Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
BLAKE
I’m caught between my own heartbreak and Theo’s.
I didn’t want to lie to him, but I also didn’t want to open old wounds to ease his pain.
But how he is now? I’m regretting not just telling him the truth.
Yes, I was raped. Yes, I had my whole world turned upside down that fateful night.
I spent weeks in a depressive state, not only from having my body viciously violated but also from losing the man I loved.
It wasn’t until I found out I was pregnant that I managed to pull myself out of it.
I spent the next eight months in intensive trauma therapy, dealing with the aftermath as I learned how to put myself and my unborn baby first. It took a long time, and even ten years later, I still have days when I don’t feel okay.
Where I can still feel his touch on my skin, and his grunts and groans in my ear as he took away everything that was me.
But I clawed back that control. I clawed my way back to myself, inch by inch, mile by mile. I did it. I became a better person for myself and for Oscar.
Watching my gentle giant now doesn’t bring me any happiness or peace; it just brings me more heartache and pain.
I never wanted any of this. I never wanted him to leave me.
I never wanted him to get to the point he’s at now because no one deserves to feel this amount of pain.
So even though I’m still mad at him, caught between wanting to hate him and blame him…
I can’t. Knowing he tried to kill himself is enough to bring me to my knees. I didn’t know. I didn’t know anything.
He's curled up with his head in my lap, guttural sobs falling from his parted lips. Tears stream down my face, landing in his hair that I gently stroke. I pull him closer, holding him as tightly as I can. This wasn’t how I was expecting tonight to go.
I thought we’d go to the bar, have a drink, and get the information we needed.
Instead, it seems like those demons we’ve both been holding on to for far too long are finally coming to light.
Theo sits up, wiping his face, and I do the same, smudging my makeup but not having the energy to care. I stand on shaky legs and walk wordlessly to the liquor cabinet, pouring us both a healthy dose of whiskey.
When I return to him, he’s still sitting on the floor, but his back is now resting against the sofa, his head in his hands, and my heart breaks for him.
Gently nudging the glass into his hand, I wait for him to take it before blowing out a breath and sitting next to him.
I take a healthy swig before starting my story.
“Hugh was an ex-boyfriend. One I met before you.” Theo shifts but remains silent.
“I wasn’t overly interested, and I think he knew it.
He became obsessed, following me everywhere and blowing up my phone constantly, wanting to know where I was and who I was with.
This carried on for about a month before I’d had enough and broke it off with him.
” I draw my knees into my chest, resting my arms on them and twirling the glass.
“He didn’t like that.” I chuckle humorlessly.
“Things went from bad to worse when he started getting handsy—pushing me up against walls and crowding me, threatening me with violence if I didn’t take him back.
At first, I didn’t believe him. I laughed in his face, but he just kept coming back.
Harder presses against the wall, a firmer grip on my face, until one night he lost it and hit me so badly I blacked out.
” I wipe the tears on my cheek with the back of my hand, noticing they’re shaking.
I don’t dare look at Theo. I need to get this out, and if I look at him now, there’s a high probability I’ll never finish.
“I spent the night in the hospital with a broken cheekbone and a busted eye socket. I pressed charges, there was absolutely no way I wasn’t going to, but he got off lightly—twelve months' suspended sentence.” I scoff, remembering the resentment and rage I’d felt knowing he’d been given a slap on the wrist, all because his family has money.
“I thought that was the end of it. I hadn’t heard from him in months, but then I guess he must have found out about you. ”
“Me?” he asks quietly.
“Yeah, he started with the threats again. It started as texts from a burner phone. I deleted them and blocked the number, but he still kept sending them. When he didn’t get the response he wanted, he—” I cut myself off.
I know I need to say the words out loud.
I know he needs this closure just as much as I do, but this is my trauma, the worst night of my life that I’m reliving, so he can wait for me.
