Page 41 of Beautiful Chaos

“She wasn’t answering her phone,” he starts and a cold sweat breaks out along my neck. “I worried she had gotten in trouble. Her father had never hit her, but he wasn’t a kind man. I knew more about our father’s proclivities than she did. Had just begun to learn how depraved they were just the week before, actually. I was nervous. On edge. Couldn’t relax until I heard from her. Even though it wasn’t all that unusual for her to be put on lockdown without warning. That night was different.

“When my father got home, I knew. He was in too good of a mood. Too eager to see the worry in my face and ask about her.” He scoffs, his disgust radiating from every pore. “My father never cared about me. I had been angsty for over a week without him noting it, but that night? That night he cared. He was gloating. Not by telling me what happened, but by asking where she was. Prodding my anxiety by mentioning her father had been in a foul mood when he left him in his office earlier. That night he took an interest in me and I immediately knew something was wrong.”

“Jesus Christ,” Tyler curses.

Fuck. I forgot just how many ears were in this room, too caught up with my own destructive emotions. I look around the room to find tears staining all three of the girls’ faces as they listen to Charles talk. Listen to a new version of the worst night of Scar’s life. Grief and anger balloon in the room, suffocating me.

“I pretended to laugh it off. Told him I was going to the party without her. Asked him to let me know if he heard anything about her from her father. He grinned,” he whispers. “It was the sickest, most twisted smile I had ever seen on anyone’s face. All while he patted my back and assured me he would. It was too kind. Too unlike my father. If I had doubts, they were gone in that moment. I kept my calm demeanor as I left the house, and then gunned it to her house.”

I can almost picture the setting he creates with his words. Feel his anxiety and sense of hurry to get to her. So reminiscent of all the times I’ve been desperate to see her with my own eyes after a mission to make sure she really is well and truly okay.

“I was too late,” he whispers. “I knew I was going to be, but still,” he trails off. “When I pulled up to her house and smoke was spilling out of every window and I could see the flames rapidly devouring the house that felt almost like my own, something shattered inside of me. I knew where she would be because of the subtle taunts my father couldn’t resist, but nothing could prepare me for what I found. I didn’t think there was any way she would survive. There was so much blood, fire already licking up her body. She felt so much smaller in my arms than she had just the day before, like whole pieces of her were being left behind in the flames I pulled her out of.”

The love he has for her shines more with every devastated word out of his mouth. It makes me hate him even more.

He looks up from where his eyes were locked on the floor, straight to Kade. “I was too weak, too powerless, too useless to protect her from my father. From hers. From the men who were with them. I vowed that night I would change. I would become stronger, learn my father’s games. Learn how to scheme and connive and stab people in the back. I was going to grow my own power and influence and take him down. Protect the next person that came into my life. I just never thought it would be the girl I failed all those years ago.”

Kade seems as clueless as I am on what to do with this new information. He tilts his head in question, but I just shrug in response. I don’t know if we should believe him or not. Don’t know what it means if we do. I don’t even know what it means if we decide we don’t.

Declan clears his throat and I flinch at the weight of his gaze on me. I’m beginning to understand why Scar often pouts or curses when he turns that look on her.

“I think you’re all forgetting that none of this is up to you.” His words are a bucket of ice water crashing over me. I click the metal of my piercing against my teeth in frustration. This is the very crux of why we’ve always hated Charles so damn much. We could never protect her from him. Never able to stop her from being hurt by him. A blade pierces the skin, but it’s easy to step in front of. Betrayal is a poison that seeps into your body, doing damage before you ever realize it’s there. There’s no way to take this pain for her.

It’s a battle within herself, one she has to win, or lose, on her own.

I’ve never hated anything quite as much as feeling helpless.

“This dick measuring is unnecessary. Scarlett is the only one who decides if you’re worthy of forgiveness.” Declan aims his words directly at Charles, but it was a reprimand for Kade and I as well. Kade bristles across the room, but makes no move to act out or disagree.

Ryder moves to his side, whispering something in his ear and some of the tension bleeds from his body. He catches my eye and gives me a slight nod. We follow Scar on this. Whatever path she chooses to take, we will be right at her side.

Even if it fucking sucks.

Where the fuck do we go from here?

* * *

I couldn’t stayin the office for a second longer.

Not with so many people’s emotions clogging the air, or all the questions left unasked. Declan was right. It’s not up to me, nor Kade. Not even Charles.

Letty is the one he needs to hash the past out with. She’s the only one who has the right to decide if his reasons for doing what he did are enough. I have a feeling on which side she will fall on, but I can’t help but be worried about what will happen before that.

His side of the story we thought we knew, it’s… it’s overwhelming. Disorienting. If I’m having this hard of a time sorting out the feelings Charles evoked, how the hell is Letty going to react? It’s not like she’s been handling it well so far.

I wander through the halls, stopping at her bedroom but she isn’t there like I expected. I pause in the doorway, taking in the familiar and soothing space. My eyes linger on the mural I painted on her wall what feels like a lifetime ago. It’s been too long since I had a brush in my hand. Life hasn’t allowed time to slow down, detach, and put it all on paper. The only time I truly let go of the control I’m constantly seeking is when I’m in front of a canvas.

Roe baby likes her arts. She was so curious when I first bought the easel and paints for her, but we never had the time to truly explore it. She came to us just as everything got insanely out of hand. I’ll have to change that. Carve time out to teach her. To let her explore a different side of the well of creativity I know is rapidly growing inside of her.

I turn away, closing her door behind me. I want to find Scar, but I’m not ready to go back into the shared areas of the house. Too many people are still lingering as Noah works his magic to see what leads we can get from what Charles brought. I’m not even sure exactly what it was. We never quite got around to that portion of the conversation. Seems to be the theme of the night.

With no other choice, I head towards my room to regroup before seeking her out once more. The thought doesn’t stay with me long as I open my door to find her. She has her back to me, facing the window that overlooks the backyard. Lost in thought the way I’ve grown accustomed to finding her recently. It reminds me of the early days. The spacing out. The distancing herself from not only people, but reality. My biggest fear every day is we may lose her to that abyss. I’d rather slay a thousand monsters for her than go against the mind numbing haze she often used to retreat to.

I hesitate in the doorway, much as I did in her bedroom only moments ago. It’s rare for me to not be aware of my next move, of what I want, of what I need. It took years for me to learn how to temper my emotional responses. I was quick to anger and even quicker to act on it. Until Letty needed me to keep it together. Until our very lives were contingent on my being able to play my role well. A role I’m unsure how well it fits me anymore.

Not when I feel as lost as Scar looks.

Shaking myself off, trying to rid the morose thoughts, I move into my own room.

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