CHAPTER 12 - Bryan Trevor
I want to hide the truth
I want to shelter you
But with the beast inside of me
There's nowhere we can hide
Demons – Imagine Dragons
I rush out of the car when I see the small figure, wrapped in a dark cardigan, appear on the balcony.
I try to pretend my heart isn’t pounding out of rhythm at the sight of her—that even scared, she found the strength to pull off this crazy stunt of sneaking out of the mansion with me.
But I’ve never been good at fooling myself, not when it comes to Noah Black.
I let out the breath I was holding and crack my neck as I approach the tree.
This is my chance.
The opportunity to talk, to understand some things, and to finally settle unfinished business.
I could do this in her room, but that place brings back memories that are too painful, and whenever I step inside, I feel the urge to kill some people. So I’d rather talk far from that repugnant mansion, loaded with memories that are hard to stomach.
I push my thoughts aside, watch her climb down through the branches, and for an instant, the urge to help her consumes me—but I remember, with a half smile, the only time I tried that.
“I’m going to climb up to help you.”
“Don’t you dare!” Noah shouts, then claps her hand over her mouth, realizing she spoke too loudly. “I’m not so fragile that I can’t climb down a tree,” she grumbles.
“I know, but I can—”
“You can do nothing, so just stop talking and wait for me,” she scolds, quieter now, starting to climb down carefully.
I watch every movement of her body as she descends, ready to step in if needed.
My heart swells with pride when I see that even struggling, she manages to grip the branches firmly and find the right footholds.
Noah grumbles softly, letting out little curses on the way down, which makes me smile despite myself.
I want to move, reach out, catch her if she stumbles, but I stay still. Respecting her space, letting her prove she’s capable—it makes me smile inside because I know how much it means to her.
Noah finally reaches the ground and turns to me, her hair slightly disheveled, her eyes shining, a huge smile lighting up her face.
“I did it!” she says triumphantly, practically bouncing in place.
I take a step toward her.
“You did, and I knew you would, because you’re the most incredible girl in this world.”
She lets out a little laugh, satisfied, and for an instant everything feels simple and light.
I take her hand and we make our way into the bushes where I left the motorcycle I borrowed from Travis. Times like these, it’s good to have a friend who owns a repair shop—he can snag the bikes customers leave for repairs.
The past fades from my thoughts when I notice her feet touch the ground.
Her watchful eyes scan the surroundings, and her throat bobs when she spots the truck parked there.
I extend my hand and her eyes fall to my skin.
The hesitation on her face is clear, and I hold my breath, afraid she’ll back out—but I release it quickly when she accepts and our hands join.
The jolt that runs through my skin is as intense as the first time, and every cell in my body seems to suddenly awaken at the simple touch.
It’s strange that even after all these years, this girl is still everything to me.
That only she has this power over me.
Noah was, is, and always will be the only person in this world who can turn me inside out and show me that’s exactly how I want to be.
I shake my head and pull her gently toward the car, then open the door for her. As soon as she gets in, I walk around, slide behind the wheel, and turn the key in the ignition, starting up as soon as the engine comes to life.
The silence in the car makes me restless because I have so much to say, yet I don’t push it—in here, she can’t answer me.
My muscles tense and my fingers grip the steering wheel harder than necessary as my thoughts trip over each other, trying to find the best way to talk to her and uncover everything that happened that night—and all the nights that followed.
I hate feeling confused, nervous, and off-balance because I’m obsessed with control.
I never let myself show weakness, but when I’m with Noah, I feel like everything changes.
Not that she makes me weak—never.
Actually, she literally turns me into a weapon of flesh and bone because I’m capable of destroying anyone for her, without hesitation.
Still, I know my ruin lies exactly in this unchecked power.
As much as I fight against it or refuse to admit it, Noah is my damn Achilles’ heel.
She’s the one who can take me to the highest heights and the lowest depths in equal measure.
The drive to the house where I’m staying takes a little over fifteen minutes.
The road is quiet, but I notice she only relaxes when we turn onto the dirt road surrounded by huge trees.