I finally bring myself to say the words he’s been so desperate for me to say. “He raped me, Theo. I didn’t ask for it. I didn’t want it. I didn’t cheat on you.” My words came out loud at first, but the more I spoke, the quieter I became because I have no idea how he’s going to react.
An arm sneaks around my shoulders, and I let out the sob I’ve been desperately holding back.
Placing the glass beside me, I crawl into Theo’s lap, gripping his shirt in my hands like it’s my lifeline.
Like he’s my lifeline. It’s his turn to comfort me now.
He strokes my hair, murmuring things I can’t hear above the sound of my own sobs.
My chest heaves up and down as I struggle to breathe through the pain, the heartache, and all the things I’ve missed out on.
Eventually, I pull away from his comforting embrace and wipe my face, huffing out a laugh. “That… wasn’t exactly the evening I had in mind.”
He doesn’t say anything as I sit back against the sofa, pick my discarded glass back up, and down the last of it. I peek at him through my eyelashes. He’s sitting facing forward, staring blankly. It’s been an evening of secrets coming to life, and I’m not sure where we go from here.
Theo stands up and storms out of the room. I panic, not wanting him to do anything rash like hurt himself, so I rush after him and bang on the door he went through. “Theo, are you okay?” I call out, leaning my head against the door. “Please don’t do anything you’ll regret. I’m right here.”
“I’m fine, firefly. I’ll be out in a minute. I promise.”
I nod, still not liking him being behind a closed door, but I have to give him the space he’s asking for. I don’t want to push either of us too far. Tonight has been enough already.
Sitting on the sofa, I wait, listening as the clock on the wall ticks. Seconds turn to minutes, and before long, thirty minutes have passed. Then Theo finally walks out.
He looks worse for wear—blotchy face, red rimmed eyes, and a withdrawn look. My heart breaks for him all over again. I itch to walk over to him, to comfort him like he did for me. I wait in silence as he paces the room and runs a hand through his long locks which have come out of his bun.
Finally, he says, “I’m sorry.”
I’m taken aback. That’s not what I was expecting him to say. “Why are you sorry?” I ask, standing up.
“For fucking everything up,” he replies. He’s still not looking at me, still pacing, still running a hand through his hair. His nervous energy is making me nervous.
“You didn’t fuck everything up, Theo,” I tell him softly.
He spins around to face me, his face a mask of surprise. “How can you say that? If I’d have protected you instead of acting like a big baby, I could’ve stopped what happened to you,” he exclaims, arms flung wide.
Theo stops, almost as if something just hit him.
“The way I’ve been with you,” he whispers.
“I’ve manhandled you like some fucking asshole.
Fuck!” He looks horrified before shoving his hands in his hair and tugging.
“I’m such a fucking idiot.” Theo starts thumping the heel of his hand against his head, slowly at first, then getting harder and harder.
“Theo, please stop.” The emotion in my tone must get through to him because he stops immediately and looks at me with tears in his eyes.
“I’m fine. It’s okay. Some part of me trusted that you’d never do anything to hurt me like he did.
I was never worried where you’ve been concerned”—I curl my arms around my body—“but you have to understand… I haven’t forgotten; I never will.
I’ve just learned to live with it. I’ve learned to put myself and my so—my life first. What happened that night isn’t any more your fault than it is mine.
I don’t blame you for that. What I do blame you for is leaving me altogether without talking to me. ”
“I have Borderline Personality Disorder,” he blurts out, a sullen look on his face.
“I don’t know what that is,” I admit, but I'm grateful he’s opening up to me. I relax my arms by my side and take a couple of steps toward him.
“Where do I start?” He laughs, takes a few deep breaths, then continues. “I had a pretty shitty upbringing. Verbally and physically abusive mother and a stepfather who—” He visibly swallows, and my heart drops to my stomach. “A stepfather who sexually assaulted me as a kid.”
“No,” I breathe out, my hands flying to my mouth.
