Page 78 of Blitz'd

Not after I came here.

Not after I’d already made up my mind that I was doing this.

That I was going to let himseethis part of me.

My fingers are shaking where I’m holding him, and my eyes burn while I search his face. There’s a part of me that still wants to tell him to fuck off—to tell him to get on his knees and suck my cock so we can just make up, because Iknowhe’d probably do it. But…

A bigger part of me knows that if I do that, this is still going to end.

And I realize Ican’tlet it end.

I can’t let him go.

So…

I draw his fingers forward, brushing them carefully along the sting on my jawline, mesmerized by the way his breath catches when I drag them across my lips. It makes the confession easier, using those digits to cover my mouth like it can somehow make the words stay trapped inside me.

“My dad. It was my dad.” I watch as thoughts bounce around behind his wide, brown eyes, and I wonder if he’s already realizing what happened. It’s probably not hard to come to the conclusion that poor little rich kid wasn’t loved by his parents and that’s why he’s an asshole.

It’s more than that, but if that’s what he wants to think, if that’s what it takes to get the sound of malice out of his tone, I’ll take it.

“Why?”

Or… he could ask questions.

Of course he wants to ask questions.

“I don’t know. He’s a narcissist? Anactualsociopath? Do really shitty people ever give a reason forwhythey want to hurt other people?” I raise one shoulder, tugging his fingers close to my face and smoothing his palm against the sting so I can turn my eyes from him. “He’s been doing it since I was a kid. Fuck, I can remember sometimes he’d come home in the middle of the night and start in on me while I was still sleeping in bed. He never had a reason why—he just made sure I knew I’d fucked up.”

I don’t raise my head. I’ve never toldanyoneabout this. The one and only time I said something was to my mother, and she’d looked at me with sad eyes and asked me,“What did you do to upset him, Kerian? Maybe try to be better next time.”

Try to be better.

What did you do?

I was six years old. I’d never mentioned it to anyone again. I wasmadeinto the kind of person I am—but I’m pretty sure my dad has always been that way.

“Kerian…” My fingers on his wrist clench tight enough that I hear a small, pained sound escape his throat, and fuck me, thatisn’twhat I want.

But I don’t know how to deal with thepityin his voice. I’ve never asked a person to pity me. I don’t want it.

I don’t need it.

But I needhim.

I force myself to drop his wrist and look up at him, and I hate that I can feel the tightness in my chest again when I do—the same streaking, clenching sensation that put me on the ground earlier.

“I’m not asking you to be sorry for me, Zander. I’m not telling you I’m not going to be a fucking asshole to you again. I just wanted you to know it happened right before you called.”

This time Idosee as his mind works out what I’m saying, the softohthat sends his lips parting.

I watch his fingers clench and unclench at his sides, like he wants to reach out to me and he’s not sure if he should—if I’d let him. The fucked-up thing is, I’m not sure if I want him to touch me right now or not. Just the expression on his face is almost enough to make me storm out, to say fuck this and walk… but another part of me wants to step forward and drop my head on his shoulder, breathe in the scent of him. Because I get it.

There’s something about Zander that calms all the angry rage in my chest, something about him that feels solid. Real.

Something about him feels like he was made to soothe the darkness inside me, and I never realized howheavyit was until he lifted it with his light.

Fuck.

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