Page 37 of Invisible String
My body crumbles into a ball as I take the hits. Tears slide down my face. He stops, and I finally take a long breath. He walks away, and when I think he won’t return, he does.
“Here,” he shouts.
I look over from the hunched position I’m in. He’s holding a gun.
“Take it. End me just how you ended your mother.”
I shake my head at him, sniffling.
His eyes are as dark as night. “Take it now,” he roars.
I stand up with my back in throbbing pain. I take the rifle from his hold. My hands shake.
He gets on his knees. “Shoot. You killed my wife. Now kill me. Finish ending us.”
“No, Dad, no.Perdóname, I’m sorry.” I drop the rifle and run to my room.
“You coward!” he bellows.
He hit me for three years until a teacher saw my bruises and called social services. They took me out of his home. And put me into a hell much darker than I was in. The scars on my back are not just from him. They are from the multiple foster homes I was in. The system failed me, but most of all, my father. He only whipped my back once, but the fists, kicks, and verbal abuse came nonstop, right until the day they took me. The scars on my heart are from him. It took me years to come to terms with the fact that I wasn’t at fault for my mother’s death.
“Hey, honey, where’d you go?” Rainey’s soft voice brings me back to her. She caresses my cheek with a gentleness that makes me want to combust in her touch. “How about we go cuddle on the bed? Yeah?”
“I’m good. We can go upstairs and continue what we planned.” I’m used to numbing the pain I’ve gone through. I’ve brushed it off for years and learned to live with it.
She screams when I lift her in my arms and run up the stairs. I am holding sunshine in my arms, trying to dispel the darkness that has enveloped me.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
RAINEY
As the sunlight pours through the floor-to-ceiling windows, I instinctively shield my eyes with my hand, trying to adjust to the sudden brightness. My lower body hurts in a good way from the amount of sex I’ve had. Who would’ve thought my summer break would involve finding my long-lost crush and having multiple rounds of sex with him?
He stirs in his deep sleep beside me. He’s such a handsome man. I could stare at him all day. Never have I woken up to a man in bed, especially completely nude. I turn to my side to gaze at him in his sleep. In no way am I a creep. The sheet slides down, giving a view of the scars I saw last night. Now I get a different view, since he’s shirtless. Last night, when he took his shirt off, it was dark in the room. I didn’t question him about it last night. I felt that if he wanted to talk about it, he would, but last night was not the right time. He doesn’t want my sympathy, and I understand. It has me wondering who hurt him.
Leaning in closer, I gently press my lips against each scar, tracing a path along his skin. Each mark must tell a heartbreaking story of how he got those harsh marks. The mark resembles a buckle belt embedded in his skin. It bears a map of past pain, a series of raised lines.
He tenses up suddenly. I can’t tell if he is asleep and has a reflexive response to my touch or if he’s awake and worried about me seeing them. The scars are all different sizes. Some look like scratches. Maybe this is why he used to flinch in high school when I first tried to hold his hand, or didn’t like a person’s hands on him. He doesn’t flinch anymore, but you can tell he’s not keen on people’s touch. With me, he’s always been different.
I run my fingers over each one, leaving a kiss behind.
“Rain,” he moans. I love the sound of my name on his lips. “What are you doing?”
Kiss. Kiss. “Making it better.” Kiss. Kiss. “Does it feel better?”
“It does, but…I didn’t want you to see them.”
I lean back in bed to face him and try my best not to show I want to cry and scream at those who hurt him. Maybe I’m jumping to conclusions, but perhaps he got into an accident. Another one. “Do you mind if I ask what happened?”
He lays on his side. His callused fingers feather against my cheek. “It was an accident that happened. I’m okay now. They’re ugly, and I don’t want people to see them,” he admits, pecking a kiss on my nose.
“Did it happen when you got in the accident with your mom?” My stomach churns as I mention his mother’s accident. What if I give him a horrible flashback like the other day?
“No. This was a different one.”
“You shouldn’t worry about what others think. I see them as battle scars, and you should be damn proud of it.” I say the last words enthusiastically, and he gives me a sexy grin. My God, does he have a beautiful smile.
“I should, huh?”
