Chapter 66 #2
“Was it Connor?” I said one more time. I knew already, but I needed to hear it again. Needed to hear him say it.
The littlest sigh slipped out of him, barely a sound, more like the air leaving someone who’d been holding it too long. Then he nodded - a tiny, defeated movement - his breath stuttering before he even managed to speak.
“He was so mad.” The words scraped out of him, rough and thin.
He swallowed hard, his throat working like each syllable hurt on the way up, like he had to force them past something tight and shaking inside him.
“What happened?” I asked, trying to calm the anger bubbling inside me.
“He hates me.” He shook his head. “I can’t seem to do anything right. And I try. I try so damn hard…” His voice cracked, and I swear I felt my heart break.
“Alex, what happened?” I asked again.
He didn’t answer at first. He dragged a shaking hand over his face, like he was trying to wipe the memory off his skin. When he finally spoke, his voice was thin, frayed at the edges.
“The neighbours saw you… on Saturday.”
My stomach dropped. A cold, heavy feeling settled in my chest. I exhaled sharply and pressed my palms into my eyes. “Shit, Alex.”
“He doesn’t like that I’m gay…” Alex’s voice cracked on the word. “Thinks I bring shame on the family. Mess with his reputation.” He sniffled, wiping his nose with the back of his hand, but it didn’t steady him.
“He went through my phone. Saw the messages.” His fingers trembled as he pulled it from his pocket. The screen was spider-webbed with cracks, the casing dented like it had been slammed against something hard.
My chest tightened. “Alex…”
He didn’t look at me. He stared at the broken phone like it was proof of something he’d deserved.
“Did he do that?” I asked, turning it over gently, like it might break further if I breathed wrong.
He nodded, eyes fixed on the floor. “So I couldn’t message you.”
“Shit, Alex, that’s so fucked up,” I said, shaking my head. My voice came out rougher than I meant, but I couldn’t help it. “That’s not right.”
“I tried to stop him.” His voice wavered, his eyes brimming with tears that clung to his lashes before spilling over. “I-I tried to get it off of him but he-” The words broke apart in his throat, and he pressed his lips together, like he could force them back down.
“What did he do?” I leaned in without thinking, my hand hovering near his knee, not touching, just there.
He shook his head, averting his eyes.
“Alex,” I said, softer but firmer, grounding my voice even though my lungs felt heavy. “What did he do?”
He froze.
Not like someone caught in a lie - like someone caught in a memory. His eyes unfocused for a second, breath trembling, fingers twisting in the hem of his jumper until his knuckles went white.
I could see the moment he broke. The moment the fear cracked through whatever thin wall he’d been holding up. His throat worked. His jaw trembled. His whole body shook like he was trying to keep himself from falling apart.
“He… uhm…” Tears welled fast, blurring his eyes before he could blink them away. “He made me sit down… I-In the kitchen.”
The way he said it - small, ashamed - made my stomach twist.
“And when I tried to get up, get away,” he whispered, “he hurt me. Said I needed to be taught a lesson because I don’t listen.” A sob tore out of him - raw, helpless - like it had been trapped in his chest for days.
“But I do listen,” he cried, his voice breaking apart. “I try to listen. I try… but it’s never enough.”
The words collapsed out of him, each one smaller than the last. He pressed the heel of his hand to his eyes, hard, like he could force the tears back in, but they kept spilling through his fingers, tracking down his cheeks faster than he could wipe them away.
“He shouldn’t hurt you for not listening.” My voice came out steadier than I felt. “Hell, he shouldn’t hurt you at all.”
I tried to keep myself calm - tried to keep my tone soft, grounding - but I could feel something hot rising in my chest, tightening my jaw, burning behind my ribs.
Anger.
Not at him. Never at him.
At the fact he was sitting here so unbelievably broken.
And Connor was still in that house, getting away with his actions.
I swallowed it down, forcing my breath slow, because he didn’t need my anger. He needed safety. He needed someone who wasn’t going to explode or snap or make him flinch.
But God, it was getting harder to hold it in.
I wanted to kill Connor. I didn’t know how, only that I wanted it to be painful, wanted him to suffer the way he’d made Alex suffer.
“He thinks he’s helping me.” The words came out between sobs, broken and uneven. “Thinks I’ll thank him one day, because I’m too weak… too pretty-”
He choked on the last word, like saying it out loud made it real in a way he couldn’t bear. His breath faltered, catching in his throat. “He thinks that’s why I attract guys. So he… uhm… shaved my head.”
