think she died on impact.”

I swallow against the lump blocking my throat. I want him to speed up, but he won’t. Kellan is always thorough in his explanations.

“Anyway, he was out of school for a while, but when he came back, he was still banged up. One side of his face was swollen. Couple of teeth knocked out. Scars all over his back. They looked worse back then. Red and sore. He looked a mess. A couple of the boys coined the term—”

“The Monster of Churchill Bradley,” Arabella interrupts him softly.

“You got it. Over time, he embraced it—became it. I guess some people remember its origin and want to remind everyone else.”

I shove to my feet and turn. I don’t want to hear her pity, so I throw open the door. Kellan meets my gaze, Arabella doesn’t. But it doesn’t matter. I don’t want to see the pity in her eyes, either.

Striding across the room, I pull the shirt over my head and brace my palms against the wall. “Take it.”

“Eli—”

“Just fucking do it.” I know what Kellan’s about to say. He’ll argue, tell us to wait and see what the punishment might be.

But I can’t risk it. Because I’ve fucking been here before and I know what’s coming.

“Take the fucking photograph.”

Chapter 18

Arabella

I stare at Eli’s ruined back. His muscles are tense beneath the skin.

Eli was in the car when his mom died. He’d been hurt in the accident. The students made fun of him when he must have been suffering, mourning inside with so much pain. They’d called him a monster. His life must have been hell, and he embraced it, twisted it to fashion himself an armor to survive. He became the Monster of Churchill Bradley Academy.

Impulsively I reach out to trail my fingertips down the marks just left of his spine. He tenses further beneath my touch but doesn’t move.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Ignoring his low, tortured words, I bridge the gap between us and press my lips to the imperfect flesh. I kiss a path along one jagged set of lines, then I move on to another. Eli moves so fast that I gasp when he spins, grabs my arms, and slams me back against the wall, his hand closing around my throat.

He presses his body into mine, and cages me in. “I never gave you permission to touch me.”

I meet his angry gaze warily. “I’m sorry.”

“Take the fucking photograph before I change my mind.”

“We don’t have to do this. I’ll say it wasn’t possible.”

Eli’s fingers tighten around my neck, cutting off my air. “You don’t know what they might do to you if you fail.”

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