“Yeah. I took the punishments so Christie didn’t have to. Anyway… my therapist says that because of childhood trauma and neglect, I think differently from how ‘normal’ people do. I don’t feel like most people, don’t perceive things like most people, and I can’t relate to people.”
I always knew there was something different about him, and this confirms it. “So, like when Adam told us in college his aunt died and everyone was upset for him, offering him words of condolences, you didn’t seem bothered.”
He nods. “It’s a bit more complicated than that, but essentially, yeah.
Mike, my therapist, explained it as having been through something so traumatic that I’m unable to be compassionate to people I’m not close to.
I’m unable to offer them comfort because it was something I was never taught growing up.
I don’t know how to care about people because the only way I was offered any affection was in the forms of fists, words, or… other abuse.”
“The way you got upset about me doesn’t make sense, though. You seemed compassionate then,” I muse, confused. How can he be one way but not another?
Theo runs a hand through his hair. “You’re someone…
my brain thinks of as important… or you were, at least, so that means I’m protective of you.
Those of us with BPD have intense feelings, very much ‘please love me, but also don’t leave me.
’ Even though you’ve hurt me astronomically, I still crave your acceptance and forgiveness when I’ve fucked up.
“I’m either black or white; there’s no gray area with me.
It either is, or it isn’t. If I feel out of control, whether through my own actions or others', I lash out in anger. I push people away and say mean shit so I can validate the inner thoughts of ‘you’re not good enough.’ I’m terrified people will leave me if I push them too hard with my behavior, yet I can’t stop it.
It’s the same if I feel people don’t give me the attention I’m craving.
They could have just had a shitty day or been tired, but I take it as a personal attack on me and assume they don’t love me anymore. ”
He scoffs, putting his head in his hands and rubbing his face as he adds, “My childhood trauma didn’t make me stronger, it made me a fucking people pleaser.
The problem is that I don’t trust anyone.
Every single person I’ve let into my life—other than the guys—has screwed me over in some capacity or another.
” He drops his hands and turns his gaze to me, his eyes filled with so much pain. “I thought you’d done the same thing.”
My heart breaks just a little bit more for him, that he’s been struggling with this for so long and no one knew about it.
“Okay, so how does this fit into what happened that night?” I want him to keep talking to me. I want him to tell me everything he’s kept buried. I want to help him.
“I struggle to form relationships with people.” He pauses, as if trying to gather his thoughts. “I’d never loved anyone the way I loved you, and seeing what I did? It brought back all the intrusive thoughts that circle my brain every. Single. Fucking. Day.”
“What thoughts?” I ask gently.
“I’m not good enough. Not a good enough lawyer, boyfriend, friend.
Hell, I’m not even a good enough person.
But I know I am. I love with every single fiber of my being.
I love so hard it's a detriment to me sometimes, mentally and physically.” He starts pacing the room again, and I stand to watch him, transfixed by everything that’s happening.
“The night I found you, I didn’t have the instinct to hurt the guy. I just assumed you were into it. So, instead of fighting for you, I ran like a coward because that’s what my mind was telling me to do. It was telling me I’d never be good enough for someone like you,” he ends in a whisper.
“Oh, Theo.” I do the one thing I probably shouldn’t—I race toward him, wrap my arms around his waist, and hug him. “You’ll always be good enough, big guy. Don’t ever forget that,” I murmur into his chest.
He pulls me in closer, holding me tight as he whispers, “It’s still not enough, Blake.
My rational brain tells me I’ve achieved more in my life than some people can only dream of, but my irrational brain tells me it’ll never be enough.
I need to do more; I need to be more.” He sighs heavily, and I can feel the metaphorical weight he’s carrying in that one action.
“I hate the way I am. I hate feeling like an imposter in a world I created for myself through blood, sweat, and tears. Where people tell me daily I’m great, amazing even.
Because the truth is I’m not… I’m just a broken man who doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing. ”