Page 53 of Marked

I press my cheek harder into his hand. “More so for them when I began to spiral. Even at fourteen, I tried to do what I could to numb the pain. It hurt me that I wounded my family, as well as the friends I abandoned without warning. I hung out with the wrong people, and even then, it was only because I knew they wouldn’t look for any deeper connection with me. Plus, it was the easiest way to get alcohol.” My mouth tightens. “It’s also when I lost my virginity. Taken advantage of when I had a bit too much to drink.” When Jack growls, low and vicious, I shake my head. “If I said no, I think he would have stopped because when I told him not to kiss me, he didn’t. Still, everything went so fast. Even now I don’t really remember a lot of it, but I know it happened.”

“Did you even have a chance to say no?” he asks, his voice like ice. “Drunk consent is not consent, Valkyrie.”

I swallow and drop my hands back to my lap, clenching them tightly together. “It doesn’t matter. It happened and it’s over with. Please let it go.”

He huffs out an angry breath, and the fact that he’s mad on my behalf comforts me. “Alright, go on.”

“My parents were concerned when they found a bottle in my room, but they thought that was it. They didn’t know that I binged on the weekends with these so-called friends. I started to fight them when they tried to ground me to stop me from going out. I would curse and scream at them and say the meanest things.” I let out another sigh. “And then it got worse when I finally got my first assignment.

“I was sixteen and things between my family and I were tense and awkward. I stopped acting out as harshly but still stayed away from home as long as I could. Whether it was sleeping over at a friend’s house on the weekend or working late at my part-time job.” Unclenching my stiff hands, I stare down at the crescent shapes I dug into my palm. “I had to mark my English teacher.

“He was known to leer at girls, staring a little too long at their chest or ass, so I was hoping to use that against him. I waited until after class and pretended to have a question regarding an assignment. I was so fucking nervous that I was sick to my stomach and almost didn’t go through with it. Still, I mustered up the courage and approached his desk after everyone left. I was shaking and stammering, but he took it all in stride. It was like he was getting off on the thought that I liked him. That a student half his age wanted him. Which is just, ugh, gross. But I let him think what he wanted so long as I got the job done.

“As soon as I got the chance, I pressed my lips against his and drew back just as quickly. I saw flashes of girls he’d hit on and cornered as well as his underage conquests, so I took that as my confirmation that I did the job. I tried to leave, but he caught me. I kicked him in the dick and ran from the room, but one of my so-called friends was outside the door. She watched the whole thing through the small window beside the door and took a picture.” I trace one of the cuts. “She took the picture to the principal, and my parents were called.”

Jack’s hand leaves my face, his fingers sliding along the damage I inflicted on my palm. “How bad was it?”

“Bad,” I answer. “I ruined my teacher’s career, not that he didn’t deserve it. My parents insisted I was a victim, but I told them that I initiated it. They were stunned and said they didn’t know who I was anymore. They didn’t understand why I changed so much, why I was making all these terrible choices. They wanted me to go to counseling to get help for my drinking and promiscuous behavior, and I told them to go fuck themselves.”

A weak, bitter laugh escapes me again. “When I said that, my dad was livid. He looked me in the eye and said that maybe I was evil after all. I know he said it in the heat of the moment, but I didn’t care. I just agreed with him. The more my parents hated me, the safer they were.

“But I was given two options by my dad: shape the fuck up or get the fuck out. I didn’t have anywhere to go so I played by their rules for two years. They moved me to a new school. So, I kept my head down and counted down until I could go away to college and get away from them. I still drank but tried to limit it to the weekends unless I came back from a mark. My mom and I spoke as briefly as possible, my dad and I ignored each other, and my sister just looked at me with such…confusion.”

His fingers thread through mine and I squeeze our hands together. “I studied my ass off, making up for the two years before that. I graduated from high school with a scholarship to a college I didn’t even want to go to. I only cared that they paid for my dorm to get me out of there. But I remember my parents being so proud, and I was confused. Why were they proud of me? Why did they even go to my graduation? They went to my college graduation too, and I didn’t even tell them about it! I thought I succeeded in making them hate me, and yet there they were supporting me.”

Jack’s thumb traces a circle on my skin. “Parents are supposed to love their children unconditionally. Yours are no exception.”

“They should be,” I point out and finally look back up at him. There’s nothing but understanding in his gaze. No pity, no judgment. Just acceptance.

I don’t know if I want to throat punch him or kiss him.

“I was—am horrible to them, Jack. Even now, my mom and dad call every holiday and birthday. Send cards full of love and silly gifts. I keep the conversations short and never reply to the cards, but they keep coming. I was mentioned on TV for helping solve a case last year, and they called to tell me how proud they were. Why?” My stupid eyes fill up with stupid tears again. “I don’t deserve them.”

Jack slides his arm around my waist and pulls me onto his lap. When I press my face into his neck, he rests his chin on my head and strokes my back. “Of course, you deserve them; they’re your parents. Not just that, but you deserve to be loved. Being a hellhound doesn’t take that away from you.”

“But it does,” I argue.

“No, it doesn’t,” he rebukes. “Just because we are creatures of the afterlife doesn’t mean we are not entitled to the indulgences of the heart.”

I sniffle and rub at my nose before tilting my head back to look at him. “We?”

He gives me a small smile. “We.”

I hold his gaze, the color of his irises still reminding me of Styx. He said he’s also from the underworld, is that why his eyes remind me of the river of souls? Is that why I’ve felt pulled towards him since our first meeting?

Jack opens his mouth to speak, but the dryer cuts him off with a chime, announcing that his clothes are done.

I scoot off his lap and make a shooing motion at him with my hands. “Go get your panties on, Detective. Then I want to hear everything about you.”

“They’re boxers,” he clarifies indignantly. He rolls his eyes at my snicker and stands from the couch, holding the towel in place as he makes his way down the hall towards my stacked washer and dryer.

As I hear him rummage through the dryer, I pick up my phone from the coffee table with hopes of seeing something from Taylor or Bryan, but there’s nothing. With a sigh, I set my phone in my lap and rub tiredly at my face. Jack distracted me from my stress, but now it creeps back up onto my shoulders with just as much weight.

I miss my best friend.

It may have only been a day, but somehow knowing that she is missing makes the void in my chest grow wider. I never had to worry about this shit when I was keeping people away from me. But then Taylor wedged her way under my skin and permanently embedded herself there.

“You’re frowning,” Jack comments.

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