Page 9 of Bear
Is he shaking his head because he disagrees or because he can’t fucking believe what he did? I’m hoping it’s the latter but won’t know for certain until he talks to me. “Are you just going to stand there?”
When he finally lifts his head and meets my gaze, the shell-shocked look in his eyes knocks me for a serious loop. He’s disturbed by what he’s seeing on my body… much like I’d been disturbed by what he said last night about his part in his mother’s death. And I know, deep down, that I added to the problem when I told him he wasn’t the first to hurt me like that. I can’t believe I even said that to him. I’ve never told anyone.
“Lennon…” His jaw goes rigid, and I don’t want him to reach the point where he flips his shit on me again, so I don’t quite know what to do.
I lift my hands to the sides of my head, pressing my fingers to my temples and moving them in slow circles while I think. “Mason. I like you, but I don’t know where we go from here if we can’t talk about this.”
He takes one deep breath. Then another. “I need you to—” His eyes squeeze shut.“Fuck.”
I take a slow step closer, unsure whether he’s closer to a wounded animal or one that might strike. I’m directly in front of him; there’s no chance to get away if this goes terribly wrong. “Mase,” I whisper.
The poor guy jumps a mile, but his eyes flash open, staring at me with such confusion that my insides flip over. He heaves out a breath, his expression dour. Forbidding.
I refuse to let him try to scare me again. “Don’t.”
I touch my hand to his abs, gently ushering him over to the couch. He lets me guide him, but hardly sits, immediately moving as far forward as he can go. His elbows rest on his thighs as he jams his hands into his hair. I get the feeling he’s ready to fucking take off at any second, decide I’m not worth this.
I choose not to sit at his side. I need to be able to look into his eyes, so instead, I sit on the coffee table across from him. After a moment, he growls, “I don’t know if I can accept you being nice to me.”
“Poor choice of words—maybe it’s more like you can’t believe I’d be kind. But then that doesn’t say a whole lot about what you think of me, now does it?”
He grits his teeth. “That’s not how I meant it.”
Giving him a small smile, I shrug. “I’m acting with compassion because I can tell you aren’t some psychopath who hurt me for the fun of it. There is obviously something driving you to behave like this. And it’s the same thing that gives you nightmares, causes you to get confused. I’ve told you time and time again—I get it. Sometimes life fucks us up.”
He peers up at me, a heavy breath falling from his lips. And then another. “If we’re going to talk about this, I need to know that you won’t tell anyone else.”
I nibble on my lip, weighing the potential consequences of making him a promise like this. It seems like an easy decision, one that in the past has gotten me in trouble. I inhale slowly and deeply, eyeing the anxiousness sliding over his features. “I would never tell anyone something that you told me in confidence.” I hold up a finger so he knows I’m not done. “Not unless I felt I was in danger or thought you were somehow going to harm yourself because of whatever information you shared.” I shake my head. “Because I won’t have that on my conscience. I can’t.”Not again.
He worries the inside of his cheek with his teeth while his hands continue to claw through his hair. Finally, he gives a sharp nod. “Okay. Same. Will you tell me what you meant last night?”
I meet his eyes, a hand sneaking back up to my throat. “You mean…?”
He nods. “You told me someone in your past had hurt you, put their hands on you just like I did—that I wasn’t the first.” His breath hitches, forcing him to stop and regroup before continuing. Chest rising and falling fast, he murmurs, “I know it sounds fucking psycho of me to change gears so fucking fast. I mean, look at what I did to you.” He pauses to wet his lips. “I get that I scared the shit out of you, following you back down to your room the way I did.”
“At least you aren’t in denial about it.”
He hangs his head. “I’m not. But, Kintsukuroi, I need to know. Being in the dark about it is messing with my head, tearing at my heart, consuming my every waking moment and thought. I haven’t slept. Haven’t eaten. Just—” He heaves out a breath. “Please tell me who hurt you.”
I wet my lips, searching his eyes for any sign that he won’t keep this information to himself. I see none. “One of my mom’s boyfriends. He was supposed to be watching me. He didn’t want to. He put his hands around my neck and squeezed. I woke up later, completely out of it.” I shrug, then look at Mason from under hooded eyes. “I thought I had died or something. I couldn’t remember at first what’d happened.”
Horror washes over his features. “How old were you?”
“Little. I was five. It was terrifying. I’m a little foggy on the details after all this time, but I’ve never told a soul.” I wet my lips, taking a shaky breath. “I remember waking up dazed and in pain. In a closet.”
“Fuck.Fuck.”His jaw stiffens, loosely leashed fury flowing through his body, as if any second he’s going to leap up and try to avenge what happened to me so long ago.
I close my eyes, gathering myself. The more I think about it, the shakier I become. So, I stuff that memory away with all the things that hurt me. My eyes flutter open to see Mason tussling internally with the fact that I’ve shut down that line of questioning. He drags in a labored breath. “Understood. I won’t say another word unless you come to me about it.” He grimaces, throwing out a hand. “Do you remember his name?”
I nod. “Yes. But only his first name. I have no way of knowing where he is.” Searching his eyes, I don’t miss the anger simmering there. “Leave it, Mason.”
His teeth clench hard together, jaw twitching as his eyes pierce into mine. “You can trust me.”
“I do.” I press my lips together, closing my eyes for a moment. “Not even my mom knows exactly what happened. I refused to speak when she found me.” I take a deep, calming breath. “So, I hope you take that to heart and can trust me, too.” I stare steadily at him as I psych myself up for the question that’s been festering inside me since last night—one of them, anyway. If I’m honest, I have so many, but… I swallow past the nervous lump in my throat. He knows damn well what I want to know, but he waits, watching me with those deep, dark, knowing eyes of his. I rub my clammy palms on my thighs before I murmur, “Did you really push your mom off the balcony, Mason?”
I can practically see the sweat pop out on his forehead. He blinks rapidly, his hands reflexively making fists. His exhales are audible pants, and I’m scared for a moment that he will refuse to answer me, and we’ll move backward in this sick little game of Truth or Truth we’re playing. But then his eyes connect with mine and he nods ever so slightly. “Yes.” The word comes out ragged and raw, so full of pain, I want to leap into his arms and hold him tight.
Remaining as calm as I can, I wet my lips. The rapid beats of my heart threaten to crack my chest wide open. “Tell me,” I whisper.
