Chapter Eleven #3
I’m hesitant as I extend my arm to take the beer from his hand. I almost expect him to pull it away at the last second, but he doesn’t. The condensation drips down the side of the bottle, making the glass slick beneath my fingers. "Thanks," I murmur, raising the bottle to my lips.
The cold, foamy liquid fizzes against my tongue, it has an unexpected bitter hoppy flavor which catches me off guard, making me scrunch my face involuntarily.
Silas then reaches for his own beer, the silver ring he wears on his right hand clinking against the glass.
His broad frame looks almost too large for the chair, yet he lounges back into it easily, relaxing, with an amused expression on his face.
He clearly is entertained by my less-than-enthusiastic reaction to the taste of the beer.
"Stop smiling like that.” I feel my cheeks flush with embarrassment, again. “Why aren't you eating?" I ask when I notice he hasn’t touched any of the food spread out across the table.
His expression softens. "I want you to have a chance to try everything first and decide what you like. I'm not picky, I like it all,” he says with that same gentle patience he has shown me since meeting at the diner. “You just decide what you would like to have, and I'll eat whatever is left. "
The way he says it makes it clear this isn't just about the food.
It's another small way he's showing me he cares.
Making a point to put me first when no one else ever has.
His consideration, the way he cares, his thoughtfulness, despite everything else I know about him, it still makes my heart do a confused little flip in my chest.
We eat in mostly silence. I don't say much because I'm too busy shoveling the most delicious meal I've ever had into my mouth, one fork full at a time. I suspect Silas chose to remain silent because he was shocked with the sheer volume of food I’m consuming.
Not to mention the three beers I've already downed.
The quiet begins to weigh on me, making me feel a bit uneasy. "Did you make the cake yourself?” I ask, determined to break the silence. “This container doesn’t look like the containers a store-bought cake would come in."
"Hell no." he chuckles at my question, shaking his head.
"I can’t take credit for that. I may be able to cook…
some things, but baking is not a skill I have.
Even if I could somehow pull off baking a cake and it was actually edible, I certainly couldn't make it look that good.
It would look more like a toddler made it.
I asked my aunt to make it. It's kind of a tradition in my family to have that cake for birthdays, at least on my mom's side. "
"You just called your aunt up and were like ‘Yo, Auntie, I need a birthday cake for the girl I have chained to my bed.’" I couldn’t resist the jab, feeling emboldened by the alcohol coursing through my body.
Silas shakes his head, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Absolutely not. I didn’t tell her it was for the girl chained to my bed until I picked the cake up." His tone is matter-of-fact, as if discussing the most mundane of errands.
My eyes widen in surprise. "Wait, you're serious??"
Silas nods, and then we are both laughing. The ridiculousness of this entire situation is comical .
"Trust me, she didn't even blink an eye. You're not the only one with a fucked up story to tell about their family or what it was like growing up with a less-than-ideal parent."
My laughter fades, replaced by a somber understanding. Silas is someone who has endured pain, just as I have. Maybe even more.
I open my mouth then immediately close it. The question I so desperately want the answer to is burning on the tip of my tongue. I don’t know if it’s the beer, or my eagerness to connect with someone who might understand the pain of growing up with a shitty homelife, but I decide to take the plunge.
"What's your story?" As soon as the question leaves my mouth, I regret asking.
Silas's entire demeanor shifts. The warmth in his eyes slowly fades, and the carefree, playful man I had just been laughing with a few moments ago…
gone. In his place, I see a glimpse of the cold, calculated Silas I witnessed at Corey's house.
A heavy silence settles between us, and I find myself holding my breath, unsure of how he will react. Will he lash out? Shut down? His brow furrows slightly as he considers my question.
Silas takes a slow, measured breath, “That’s a story for another day.”
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked." Feeling foolish for prying, I nervously start cleaning up the containers of uneaten food from the table. As I reach for the last container, I knock over a full bottle of beer with my elbow that I couldn’t see because of my brace.
The bottle tumbles from the table, spilling directly onto his shirt and lap before shattering on the stone patio.
"I'm so sorry.” My voice is small as I continue to mutter a stream of apologies.
