Page 139 of The Truths We Burn

Rook, he’d been going to war against it, not even knowing who the enemy was.

But him letting his father hit him, making Alistair fight with him, having Thatcher cut him open, it’s the same as her sitting in her room with a razor blade pressed into her skin. He wants to see the pain on the inside reflected on the outside.

He’d become addicted to self-inflicted wounds as a way to cope with the death of his mother, to cope with everything he’d ever lost. Including me.

“Rook,” I almost whisper, reaching my fingers out to touch him, “you did not kill your mom. Was it a horrible accident? Yes, but that’s exactly what it was. An accident.”

With quick reflexes, he snatches my wrist in his hand, squeezing tightly,

“Don’t make excuses for me. I know what I did.” His jaw twitches as he grinds his teeth, and I catch one single tear leak from the corner of his eye. “I know what I am.”

I use my other hand to touch it, the wet drop soaking the tip of my finger. A scorned angel, filled with so much anger and hatred, but on the inside, he’s still that same angel. One that had lost everything when he was cast out of heaven, out of his father’s good graces.

Because Rook hadn’t just lost his mom, he’d lost his father that day too. Everything he’d once known had burned with that car, and he did the best he could with what he had.

He built himself in the chaos and pain, feeling it was better to rule in the darkness than be damned in the light.

“You are human—that is what you are. One that feels pain and sorrow. One that does not deserve what you have been allowing others to put you through. You are not the devil, Rook.”

The walls crumble, and for the very first time, I see nothing but his vulnerability. His eyes are so pure and so raw that it takes my breath away. I see him for everything he is, and it’s so beautiful.

He drops my wrist, grabbing the back of my neck. He gathers my hair at the base and presses up, sewing his hand there. With little power, he drags me into his chest, holding me there, wrapping me in his smell.

“I never wanted to be,” he whispers.

It’s quiet.

For the first time in a long time.

There isn’t anything that needs to be said. No argument to win. I know the harsh reality that awaits us outside of this space, but it doesn’t need to come until morning. For right now, I let him hold me. I let myself fall for him.

Unabashedly in love even if I’ll never be able to say it out loud.

And it’s not perfect. It’s ugly, broken, and when the sun pierces the clouds, he very well could return to hating me. I know that.

But it’s us, and for right now, in this brutal moment of despair, that is enough.

Rook

The Graveyard.

During the weekends, it’s lively and reeks of illicit activities. It’s where the rich kids get their fix, living life as dangerously as they can without reaping any consequences. The chaos amongst the crowd roars nearly as loud as the engines on the track.

It’s a living, breathing beast that feeds off adrenaline.

Fights. Drugs. Sex.

The only place to find trouble when you’re actively searching for it.

“I did not sign up to be the pack mule,” Thatcher heaves as he helps Alistair drags Cain’s unconscious body onto the empty track.

“Stop bitching,” Alistair curses through gritted teeth.

Together, they drop him onto the asphalt, his unsupported head knocking against the hard ground, his eyes twitching as he starts to become more alert. The punch Alistair had delivered to the side of his head had been enough to knock him out, giving us just enough time to get him here with no issues—well, besides the fact he’s dead weight and heavy.

Tonight, The Graveyard is vacant. But it still has that lingering smell of burnt rubber and oil that I love so much. It’s a normal Wednesday, and everyone is out living their orderly lives, itching for when the time comes to escape here in the anarchy, but for us, the mayhem coexists in our everyday lives.

Tonight, The Graveyard is the altar for a monster who will be answering to his crimes. Even if he doesn’t want to confess them willingly. He will pay the price for touching her with his life.

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