CHAPTER 12 - Bryan Trevor #2
“When I woke up from the beating, a week after that night, I had no memory,” I reveal, and I see the surprise on her face.
Of course she didn't know. “An old hunter found me. He took me to the village where he lived, and he and his wife took care of me.” I keep going, remembering how Paul and Florence were angels in my life.
“I spent six months in treatment, and gradually my memory came back. The moment I remembered you—us—I got hold of a phone and sent you a message.”
They found out Tessa had given me the phone and confiscated it.
“I had no idea, so when I got a message from your phone saying I was a murderer, that you were fine without me, in college, and never wanted to see me again, I believed it was you.”
God, so Sarah knows you're alive.
She writes, startled, bringing her hand to her mouth.
“Yeah, one of the reasons I needed to talk to you was to find out who ended up with that damn phone.”
It was Sarah. She said she’d destroyed it, but she must have lied, since six months later she still responded to you. I just have no idea if she told Gavin about your message.
“I don’t think so,” I stub out the cigarette in the ashtray, “or he would’ve sent someone to finish the job.” She nods, knowing that’s exactly what he’d do. “Even with the message, I asked Luke to dig around town about you, and he confirmed you’d gone to study at Harvard.”
I never made it to college. They lied to the whole town because they didn’t want to admit they’d stuck me in a damn psychiatric clinic.
In three steps, I’m in front of her and gently turn her to face me.
There’s raw pain in her gaze, and I wonder what they did to her in that clinic. I open my mouth to ask, but stop when I see her eyes silently screaming that she’s not ready to talk about it.
“I’m sorry, Noah, I’m sorry I couldn’t save you,” I say, wiping away a tear running down her cheek.
“I was destroyed and believed you’d be better off without me.
” I press my forehead to hers, feeling our breaths mingle.
“I should have called, but since I thought you had the phone and were at home, I was afraid they’d hear and hurt you.
” I close my eyes, remembering that hellish week when I thought she hated me.
“I still called you almost a month later on a night I got wasted, but the call didn’t go through, and that’s when I convinced myself you really didn’t want me around. ”
She pulls away, erases what she’d written, her movements betraying her nervousness.
Gavin told me you were dead. He showed me photos of you inside a van, passed out and beaten up. I’ll never be able to forget what I felt in that moment.
“He really believes that, and right now it’s actually better that way,” I say, and she turns to me.
I see her temple glistening. “You’re going to roast in here with that cardigan,” I warn, and she wipes the sweat away with her hand.
“Let me put it on the sideboard.” She refuses so quickly, so fearfully, that alarm bells go off in my head.
“Butterfly, why don’t you want to take off the cardigan? ”
I’m cold. The sweat is just nervousness.
She writes hurriedly but doesn’t look at me again, confirming something’s wrong.
“No, you’re not,” I counter, knowing she’s lying. “I won’t force you to take it off, but please, don’t lie to me,” I say, placing my hand on her shoulder. She flinches. “Let me see what’s underneath, Noah,” I ask, trying not to let my mind go where it’s already going.
Noah turns, fixing her eyes on mine, tears welling up.
She swallows hard and nods slowly, turning back around to make it easier.
I hold both sides of the cardigan, lowering it slowly down her arms. Unlike before, she’s not wearing a high-necked blouse but a white tank top, and my blood boils as I take in what I see.
Not because of the fabric itself, but because of what she was trying to hide from me.
The air leaves my lungs when I see the clearly recent marks on her skin.
Noah is covered in purplish bruises that spread across the entire length of her arms and back. One of them, larger, covers the right side of her shoulder, so dark it’s almost black. Near her left shoulder blade, there are shallow cuts that haven’t healed properly.
Cuts made by some kind of belt, rope, or similar object.
And on the undersides of her arms, more bruises.
My heart races, not from desperation, but from pure hatred.
I turn her slowly, and when her empty, lifeless eyes meet mine, it’s as if a violent, uncontrollable storm breaks free from inside me.
My entire body vibrates with hatred, and in a burst of fury, the rage swallows me whole. I take a step back, spin on my heels, and the first thing I see is a mirror on the wall. Without thinking, I walk up to it and punch it hard, shattering the glass across my hands and the floor.
Pain and hatred duel to see which is stronger, and I need something more to keep myself from leaving. I kick the chairs near the island, my breathing threatening to suffocate me, yet I shove the old armchair against the wall.
“Son of a bitch!!” The hoarse sound tears through my throat as I grab a pitcher, then another, smashing both against the wall.
My vision blurs, blood pulses in my temples, and for an instant I feel like I could destroy the entire world with my bare hands. I know that if Gavin appeared in front of me right now, I’d kill him in the cruelest way possible.
I’d tear off every piece of his skin and leave him completely raw!
I’m about to head to the porch to let out more of this rage when I hear a soft sniffle.
I turn quickly, and my blood freezes when I see her huddled on the floor, hugging herself. Her wide eyes are terrified, shining with fear—but not of the past.
Noah is afraid of me, and that realization is like a bucket of ice water thrown on the fire consuming me.
“Hey…” My voice fails, and all the weight of guilt hits me at once. “I’m sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t mean to lose control.” I take a step forward, slowly, and she shakes her head, refusing.
I try to control my ragged breathing, fighting to keep this monster caged because she doesn't deserve to meet him. Noah looks around as she wipes away her own tears, and only then do I realize the extent of the damage I've caused.
How chaotic everything around us has become.
And how much it's scaring her!
“I lost control, but I would never hurt you, Butterfly.” Tears stream silently down her face, and I hate myself for making her feel this way. “I swear I'll never hurt you. I'm not like him!” I say firmly, stepping closer again.
This time she doesn't stop me, doesn't pull back, so I crouch down and pull her to me gently, wrapping her small body in my embrace. She stays motionless for a few seconds until she finally gives in, letting herself soften in my arms, her sobs growing stronger.
And with her breaking down in my arms, I realize that no matter what I want to destroy, my first priority is learning not to destroy her too.
“Forgive me for before, for now, for not being enough.
I'm going to get you out of there even if it's the last thing I do.” I pull her back just enough so she can look at me.
“And if he touches you again, I want you to tell me. No matter what time it happens, I want you to call me right away, you hear?” She nods before burying her face in my chest again.
We stay wrapped in each other's arms, and only when she calms down and pulls away do I start cleaning up the mess I made while she goes to the couch and sits down.
Noah watches me closely for the next few minutes.
When I finish, she points to my hand and I open my mouth to say it's nothing serious, that I've had bigger and worse injuries, but I decide to just nod.
I go to the bedroom, open the first aid kit I keep there, and when I return to the living room, my hand is clean and the deeper cut is covered with a bandage.
“Can we get back to our conversation?” She nods and I hand her my phone. “Type here, so I can make us something to drink while we talk.” She nods again, and together we head to the kitchen.