My stomach dropped.
“He did what?” The words slipped out before I could stop them. My eyes went straight to his hat - the beanie he hadn’t taken off once since I saw him.
That’s why he had it on.
He reached up slowly - too slowly - like every movement cost him something. His fingers trembled as they found the edge of the hat. And then he lifted it off.
I sucked in a breath.
His hair wasn’t shaved. It was butchered - jagged, uneven patches where clippers had torn through without care, without intention, without mercy.
Not a haircut. A punishment.
And the look on his face… That was worse than anything done to his skin.
He looked like someone who’d been stripped of something he didn’t know how to name.
“Oh, Alex…” I whispered, but the word barely made it out.
“I told him I hated him,” he whispered, his voice shaking apart. “I shouldn’t have said it. It only made it worse and then-”
He sucked in a breath that broke halfway, his whole body trembling with the effort of holding himself together.
“Then I was on the floor… he threw me on the floor,” he whispered, the words barely audible, like they were leaking out of him rather than spoken. “It all happened so fast. He was just… hitting me. He wouldn’t stop hitting me.”
The tears came harder now, streaming down his cheeks, dripping onto his jumper in quick, uneven drops.
He didn’t even try to wipe them away anymore.
He just let them fall, like he’d run out of strength to pretend.
“I don’t know what to do, Kai.” He looked up at me, his eyes big and brown, and my heart melted. “I-I don’t know what to do anymore.”
I wrapped my arms around him.
The moment I did, he collapsed into me like something inside him had finally given out. His fingers clutched at my jumper, desperate, shaking, like he needed something solid to hold onto before he disappeared completely.
“Hey,” I murmured, pulling him closer, one hand sliding up to the back of his neck, the other bracing around his shoulders. “I’ve got you. You’re okay now.”
He pressed his face into my chest, his breath coming in sharp, broken bursts that hit straight through the fabric, and his whole body trembled against mine - not just from crying, but from the kind of fear that settles deep, the kind that doesn’t leave when the shouting stops.
I tightened my hold, careful of his ribs, careful of every place he might be hurting. He felt too light. Too fragile. Like if I let go, he’d fold in on himself and disappear.
“You didn’t deserve any of that,” I whispered into his hair - what was left of it - my voice shaking despite how hard I tried to steady it. “Not one second.”
He sobbed harder, the sound muffled against my chest.
“I couldn’t stop it.” He said between breaths. “I couldn’t fight back.”
For a moment, I didn’t know what to say; I just pulled him closer, arms tightening around him as if I could hold the pieces together for both of us. I pressed my cheek to his head and shushed him quietly, trying not to break right along with him.
He shook against me, not violently - just that small, exhausted trembling that happens when someone’s been holding themselves together for too long.
I stroked his head, my fingers brushing over the uneven, spiky ends.
They prickled against my palm, a reminder of what had been taken from him, of how close he’d come to breaking alone.
“It’s okay,” I murmured again, softer this time, letting the words settle between us like something warm. “You’re safe.”
He let out a sound - not quite a sob, not quite a breath - something caught between the two. His forehead pressed into my collarbone, hands gripping the fabric of my jumper like he needed something solid to anchor himself to.
I shifted just enough to hold him better, one arm around his back, the other cupping the back of his head. I kept my touch slow, steady, rhythmic - something he could match his breathing to.
“Breathe with me,” I whispered into his hair. “Just like this. Slow. In… and out.”
I exaggerated my inhale, letting my chest rise against him. Then exhaled, long and steady.
He tried to follow. His breath hitched. Then steadied. Then hitched again.
But he kept trying.
“That’s it,” I said quietly. “You’re doing good.”
His fingers loosened just a little, enough that I could feel the tension in his shoulders start to melt, not all at once, but in small, uneven drops - like thawing ice.
“You’re not alone,” I whispered, my thumb brushing gently over the back of his neck. “Not anymore.”
He let out a shaky breath that felt like the first real exhale he’d taken in days.
And I held him through it - every tremor, every broken breath - grounding him with the only things I had: my voice, my hands, my steadiness.
I wasn’t letting go.
As soon as the tears stopped, as soon as his breathing evened out just enough for him to lift his head, he looked up at me with those big brown eyes - wide, wet, still trembling at the edges.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. His voice was small, hoarse, like it had been scraped raw. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”