Page 82 of Retribution
Dropping to my knees in front of her, my arm carefully still holding Leila, I gaze up at her.
“Don’t hide from me,” I whisper. “What is that on your thighs?”
Isolde tortures her bottom lip as she stares down at the floor, her hand clamped over the towel covering her lower body.
“I don’t…do it anymore.”
“That’s good,” I say, struggling to keep my voice from cracking. “The thing about hurting yourself is that it’s easy to get carried away.”
“What do you know about it?” she asks, her bottle green eyes burning as she looks at me.
“Am I right?”
I answer her question with a question because I don’t actually know firsthand what it feels like to self harm.
“It was how I found control,” she says, swallowing hard. “It quieted the voices of screaming, dirty alphas yelling prices at me while I stood on stage. They dehumanized me until I was nothing more than holes to come inside of, Lucas.”
Unfortunately, I have a fair idea of how terribly omegas can be treated, but I keep my peace.
“Auctions have a way of doing that. I’ve never been to one,” I say. “How long have you been cutting?”
“I’ve lost track of the time,” she admits. “One day, I stopped needing it because killing people gives me the same freedom from my memories. Every day, I get distance from my past, but at night, they seem to sneak back in.”
“All the more reason for us to help keep them away,” I say, tugging the towel away from her.
All the while, the sweet baby in the crook of my arm continues to sleep quietly there.
My hand covers her thigh, my thumb feeling the unevenness in her skin. The scars are heavy, and she’s done this enough for her body not to be able to heal it. I also believe that her body isn’t healing because of the suppressants that she’s taken over the years.
There’s too many variables for me to be able to know for sure.
“There’s strength in survival,” I growl softly. “Growth, finding new coping mechanisms, and most importantly, regularly telling your past to fuck off.”
Tears run down her face as she crosses her arms over her chest. There’s shame in the hunch of her shoulders, and thatsimply won’t do. My omega is a goddamned goddess, and I need her to remember that.
Frowning, I lean forward and kiss her thigh before standing.
“Isolde,” I murmur, my fingers moving to her chin to push her face up so her sparkling eyes will meet mine.
“Ye…s?” she gasps.
“Your tears are misplaced, darlin’. I hate that you hurt yourself, but I don’t see you any differently. If pain helped you center yourself, then I’m grateful for it,” I say.
Her face crumples in confusion, and I struggle to explain myself. My heart hurts for her grief of who she’s been and the path she’s walked. A scar or two isn’t going to run me off.
“Isolde, you are standing here whole and gaining strength every day. There is courage in letting people in, and your scars remind you of the hell you’ve survived. I don’t think you should be ashamed, but I can see that you are.”
“They’re…ugly,” she sobs. “I ruined myself. I kept thinking that it was fine, I could dig into my skin to watch myself bleed since my body is supposed to heal. It’s done it before, but now it won’t.”
I nod because my thoughts that her suppressant use was affecting her healing process tracks.
“If you hate them so much, do something about it,” I encourage. “Think about an image you love and maybe get it tattooed over. Grant is covered in ink. I bet he would recommend his tattoo artist to you. Change how you feel about it, baby. None of us will judge you for what you’ve done. Don’t do that to yourself.”
Leaning down, I kiss her lips, and she relaxes slowly as I do.
“Okay?” I ask.
“Just like that?” she asks. “I’ve been hiding this since the warehouse.”
