Chapter 39 Cecilia #2
“Just get the fuck out! All I feel for you is hate now. I hate what you did to him, and I hate what you’re doing to me!
” His hands pulled at his hair in distress, and I recoiled from the sting of his words.
Maybe he just needed time to heal from the hurt I caused him, but for so long he had been the person I ran to when my heart was breaking the way it was now.
“You don’t hate me Santos álvarez. I don’t believe that for one second,” I tried to find the strength in my voice to say what needed to come out; what I hoped had been the cause of his pain, because deep down I was afraid to admit it was the cause of some of my pain too.
“I think you’re scared,” I approached him, and he sneered.
“Scared of what Cecilia? Or should I say Celia?” He used my name like it was a curse against all humankind, and maybe it was. Maybe, if you said it three times the ground would break open and the gates of hell would open up and swallow all of us down into the fiery pits of despair.
“Does it matter? You haven’t called me by my name for as long as I can remember,” I crossed my arms and when he didn’t respond I continued.
“I think you’re scared that maybe you’re wrong.
Scared that maybe what you saw in those videos were the worst thing you’ve seen, and you can’t do anything to change it.
Maybe you’re afraid, because now your idea of who I am might be tainted and you can’t stand to be around me longer than necessary to find out.
Or maybe it’s that we’re so alike, that it actually petrifies you.
” I kept getting closer with each word I spoke until we were finally chest to chest, and I tipped my chin up to look into his eyes.
“How do you figure?” He narrowed his eyes on me.
“You understand now, I’ve always known the ruined pieces of our souls were the same,” I tap on the tattoo on his temple letting him realize that I’ve been aware of exactly just how consumed by the shadows he was too, “and I think you’re afraid of how that makes you feel. How I make you feel.”
“How I feel? I feel like I don’t know who you are at all,” he said in a cold tone as I bravely tried to call him out.
“Maybe neither do I. Maybe all I have is the person I am when I’m around you guys.
I don’t want to lose that too,” I confessed, reaching for his face as I tugged him into a kiss.
His lips crushed into mine with the desperation of a man who had been making up for lost time, but just as quickly he broke away and pushed me off of him.
“See what I mean? What the fuck are you doing this to me for? This doesn’t get to happen for us.
This is the knife in my brother's back. You don’t get to come between us.
I won’t let you ruin this,” he grabbed me by the arm and dragged me to the doorway, once we crossed the threshold, he practically threw me out.
“Stay away from me, Morena. Or I will kill you,” he warned before shutting the door in my face.
Fuck, that stung.
It felt like all the oxygen had been pulled from my lungs, and I struggled to find the will to inhale life back into me.
I wanted to crawl into bed and forget I existed for the next fifteen years.
But I didn’t have time to react or even recover from that blow before Ronan came strutting out of his bedroom in nothing but gray sweatpants and wet hair clinging to his face.
That emerald forest in his eyes clearer and more alive than I could remember ever seeing.
He made a B-line towards me and pulled my chin with his thumb and index finger before pressing a soft kiss to my lips that sent butterflies to my stomach in a sickening flutter.
I turned my cheek in defiance, letting him know my momentary lapse of sanity was over, and I wasn’t so easily forgiving of what he put me through the last two months.
“Let’s eat. You owe me the truth. All of it,” there was no anger in his expression anymore though, like the truth somehow mended a piece of him, and I nodded in agreement.
We walked into the kitchen where a Game of Thrones-worthy spread was laid out over the massive island.
As much as I wanted to bash his face in with a brick, he was right. I did owe him the truth.
Okay, maybe not the face. He was too pretty for that.
There were at least three different types of croissants, and probably two dozen donuts from the pink frosted with sprinkles kind to the chocolate covered with cream.
I grabbed a plate and filled it with donut holes and nearly died when I saw the churros.
They didn’t look authentic in any way, but I would settle for now.
I had just received a serious upgrade from an actual dog kennel to this.
“What do you want to know?” I asked him, unsure if he wanted to spend hours trailing over every detail.
“Everything. Eat first,” he said, scraping avocado onto a piece of toast and then smothering it in sriracha.
I sat down once I’d decided on my assortment of foods, though I wasn’t sure my stomach would, in any way, fit even half of what I’d put on my plate.
But I could try. Once I’d eaten my second chocolate croissant, Ronan finally let me focus on talking instead of eating.
We went over what he thought he knew about me, and I corrected every piece that had been a fabrication made for the purpose of keeping him safe.
I told him about the things I went through as a kid, not just the house burning down, but how my papá trained me to replace him.
Even though he had seen it for himself I wanted him to hear it from me.
He had that look in his eyes, like what I had been through was hurting him, but I wanted him to know that my past didn’t break me like he thought it should have, it forged me.
“And the day we found your mom dead?” he asked when I finished.
“My uncle killed her, slit her throat. Painted the walls with her blood. I couldn’t take the risk of you or anyone else seeing that.
Let alone the police,” I scowled as I thought back to that day, that was the lie that toppled them all.
That was the searing hot divide that began to crack us from within, as it threatened to end what we had.
“Fuck Céci. You didn’t even let me be there for you. You didn’t even get to grieve,” he shook his head, his eyebrows drawn into a frown on his forehead.
“I regret it, if it counts for anything,” I pressed my lips into a hard line as I stared off at nothing in particular.
He placed his hand over mine and stroked his thumb against my skin gently.
My eyes filled up with the threat of weakness again, but I was too tired of being strong.
It was exhausting. Ronan had always been that safe place I could go to when I needed to break, when all I could do was crumble.
The lies had broken us, and the truth would finally heal us.
But healing was painful.
And we had so much of it to do.
I jerked my hand out of his hold and hardened my gaze on him.
I couldn’t keep denying how much I wanted us to be whole again, but it was impossible to forget all of the hurt he caused.
I needed so badly to be loved by the man who could overlook all of my flaws and still see me as something worth caring for, but I was far from forgiving.
As if he could read my mind, he scooped me off the chair and placed me on his lap, inspecting me as if it were the first time.
“Stay with me tonight,” it wasn’t a question but there was hesitation and insecurity behind his voice.
We’d been picking at each other's wounds at every chance we got for the last few weeks, the habit had begun to sink in deep. He knew damn well I was fully capable of saying no just to hurt him. I’d gotten so damn good at pushing him away just to see if he’d finally go.
If he was so easily forgiving me for all my lies and deceitfulness, then could I forget the last couple of months? Could I forget the monster who hurt me, even if I had a hand in forging him?
“No,” I said coldly, pressing my hand to his cheek. My response forced the line in his jaw to harden and become more defined as he clenched his teeth.