Chapter 8 – Braxton #3
"Why did this person do this to you?" I step into his room.
There's a tall dresser, a desk, and a bed with two duffel bags on it.
"Did you steal his candy? Mack on his boyfriend?
" I glance in Pookie's direction, trying to read his face to see if I'm getting hot.
He's as stoic as ever, a brick wall of emotion.
"Were you standing on Fifth Avenue catcalling finance bros?
Did you look at some bum sideways on the A-train? "
"Because he loves me," he says quietly, his voice cracking as he takes a seat on the bed, his hands held between his legs. "Because he just loves me so damn much."
Now, it all makes sense. I pace to meet him in front of the bed, towering above him. I should say something. I know I should open my fucking mouth and comfort him, but for the first time in my life, I don't know what to say.
He can't bring himself to look at me. Can't bring himself to look anywhere but at the floor as he continues, "Because I'm a disappointment. Because I do things that make him angry." He brings his head into his hand and grumbles. "Because I left him."
"That's not love," I say flatly.
"Of course I fucking know that," he scowls. "But you're standing in the middle of it; you can't tell right from left."
"Why didn't you fight back?" I ask, immediately regretting the question. I smack myself in the forehead. "Fuck, I'm sorry." I join him on the bed, taking a seat beside him. The weight of my body compresses the mattress, shifting our bodies close together. "That was a dumb thing to say."
He doesn't seem to take offense, though. Not outwardly.
"We were standing on the train the first time it happened.
" He nods, recollecting a memory. "He was pissed at me for something stupid.
It was always something stupid. A packed train watched as he slapped me across the face, and not one of them did or said anything.
That was the first and only time I fought back, because when we got home, it was so much worse. "
This is none of my business, but it's not enough to sate my curiosity. "How long did this go on?"
"Three years. He was always so damn sorry when he calmed down, when the rage seemed to disappear in an instant.
It's like a light would turn on in his eyes.
Always promised the world, bought me expensive things, held me for hours afterward, tending to my wounds that wouldn't exist without his violent expressions of love. "
Our thighs flush against each other, melting into each other, and without even realizing I've done it, I find a comforting hand on his bare thigh beneath the hem of his gym shorts.
"And then he almost killed me," Pookie whispers, pursing his lips. His eyes are dry, but his words are laced with tears. "So, I left. That was a few weeks ago."
I think about the first time I saw him when he showed up for his first shift at Mr. Pinks. He had a busted lip and a black eye then too. I didn't think anything of it back then, but showing up today with the same injuries sparked a curiosity I couldn't push away.
He clears his throat and continues, "Yesterday, I went to get the rest of my stuff, thinking he wouldn't be home during the day. Apparently, the bellman alerted him that I was in the building, and he walked in just as I was walking out."
I give his thigh a squeeze, and he twists his gaze to meet mine. Dark, glistening puppy eyes. "You should have told me," I say. "I would have gone with you."
He chuckles under his breath, not because something is hilarious, though. "He would have assumed the worst and killed us both."
I pass him a shit-eating grin. "There are a lot of things you don't know about me. For example, I've been in more bar fights than I usually care to admit. Something about this mouth writing checks that bigger and stronger men don't think I can cash."
"I don't want you taking this the wrong way, but you're a harmless teddy bear." He pats me playfully on the thigh. "Cameron is a rage-fueled machine of jealousy. He's an unstoppable force when he sees red. He'd pummel you into the ground and scream 'Fatality!'"
"I disagree," I say, rising to my feet with a clap of my hands. "I usually cash all the checks I write."
His gaze peels upwards with arched brows. "Huh?"
"I win more fights than I lose." I scratch at the back of my head and begin a slow retreat to the door. That's enough vulnerability for me for the night. "Don't ever be too timid to ask me to swing on someone for you. You hear me, Pookster?"
He nods in understanding, but it's not like I'm expecting him to ever take me up on that offer. He doesn't seem the type to want revenge on those who have wronged him. A gentle soul. Shy, too. He's not like the rest of us stallions.
As I'm closing the door on my way out, Pookie calls to me one last time. I duck my head back between the crack of the door.
"Thank you for earlier with Talon and Nessa."
I wave my hand. "You don't need to thank me."
"Yeah, I do," he sighs. "I've never had someone watch after me before."
There's no way that's true, but I ponder what it would mean if it were. If nobody in this world has ever had this guy's back before? That's such a foreign concept to me. Friends watch after friends. Family watches after family. Has he never had family or friends before?
I don't investigate further. Instead, I force a smile. "That's what friends are for."
And the boy who never smiles smiles right back.