Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
TOBIAS
I slam the door behind me and barely make it across my living room before my legs buckle. Stumbling, I make it to the bathroom. My knees hit the floor. Nausea surges up my throat and I lurch over the toilet bowl, heaving.
Once my stomach ejects what feels like poison rotting me from the inside, I collapse onto the cool tile. Sweat beads my brow. I wrap my arms around my bent legs and drop my forehead forward.
Every breath is a shard of glass embedding itself in my lungs. Images start firing in my brain, too fast, too bright. Too fucking disturbing for me to fully acknowledge.
The library.
The smell of old books.
Her hands smoothing my hair, stroking my cheek. Such a good boy, Tobias. My special boy.
Her husband sitting in a leather wing-backed chair, one leg crossed over the other. Watching. Always watching. Directing.
My stomach lurches again. I pitch forward, clinging to the porcelain bowl. My mouth fills with saliva, but all that comes up is bile. I flop against the wall again, exhausted.
Devastated.
A sound rips from my throat, somewhere between a choke and a sob. I press my damp forehead to my knees, shaking hard enough to rattle my bones.
Don’t tell anyone, Tobias.
Bad things will happen if you do.
You’re special, chosen. My beautiful boy.
My pulse roars in my ears, loud enough to drown out the noise of a fighter jet. I cover them and squeeze my eyes closed. I’m him again, that frightened eight-year-old boy who’d lost his mother and his sister, then lost himself.
I push to my feet and strip out of my clothes. Cum sticks to my stomach—a harsh reminder of how I lost control with Rebecca yet couldn’t follow through. Couldn’t bear to let her touch me.
Fuck.
I turn the water as hot as it will go and stand beneath the scalding spray, but nothing can erase the memories. They won’t stop. They won’t stop. I scrub my skin raw. I can’t get it clean.
I can’t fucking get it clean.
Bracing both hands on the tile, I let the water pour down my back and squeeze my eyes closed.
I’ve unlocked the door to a nightmare, and no matter how badly I want to, I can’t slam it shut.
Tears spill down my cheeks. I brace my forehead against the wall.
How could I have forgotten what they did to me?
Why didn’t I tell my dad or my siblings?
Why did I shoulder this alone? Shame? Guilt?
Jesus Christ.
What the fucking hell is wrong with me?
I lose track of how long I stand there with the scorching water turning my skin raw.
Somehow, I get a grip on my emotions and slow my breathing.
Turning off the shower, I roughly dry myself and pull on a robe, then I head for the door.
I don’t make it that far. My legs give way, and I sink to the floor again.
I wrap my arms around my knees and bury my head.
A sob bursts out of me, and the pain hits like a fireball in my gut. Fuck, I want to turn it off, to go back in time, to never ask the questions. It’s agony, the remembering. I don’t want to fucking remember.
Somebody help me.
“Oh, God, Tobias.” Rebecca sinks to her knees beside me, keeping her distance. “It’s me. It’s just me. I’ve got you. I’m here for you.”
Blindly, I reach for her. “Fuck, Wren,” I mutter.
“It’s okay. You’re safe. I’m right here.”
In her arms, the memories surge, once again, tearing through the walls my mind must have built to protect me. There’s no protecting me from them now. They’re coming too fast. Bile crawls up my throat, but this time, I swallow it.
“She—” My voice fractures. “She’s the one.
She touched me. He watched.” I pull out of Wren’s embrace and hug my knees again.
“God, he watched and directed her like it was a fucking movie. She said I was special, that it was our secret.” Revulsion retreats, and in its place is a roaring anger, a violent rage I can’t contain.
“They said bad things would happen to me, to my siblings, to my dad if I said anything, so I didn’t.
I kept it to myself. Why didn’t I remember until now? What the fuck is wrong with me?”
“Nothing. There’s nothing wrong with you.
” Tears run down Rebecca’s face. She pushes up onto her knees and cups my cheeks.
“You listen to me. You’re perfect. They’re the broken ones.
They’re the evil ones, not you. God, you were a child.
” Her voice cracks. A storm builds in her eyes.
Anger. The same anger that’s raging through my veins.
A shudder racks my body. “I want to confront them.” Those bastards cannot get away with what they put me through. I won’t fucking let them. Christ, what they did to me was two decades ago. Twenty years. How many kids’ lives have they ruined in that time? I can’t bear to think of it.
“I’ll be right by your side.”
