Page 20 of Catching His Runaway

The lack of updates doesn’t stop me from thinking about my situation. I’m not being very helpful from my end by keeping most of the details of my past to myself.

From the way Tommy silently watches me every waking second, I expect him to grab my shoulders and try to shake the information out. With how much time I’ve been keeping it bottled inside, I can feel the pressure of it all growing against my chest, making breathing impossible.

There’s only one way to lighten up the weight, and that’s to let a little out at a time. Am I ready to talk about the whole thing? Or I can let it all out at once, and it’ll be like ripping off a band-aid. Rough at the start, but so much better by the end.

Something tells me a story about a little death and blood won’t surprise him much. Honestly, he’ll probably roll his eyes and say he’s disappointed. I wasn’t tortured or anything, not really.

As I sit on the grand staircase and stare up at the glittering chandelier, I let my finger graze the same mark his thumb had traced. Only a couple of months old, the line bulges against my skin.

Elijah gave me the scar for a reason. A reminder of the promise he last made before giving me a second chance. One I didn’t use.

He succeeded. When I press my finger against the line, I recall the screams that flooded my senses that day. Screams that weren’t my own.

I don’t want to forget about that day. Even if it makes my skin prickle up, and breathing feel impossible, I don’t want to pretend nothing happened.

My knee bounces in discomfort as my stomach clenches.

Next to me, I feel Tommy’s eyes. He doesn’t tell me to stop, but he does what he always does, keeping to himself as he judges me from the side.

Glancing next to him, I look at his hands. Specifically, where his pinkies once were. “Did it hurt?”

He grunts, choosing not to answer. It’s a stupid question, anyway.

“Down below, where you do what you do…” Eyebrows pinched together, my knee bounces faster. “You’ve killed people, obviously. You probably make it hurt on purpose, right? That final blow?”

His hand suddenly moves, flattening his palm against my leg to press my foot against the step, causing the motion to stop.

“By the time I’m done with them, I’m doing them a favor by putting them out of their misery. Dying is the least painful part,” he answers honestly. “Keeping them alive would be more cruel of me to do.”

My eyes feel dry as I forget to blink, and he squeezes my knee when I try to move it.

I don’t want to forget about what happened, but it hurts to remember. I haven’t breathed a word about what happened, but the weight of my shoulders feels heavier and heavier every day that passes.

Tommy may not care about me, but perhaps he’ll find interest in what has weighed on my mind all this time.

“Would you believe me if I told you I got someone killed?” Looking over at him, I see his permanent scowl is deeper as my question hangs in the air. “Someone completely innocent, doing nothing but having fun by placing a few harmless bets during his free time.”

He doesn’t crack a smile or respond for a few seconds. However, his eyes refused to leave mine. “Someone important to you?”

“Elijah thought so.” Tearing my eyes away, I look at the glittering lights up above. “Then again, he only ever watched who I got close to while I was inside his playground.”

I won’t bore him with the little details. Ted and I were merely acquaintances. Shared a few drinks at the bar, sat next to each other at some of the tables, but that’s all there was to it. Honestly, I think he might have had a little crush on me, and look how things turned out.

I wince as I realize I’m digging my finger into my skin.

“It’s almost laughable, really. Leaving this place to get out, just to get myself wrapped up in another mess.” Shaking my head, I can’t even find any false humor to coat my words. “I know you are probably used to it, but seeing a dead body only a few feet away…”

Shaking my head, my brows come together, and my breath catches.

“Not just a dead boy. He made me watch the whole thing. The torture.” My words come out more clipped, rougher. Instead of feeling lighter, it’s harder to breathe.

Tommy moves to stand. While his palm leaves my knee feeling cool without his warmth, he uses his hand to motion me. “Let’s walk.”

He’s being rather considerate. Sure, there are men coming and going from the front entrance, risking the chance of seeing me break down and putting on an entire display, but he doesn’t let that happen.

Instead, once I’ve made it down the few steps, he plants his hand between my shoulders and leads me towards the door.

For someone who is insistent on not letting me leave, he’s a fan of guiding me outside. For someone demanding retribution for the pain he experienced, he’s helping me ease mine by problem-solving.

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