Page 84 of Ravaged Soul
Around the others, I want to be tough. Unbreakable. The powerful warrior they all seem to think I am. With Blaine, it’s different. He saw me in the cage, made to fight and save my own skin. He already knows the worst parts of me, and still, he chose to save my life.
There’s comfort in that. An acceptance.
I can’t scare him into leaving me.
“Want to talk about it?” Blaine offers.
“You can’t help.”
“Try me, sweetheart.”
Taking another gulp of water, I attempt to moisten my parched mouth, hoping it will allow my voice to come out more steadily.
“I don’t know if I can do this.”
“We can go back to the hospital, see if a different doctor?—”
“No, the case. The constant fight. We’re getting nowhere.”
“Right, I see.” Peppercorns and citrus-spiked bergamot seep from Blaine’s presence beside me. “Some fights feel insurmountable.”
“Then what’s the point?”
“Because if we don’t fight, then nobody will. I’ve been trying to find my father for years, and he feels further away than ever. That doesn’t mean I’m going to give up.”
“Don’t you get tired?”
Briefly, I think he won’t open up. Then his posture softens.
“Sometimes,” Blaine admits in a gruff tone. “But in my world, weakness isn’t tolerated. Whether I’m tired of this or not, I have to find and eliminate Nolan Madden.”
“But what if you gave up?”
“Impossible. My father used us all to inflict suffering behind my back. I intend to right that wrong even if it’s the last thing I do. He has to pay.”
Blaine is usually too cool and aloof to reveal anything that could amount to true emotion. Unless it’s confidence or swagger. Which he has in spades. But at his harsh tenor, I can’t hold in my curiosity.
“Will you tell me why you hate trafficking so much?”
“What?” He laughs bitterly. “Because criminals aren’t allowed morals? Perhaps I despise the exploitation of innocent lives.”
“Perhaps. But I think you have a personal stake in it.”
Rather than refute my statement, Blaine’s laughter trails off.
“Why?” I press again, desperate for him to reveal more about himself. “You can trust me. I’d never judge you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“And why not?”
“Look at the state of me, Blaine. Yet you’ve never judged me.”
He contemplates that. “I would never.”
“Then trust me to do the same for you.”
In the bathroom’s solitude, sprawled out on the floor, Blaine’s scar-warped face cracks. Just a fissure. A tremor in his usually unshakeable surface. But it’s enough to glimpse the abused kid who lives behind his smirking mask. The same kid who earned that scar.
“I was raised motherless,” he whispers like the words might just hurt him. “But I idolised my father, so I didn’t care. The great Nolan Madden… I wanted to be just like him for the longest time.”