"It's okay, Char, it's just a shirt," Silas reassures me. He’s already on his feet, unbuttoning the shirt. I watch as he slides the shirt from his shoulders, then turns to hang the damp fabric over the back of his chair. The golden rays of the setting sun illuminate his bare back, and that’s when I see them.
Lash marks. Hundreds, maybe even thousands, of raised, jagged lines covering the expanse of his back.
I didn't notice them when Silas was leading me through the house the night he first brought me here, the house was dark.
The tattoos covering Silas's skin do an excellent job of camouflaging them.
But the warm glow of the evening sun is unforgiving, showcasing layer upon layer of thick, raised and knotted scar tissue.
My hands fly up to cover my mouth, but it’s too late, a gasp leaves my lips before I can stop it. Silas's head whips around in my direction the moment he hears me. I watch as the confused look on his face fades when he realizes what has caused my horrified gasp.
Wordlessly, he turns his back to me, his eyes downcast to the ground like he is ashamed by what I’ve seen. Usually confident and composed, he now seems vulnerable.
"What happened to you?" The words tumble out, my concern overriding my better judgement. I take a step forward, my heart pounding in my chest, and his eyes snap up to meet mine. "Who would do that to you?"
"It's fine,” his posture is defensive as he takes a step back. “Nothing for you to be concerned about."
"It's not fine!" The words come out with an intensity that makes my entire body tremble.
My reaction even surprises myself. I'm yelling, and I don't understand why my emotions are running wild and my chest feels so tight with anger that it could burst open at any minute.
"Who hurt you like this? Who would do something so… so evil?"
“You really want to know?” Silas’s voice is low, carrying a weight I’ve never heard before. His eyes darken, boring into mine, something dangerous flickering in their whiskey-colored depths. His jaw clenches, and I can see the muscle working beneath his skin .
"Think long and hard about that question, Charlotte." His voice drops lower, taking on that deadly quiet tone that makes my hair stand on end. "Because if I tell you that part of my story, I have to tell you all of it. Every dark, twisted detail. Do you understand what that means? Do you really want to know the kind of monster you're sleeping next to at night? The things I’ve done? The things I’ve seen? There’s no going back. I’ll never let you leave once you know. "
The tension is thick, and we both fall silent while I consider my answer. I know I should be afraid—any normal person would be. But I've never been what most would consider normal.
Normal people don't prefer being locked inside someone’s bedroom they barely know over their everyday life.
Do I really want to know the truth? The full extent of how deep the darkness runs inside of him? A part of me recoils at the thought, but another part of me that craves understanding and connection, urges me forward.
So, I swallow hard, my throat dry, but I will not back down. Instead, I take another step closer, so close that I feel the heat radiating from his skin. "Yes." I keep my voice steady despite my racing heart.
"You don't know what you're asking for," he warns.
"I think I know exactly what I’m asking for." But even as I say the words, I don't know if that's actually true.
The scars on his back tell a story of unimaginable agony.
Someone hurt him—repeatedly. Inflicting the kind of pain that changes a person forever, and not just physically.
My fingers twitch at my sides, wanting to reach out and trace those scars, as if I could erase all the suffering he endured with a simple touch.
"I want to know who did that to you, and if they're still breathing. "
I've never wished death on anyone before—not even my mother at her worst. But seeing the evidence of such cruelty etched permanently into Silas's skin awakens something deep inside of me.
What's happening to me? Thirty-six hours ago, I was just a girl trying to survive.
Now I'm standing here, feeling protective over him, wondering if whoever did this got what they deserved.
Silas studies me for a long moment then takes a step closer until we're almost touching. I feel like he’s looking right through me. "My truth isn't pretty, Charlotte, it's ugly and brutal. I meant what I said—I’ll never let you leave after this."
"Where would I go, Silas? Back to people that have never given a damn about me? Back to getting myself off on camera while hundreds of strangers watch for money I don’t even get to keep?
My entire life has been ugly and brutal.
At least this time, I'm choosing it. I want to know all of it. You really think you’re such a monster? Do your worst… show me the monster."