Page 50 of Diluted Truths
This time Griffin nodded, seeming to understand just how serious Will was. Will dropped Griffin and swiftly turned and exited the room. He was quickly in front of me and took my face in his hands as he inspected me, looking to ensure I wasn’t hurt. The life in his eyes returned and replaced the stormy blue that existed before.
“Tell me you’re okay, sunshine?” he asked in a quiet voice for just us to hear.
I nodded, unable to use my words. The last few minutes had been terrifying, but standing here in Will’s embrace made me feel safe. I wrapped my arms around him and buried my face in his chest. He made me feel protected. He began to caress my head as he gave instructions to the guards around us. During the course of the last few minutes, nearly a dozen had appeared. We were led to the back of the building where our car was waiting.
I was ushered into the backseat of the town car and Will was by my side. He gripped my hand. The driver turned us onto the busy streets and Amherst Insane Asylum was in our rearview mirror.
Will and I sat in silence for a moment when I noticed his bleeding knuckles.
“You’re hurt,” I took his hand in my own to inspect the damage.
“What?” Will asked and then saw what I was so worried about. “Oh, I hadn’t noticed.” He pulled a handkerchief out of his coat pocket and began to dab away the blood.
“Thank you, Will,” I said to him, not knowing how to express my gratitude. I had spent so much of the last few years protecting myself. Since Nate died, I had protected myself.
Today, Will did.
He refused to allow Griffin to hurt me and got me away from him as fast as he could. It was refreshing to have someone completely in my corner.
Will looked at me, confused. “Why are you thanking me? I shouldn’t have let him get the chance to touch you.”
I was shocked. Was he blaming himself for this?
“Will, of course I need to thank you. You got me away from him, kept me safe. Hell, I think you may have broken your hand for me.”
He looked me in the eyes for a second before visibly deflating. “I never wanted you to see that part of me,” he whispered.
“What part?” I inquired.
“The part that’s just like my father. The part that is dangerous, calculating. The part of me in the darkness,” he responded. “It’s the part of me I hate.”
I could understand that. There was much of my past I was ashamed of. I had done some messed up things in the height of my addiction. I hurt the ones I loved and hurt myself in the process. But it was a part of me. Just as this was a part of him.
“Will, this part of you isn’t bad or worth hating. It’s protective, loving, and unwavering,” I stated, hoping to get him to understand he shouldn’t be ashamed.
“It’s dangerous, like he was,” he stated dejectedly.
The pieces were falling into place. It wasn’t hatred he had, but fear. Fear of turning into his father.
“What did he do to you? I know you said he wasn’t a good father or man. What did he do to warrant that?” I asked.
Will shrugged, not answering. I grabbed his chin and turned his face so it met mine. I looked at him and asked again. “Please tell me, Will.”
He sighed but answered, “He beat us. All three of us. My mom, Bec and I lived in hell with that man for years. I did my best to protect them, especially when I got older. But… but I couldn’t. My father, he is powerful, rich. He used that money to control our every action. We couldn’t pick our own interests, friends, classes. We couldn’t make choices of any kind. We were trapped, like birds in a cage. He could get away with anything. When I turned eighteen, I ran. It was cowardly. I left my mom and sister to deal with his wrath alone. I abandoned them, but I had to get away.”
“You were just a kid, Will,” I reasoned. He was. He wasn’t to blame for his father’s actions and abuse.
“I used to think that. Then I met you. Nate was eighteen when he got you and Theo out,” he said, growing frustrated. “He was just a kid, too, but he saved you.”
I sighed. He didn’t understand the difference.
“My parents weren’t rich and powerful. We could hide because they didn’t have the ability to find us, the ability to take us back. Your father did. Do you think he would have allowed you to take Bec and leave?”
Will shrugged again, avoiding my question. I wasn’t going to get through to him in this car ride. It takes years to deconstruct the trauma responses of abuse. I myself was still in the process.
“I know you don’t believe me, Will, but you’re not your father. You are an incredibly kind man. Truly one of the best people I have ever known. You may not like what you did, but you kept me safe. Thank you, Will.”
He looked at me for a moment with an odd look I couldn’t place. It was appreciative, mixed with something else I didn’t understand. With no words he took my hand and faced forward. We sat like that for the remainder of the car ride back to his childhood home.