“Don’t tell my family. Please. I couldn’t bear them to know.” I can carry the weight of shame but not their pity. To them, I’m the funny, carefree one, and although I’ve let the mask slip with Rebecca, I don’t plan to do that with them.
“I would never betray your trust like that.”
“I need to get off this floor.”
I push to my feet, my legs still wobbly, but I help Rebecca up, and we trudge into the living room. I just about make it to the couch. I’m so fucking tired, I could sleep for a week. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I close my eyes.
“Do you want me to go?”
My eyes shoot open. I grab her hand. “No, stay, please.”
“Okay.” She sits next to me, and I rest my head on her shoulder, soaking up her strength when it should be the other way around. Christ, I’m such a fucking loser.
Time passes. We sit in silence, but her mere presence brings me the comfort I crave.
I have to figure this out, to somehow heal myself so I can be the husband Rebecca deserves.
A real husband who doesn’t puke at the thought of intimacy.
If she can move past the vile things that were done to her and take a chance on a new start, surely I can, too.
I’ll need therapy, I realize that now, and knowing why I’m the way I am is the starting point I was searching for.
But before I can commit to that, I intend to confront the people who stole my innocence.
Maybe then, and with professional help, I can find a way back to the man I’ve always wished I was.
A complete person rather than this fractured chameleon who plays a part for the outside world, too afraid to take off the mask and let people see his pain.
A sudden realization makes me sit up straight, jostling Rebecca in the process. “Sorry, but something just occurred to me.”
She’s instantly attentive, intrigued. “What?”
“Do you think this is why I like to watch? Why The Lair is so important to me?”
She bites the inside of her cheek and takes her time answering. “Maybe. Perhaps it was your way of assuming control like her husband did when he watched her with you. Instead of the victim, you were the one calling the shots, and in an environment you created.”
“Yeah, that sounds… plausible.” I sink back against the couch again. “It explains a lot. Something else to raise in therapy.”
Her eyebrows flicker. “You’ve decided, then?”
“I don’t think I have a choice now. I see how it’s helped you and Isla. It’s worth a try, right?”
“Absolutely.” Her phone buzzes and she glances at it. “Isla and Vicky are back.”
“You should go. Isla will want to know where you are.”
She grimaces. “I don’t want to leave you.”
“I’ll be okay. A bit of time on my own to comb through everything that’s happened is probably a good idea.”
“If you’re sure.” When I nod, she stands. “I’m right down the hall if you need anything.”
“Thanks.”
She gives me a small smile, then crosses the room to the door. Pausing on the threshold, she glances back at me. “Do you believe in fate?”
“Not sure I do, why?”
“Because I think fate brought me to you that night. We’ve both been violated, abused, taken advantage of. Perhaps this is the universe’s way of telling us the way to heal is by walking the path together.”
Another flash of a smile, and she’s gone.
Her footsteps fade, and something inside me shifts. Fate. It’s not something I’ve ever thought about. I close my eyes. I don’t think fate brought us together.
I think it finally stopped getting in the way.
When I wake the next morning, I’m still on the couch, my eyes glued together and my neck feeling as though it’s been stomped on.
I push myself to sitting and groan, kneading the sore muscles.
My stomach growls, reminding me I missed dinner.
Last night, the thought of food made me want to hug the toilet again, but this morning, the nausea has lessened, and I’ve woken with a fervent desire for revenge. That alone gives me strength.
Today is the day the past catches up with a couple who’ve run from their crimes for far too long.
I retrieve my phone and do what I couldn’t face doing yesterday. I read the private investigator’s full report into Ava Southall and her husband. Turns out they’re retired and living a quiet life in a three-bedroomed bungalow in Sussex.
Other than me, how many kids did they abuse? The horror of it presses down on my chest, a weight I can’t and won’t shake until I’ve made them pay.
I arrive for breakfast to find the dining room empty, and I’m glad. Putting a mask on comes naturally to me, has done for years. After my breakdown yesterday, though, and knowing what I have to face, I’m feeling raw. I need to hold onto my strength for the confrontation that lies ahead.
I eat a plate of eggs, bacon, and toast, and wash it down with juice. Re-energized, I make my way to Rebecca’s rooms, knock, and wait. She answers a few seconds later, takes one look at my face, and nods.
“I’m sure one of the girls won’t mind watching Isla for a few hours.”
I angle my head to one side. “How do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Read me like that? No one has ever seen me the way you do.”