Her eyes fix on the view outside the window, and from the corner of my eye I see her taking in the landscape.
She’s lost in thought as she looks around—maybe because she still can’t believe she’s really outside that prison.
Only when I pull off the trail and park the car does she turn to face forward.
Her gaze locks on the house in front of us, and I watch her reaction, but she just stares at the place without letting any emotion show on her face.
The house isn't luxurious, but it's not falling apart either. It's blue, simple, with a porch out front. Time has taken its toll—it clearly needs a fresh coat of paint and some roof repairs—yet the natural surroundings give the place a strangely welcoming feel.
I get out of the car and only then notice the weather's warmed up a bit today. Before I can walk around to open her door, Noah's already out and heading toward me.
“It's not a five-star hotel, but there are no rats or snakes,” I say, trying to sound casual because I know she's terrified of both.
She arches an eyebrow, and I feel like an idiot.
Fuck, right now, those two animals are the least of her problems.
I'm nervous.
Nervous as hell.
I take a deep breath, trying to calm the turmoil inside me, and step aside, gesturing for her to go first.
I follow behind, trying to catch every reaction.
When she enters the living room, her eyes immediately land on the whiteboard that takes up most of one wall, and she looks at me, raising an eyebrow.
“I'd been planning to bring you here, so I wanted to make things easier,” I say, crossing my arms. Unlike what I expected, she doesn't go straight to the board. “You can put your jacket on the couch,” I tell her, but she just shakes her head.
I lean against the front door and watch her scan every corner of the room. The living room and kitchen share the same open space, separated by a marble island.
Then Noah disappears down the hallway and I automatically follow. She peers into the bathroom, inspects every detail, then opens my bedroom door, letting her eyes wander over the bed and the closet beside it.
I know her inspection has nothing to do with getting to know the house and everything to do with buying time before we talk, so I just wait for her to examine all the other rooms. I wait for her to be ready, since it's obvious she's nervous—I can see it in her involuntary gestures, the tension radiating from every pore.
Her fingers drum against her jeans without her realizing it.
Her eyes dart away whenever they meet mine.
Her shoulders are rigid and tense.
I give her space, keeping my distance and staying silent. I know the exact moment she decides to stop putting off our conversation—she lets out a sigh and heads back to the living room.
I follow her, and she goes straight to the whiteboard, picking up the marker I left in the holder. Yesterday, besides stocking the pantry, I bought a few things to make it easier for us to talk.
What happened that night?
The direct question screams in red, and I walk to the shelf beside it. I grab the pack of cigarettes and light one, because I need it as much as I need to tell her everything that happened.
“Your father sent his henchmen to kill me,” I begin, drawing in the nicotine, and her gaze scolds me without a word.
She always hated this habit. “They were waiting for me at the trailer, so I was caught off guard, and since there were three of them, I didn't stand a chance.” I lift my hair a bit so she can see the scar.
“I passed out when one of them pistol-whipped me.” She leans against the wall, casting me a sad look, yet I continue.
“I woke up when they pulled me out of the car, but I was already tied up, hurt, and disoriented. I remember every punch and kick.” She gasps, unable to hide how much the words hurt her.
“At that moment, the only thing I could think was that you'd believe I'd given up on us, and I think that's what gave me the strength to endure the beating,” I reveal, feeling every muscle in my body tense.
“I was practically dead when I heard a noise in the woods, and I think that scared the henchmen off. Before everything went black, I felt a burning in my body and thought those shots would finally take me.” I hate remembering that night, hate that I still haven't sent those three bastards to hell.
“One shot hit my thigh, the other grazed my chest, and since I was already badly hurt, I think they assumed I'd die. I thought so myself.”
I'm so sorry for what Gavin did.
She writes, and when she looks at me, I see her trying to hold back tears.
“It's not your fault, Butterfly.” I move toward her, but she shakes her head, stopping me as she goes back to writing.
Why… she starts, but stops and closes her eyes as if gathering courage. Why are you only coming back now?
“I spent the last few years thinking you were fine, that you were studying and had gotten away from that hellhole,” I growl, irritated at my own idiocy.
What do you mean?