Page 16 of Wrecked
I lift my eyebrows in surprise. I’ve never heard her speak so aggressively before.
“It’s fine, really. I can handle it.”
“You shouldn’t have to! Have you seen your back? How could any father do that to their child? How long has he been hurting you?” she asks, disgusted. Surprisingly, her disgust is not directed at me like I thought it would be. She doesn’t appear to seemeas weak, it seems like she findshis actionsweak.
“Since I was old enough that it wouldn’t draw attention at the hospital,” I joke, trying to minimize the gravity of our conversation.
The tears in her eyes finally release, falling down her cheeks as she walks up to me. She puts her hands on my chest, guiding them up to my shoulders before looping them around my neck.
“I want you to talk to me,” she whispers. “I want you to open up to me. I want to be that person for you. But…”
“But?” I whisper back, afraid she’s going to tell me this is too much.
“But first, I want to kiss it better.” I barely register what she says before she lifts up on her toes, takes my face in her hands and gently places her lips against mine.
CHAPTER 8
ELLIE (PRESENT)
I’m sweating.
I take off my sweater and throw it on my bed along with the other twelve tops I’ve tried on. I don’t know why I’m having a panic-induced fashion show right now. It’s just a friendly dinner with a man I’m not even attracted to. I can’t help it, though. I either look too frumpy or too dressy.
I pull a baby-blue cotton sweater with a deep V-cut from my closet, pairing it with my favorite leather leggings before walking over to the full-length mirror.
This gives…looking for a quick bathroom fuck.
I sigh and yank the top over my head. My face is bright red, and the baby hairs at the bottom of my neck are starting to curl from the sweat.
Hellno. I spent way too much time curling the perfect beach waves for sweat and frizz to kill them. I take off my pants and stand in front of my fan in just my bra and panties.
“Not today, Satan.” My voice is distorted by the fan, and I can’t help but laugh at how ridiculous I am.
Once I’m cooled off, I walk back over to my closet and pick out a hunter green babydoll dress. I pair it with my tancorduroy jacket and knee-high coffee-brown boots, then walk back over to my mirror.
Much better.
I release a long breath, puffing out my cheeks as I try to rid myself of the anxiety I’m feeling. I walk back to my bathroom sink, where my curling iron is plugged in, and start touching up my sweat-soaked hair. Grabbing my comb, I brush out my curls for a third time, making sure the waves appear natural and effortless. It’s a silly concept to curl your hair for an hour just to brush it back out. It’s a silly concept to be curling my hairperiod. Who am I even dressing for? Certainly not Dimitri. He’s a nice guy, and he’s incredibly attractive, but he’s just not…myguy.
Let’s be real. I know who I’m dressing for, I just can’t bring myself to admit it. It would make me the villain in my sister’s story. That’s a role I never want to play.
Nate wasmyvillain, though. I used to think he was my Prince Charming, that he was going to sweep me off my feet and carry me off to my Disney princess ending. He wasn’tmeantto be the villain in my story. He was supposed to be my happily ever after. My John Cusack, standing in the rain with a boombox above his head. Not my Prince Hans, turning his back on me as my heart froze over from betrayal.
I guess I still got my Disney moment after all.
I glance at the clock and see that it’s time to leave. Nervous energy radiates off of me, and I feel a panic attack coming on. The tips of my fingers are numb as I grab my keys and walk out the door. I do my five calming steps—the steps Nate taught me—as I drive away from the safety of my apartment building and toward my nightmare that’s masquerading as a dinner date. I can’t imagine anything good coming out of tonight, but I won’t let my sister down. I’ll give Dimi a real chance.
I driveup to the restaurant and pull my silver Honda Civic into an empty parking spot. Such a practical, boring car. Everything about my life is pragmatic. I have a sensible car, a sensible career, a sensible love life. Or lack thereof. I never do anything that makes me feel wild and free. Not since Nate walked out of my life, taking with him the first and only time I’d ever felt safe enough to be myself. His abandonment had long-lasting effects on my life. I will never allow myself to believe that someone else will keep me safe. Promises mean nothing to me now.
He made me this way. Hetookthat from me. My dreams of a life full of impulsive decisions and spontaneous trips perished when the man whoinspiredthose cravings saddled me with the biggest surprise of all.
He didn’t love me.
At least that’s what my sixteen-year-old heart thought. His actions made me believe our love was a lie, but as I got older, I realized the truth.
What we hadcouldn’tbe fabricated. I didn’tinventa fictional connection, threading our hearts with an emotional bond so intense, it stood to defy reason. I didn’tforcea union strong enough to withhold the pressure of abusive parents and unattainable expectations. We were each other’s lifelines. I held him when he was consumed with dark thoughts. He held me when I was terrified to sleep at night. The weight of our livesneversucceeded in crushing us because we had each other to help carry it.
The whisper of that admission has plagued me through the years, superseding my demand to hate the man who hurt me. That hate was replaced with the realization that I failed him too. I was the only person he let see the real Nate behind the mask. But the moment he put that mask on forme, I believed the disguise without a second thought. I should have fought for him the way no one else ever had. Instead, his hurtful actions made me tuck tail and run. I tried convincing myself I’d done whatwas best for me, but the past six months have only proven that what we shared never really faded.
