Page 56 of His Secret Betrayal
Orgasms first, talk later.
After all, he’s been so good, and he deserves his reward.
Alek
“Are you going to make it?” I tease Luke a short while later, both of us having moved to my bedroom where we lay facing one another on our sides. He gives me a sheepish grin, his quiet pants and glazed expression making me rather smug. That dopey-eyed, dazed, post-orgasmic smile is worth every twinging ache in my knees. He scoots a little closer to me, turning his face into my shoulder, his hand reaching over to splay along my bare back. My smile begins to slip as he absentmindedly runs a finger upand down my spine.
It's such a casual touch, yet it makes my heart stutter and my eyes sting. I blink to clear away the sensation. I don’t think I realized until today just how badly I needed that acceptance. How badly I needed to feel desired. So far, Luke has embraced every single part of me. Which, I suppose, makes sense in a way. We are both scarred in our own ways, and a little broken. Maybe, if we fit our broken pieces together, they’ll fuse to create something beautiful and whole. Maybe we can help each other heal.
I clear my throat and speak quietly. “I was a teenager when I got those scars.”
Luke lifts his head with a searching look, some of the sleep clearing from his eyes as he blinks up at me. “You don’t have to tell me unless you want to. If you aren’t ready…”
I swallow, nerves skittering through my belly. “I-I want to.”
He nods. “I would like to know your story. Whatever you feel comfortable sharing with me.”
Needing some sort of physical touch to anchor me right now, I run my palm down his side. Stopping at his hip, I give it an affectionate squeeze. “When I was thirteen, my dad went into a drunk rage and pushed me into a campfire pit.”
Luke sucks in a sharp breath, shock flashing through his emerald eyes as some of the color leeches from his face. His still roaming fingers halt their movements along my back. The whispered confession makes my own mouth go dry, my limbs suddenly cold and heavy.
He blinks. “Was it…was it an accident?”
When I shake my head, he curses softly.
“He was an alcoholic and bipolar, a nasty combination to handle at times.” I huff out a dark, brittle chuckle.
“But that’s…cruel,” Luke whispers, his eyebrows bunching together. My heart melts a little at that, the knowledge that, despiteeverything Luke has been through with his own mother, he still can’t conceive of someone’s cruelty existing beyond the struggles of addiction or mental illness. He hasn’t yet accepted that some people are just…cruel.
Unable to help myself, I reach out and run the pad of my thumb along the creases in his forehead. “Both of my parents were alcoholics, but my dad also had a temper. He refused to go to therapy or take medication. He beat on me and Mom a lot, but that night…” I trail off, and even after all these years, hurt still sluices through me at the memories. At the man who was meant to be my protector, the man who should have loved me unconditionally but, instead, taught me that love hurts. That night he was in one of his rare moods. The extra bad kind where he could lash out for any perceived slight, and you knew you were in for a beating. Normally, I tried to avoid him when he was like that.
“I grew up in a run-down trailer park a few hours from here,” I continue. “Both of my parents struggled to hold down jobs, so sometimes we went months without heat or water, but when you grow up like that, it becomes your norm. You don’t know to miss the things you’ve never really had.”
Like love and affection.
Gentle touches instead of harsh ones.
Warm food in your belly and heat on a cold winter morning.
“That sounds like a fucking nightmare,” Luke whispers, his fingers now resuming their idle stroking.
I swallow. “It was, but until I got older and saw my friends at school didn’t live the way I did, I didn’t know any better. The trailer park had a sort of communal campfire pit set up in a field behind the lot. People used to gather around it and drink. One night, while my mom was at work, Dad was out there drinking. He was being a drunk nuisance,causing a scene in front of everyone. So, I went out there and tried to get him to come back inside, but…”
“Oh, Alek,” Luke whispers, his eyes watery. Leaning forward, he places a chaste kiss right over a thick patch of scar tissue on my shoulder.
So, I tell him the whole sordid story.
“Dad, please,” I whisper, glancing around furtively. People are milling around, some of them sitting. Most of them are silent now, gawking at us as I tug on his arm. He sways on his feet, sneering down at me before jerking away.
“Why should I leave? This is a public space. If they don’t like me, they can fuck off,” he hisses.
Someone snickers nearby, many people sending him irritated looks, some sending me pitying expressions, while others just look judgmental. My face burns, heat searing across my cheeks and down my neck as I fidget in place. My pulse begins to race, my heart going wild.
He's in an ugly mood, and someone is liable to get hurt. I just don’t want…I don’t want him to hurt anyone the way he hurts me. But they are all staring at me, and he’s got that cold look in his eyes. He shouldn’t be here right now, but I’m not sure there’s anything I can do about it.
I want to help, but what can I do?
Dad pushes me, his hand jabbing right into my shoulder and making me wince. The push forces me to take a step back, putting me a little closer to the campfire pit behind me. The warmth of the nearby flames has sweat gathering along the back of my neck, the crackling and snapping making me jump.
