Page 348 of Sin With Me

He’s muttering now, words that are a jumbled, nonsensical mess, and my brows furrow. I take a deep breath and lean forward. “What are you talking about, Ro?”

His entire body is trembling uncontrollably as he continues to whisper, and my hands ball into fists on my lap. I want to touch him, need to hold him, but I know he won’t want that, not right now.

“His eyes were black. That’s how they used to look in the basement.”

I stare at him, beyond confused. “What happened in the basement?”

Something in my question finally gets his attention and his eyes snap to mine, clearer than they’d been just seconds ago. His Adam’s apple bobs and he breathes slowly, deeply, as he settles into his seat, his shoulders dropping.

“Eve,” he whispers.

With a sniffle, my head bobs. “Yeah, Ro?”

His hand tentatively slides out in the space between us, and he offers me his pinky. My shaking finger wraps around his and I lock onto it like the lifeline it is.

“I have to tell you a story, Goldie.” His voice is hollow now, like he’s already empty from the words that are about to be purged from somewhere deep inside his soul.

My lip lifts in the corner in an attempt to reassure him. I tighten my pinky around his and whisper, “I’ve always loved your stories.”

He gives me a sad look. “Not this one.”

I hear the truth in his voice and I brace myself. I turn my hand, threading my fingers with his. “That’s okay,” I promise. “I’ll listen anyway.”

His jaw ticks, and he looks down, his eyes locking on our threaded fingers. “I was five the first time my father hit me.” A choking sound builds in my throat, but I swallow it down and squeeze his hand tighter. “At the time, I didn’t know why it was happening. I just remember being at church one Sunday, we were still new in Divinity. It’d only been a few months since we moved out of your house in Haven and—” he breaks off, swallowing roughly and I let my thumb glide over his palm.

Roman shakes his head. “I remember being in church and all I wanted to do was read my new book. It was from your mom,” he rasps. “She always used to—”

“She used to let us read in church,” I whisper, and he nods.

“Anyway,” he breathes. “I was reading and everything was fine and then, we got home and he…he was so mad. I’ll never forget what he said when he pushed me through the front door. I stumbled over my feet and landed on my knees and he said, ‘Stay down there. Sinners belong on their knees so they can pray for forgiveness’.”

He scoffs, running his fingers through his hair and I’m hit with the terrifying realization that the things Isaac said, the things he made me do, aren’t all that different from what he did to Roman, to my mother.

“I didn’t know what I’d done wrong or why I had to pray and when I asked, he simply said, ‘You embarrassed me today’. He was so fucking pissed off that I’d been reading and some old lady next to me had noticed I wasn’t paying attention that he backhanded me. When my bloody nose dripped on the carpet, he made me clean it up. But no matter what I did, the stain wouldn’t come out.”

He opens his free hand, staring at his palm like he’s looking at a picture, and shakes his head again. “The stain will never come out.”

“Ro,” I murmur, my voice cracking. “I—”

He looks up at me and gives me a look so full of love and sadness that my lips fold between my teeth to keep in another sob. “It’s okay,” he says, and I instantly feel horrible that he’s trying to reassure me. “It’s over now, but just let me say it. I need you to know. I need you to understand.”

I watch his tears continue to spill down his cheek and nod, silently promising to keep my mouth shut until he’s done. To absorb his devastation, his broken pieces. To take them for myself, to carry some of his burden. I’d take it all if I could. I’d take it all and then do everything in my power to make sure he never hurts again.

I’d do that and so much more.

I squeeze his hand, and he continues, his eyes never leaving mine.

“After that, he started bringing me down to the basement. He called them my lessons. He made me stay on my knees and pray until I learned to be better, to be obedient. To repent.” He spits the last word and my heart sinks as the vision fills my mind.

A tiny, innocent version of the sweet, kind man before me, in a cold, dirty basement, repenting for sins he didn’t know existed before he was even old enough to understand what cruelty truly is.

“When I was around eight, he started using the rice.” A heavy silence hangs between as I work through the angry swirl of emotions ripping me apart.

Rice.

The rice.

The same rice I once was forced to kneel on. But it wasn’t the same for me, not at all. Roman was…

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