50
The rain pelts against the windowpane, distracting me from the imminent discussion he's steering me toward.
I never thought one could be envious of something as simple as raindrops.
It falls freely, beading against the glass without any real path.
Something I wish I could do—forge my own path and let it take me away.
I struggle to wrap myself around his tortured past.
He's broken too. He doesn't want sympathy, he wants understanding.
Someone with clarity, to know what he's gone through, even though he doesn't give me more than a vague few sentences.
If there’s one thing I've learned about Kieran it’s he doesn't want his emotions to be visible on the surface.
But unlike me, instead of hiding his feelings, he wields them.
The one thing we both have in common though, is our ability to drown in sex, drugs, and alcohol.
I want to feel; to punish myself. He wants to be numb.
I take a slow measured breath trying to get a grip on reality.
“Are you going to use my past against me?”
I ask. It's a valid question. He's addicted to hurting others.
His father has clearly brainwashed him. I mean hell, the guy sterilized me and while I should be absolutely livid, I'm certain the reality hasn't hit me yet.
All he's done is use my fractured state, siphoning every ounce of happiness from my body until I feel nothing but once the adrenaline fizzles down, I'll hit me hard.
“Don't know,” he answers, shrugging. His face is a mask of indifference.
It takes everything in me to ignore the choking lump in my throat.
He climbs into the bed with me, propping up on his knees.
His powerful thighs keep me locked in place, as if I could escape.
We're intertwined now, regardless of how I feel about it.
I'm caught in his web, helpless. He senses my hesitation.
Instead of force, he guides my hand over his scars.
I can tell this isn't easy for him. His body looks like a beautiful hellscape of a nightmare that takes my breath away.
The scars draw me in. Even though my trauma is skin deep—at least it used to be— we share the same damaged state.
I wet my lips, ready to expose every vulnerability within myself. I'm sick of trying to hide who I am. “My mother was a whore. I never understood why my childhood looked different than my friends’. Despite our lifestyle . . . she loved me.”
He cocks his head, listening intently, drinking in each word. My words grow shaky.
“All I wanted to do was be a normal girl. I wanted a house with a dog and a little white fence. I hated the endless slew of hotel rooms in shady neighborhoods.”
My eyes snap shut and I turn my cheek. His fingers dance along my skin before pinching my chin, forcing my eyes back on his.
“Keep going. Don't stop.” His irises shine with a primal fire, as if this, too, gets him off.
My misfortune. My struggling past. All of it.
He takes my hands, dragging them along his damaged stomach.
I sense this may be his way of comforting me, but I'm not sure he knows how, but if this is his attempt, I'll take it.
My nails trace along his tattoos, scars, and healed incisions, blinding me with his lethal beauty.
He's gorgeous, captivating even. Even like this.
Reluctantly, I continue. I'm terrified of what he thinks of me.
As if it'll give him another reason to see me as nothing.
“But . . . as I got older, I started to see it. Her addiction to drugs and sex. Then . . . it started to be targeted toward me. My once loving mother who protected me, suddenly let the drugs cloud her judgement. So, I started . . .”
I swallow, unable to finish my sentence.
Kieran wears a mask of indifference but continues guiding my hands over his scars.
“It was then I decided I wanted a different lifestyle. But even after you erase that part of your life, it lingers, leaving a festering wound that won't heal in its wake. I felt like I did something to deserve this life, like maybe I am meant to feel every single shard of pain embedded in my system.
I was ashamed of who I was, so I forced myself to feel it all. Every painful memory. Every dirty touch. Sometimes, when I felt it was too much to bear, I drowned myself in drugs for a short time just to endure.”
My mind drifts to painful memories, resurfacing in the forefront of my mind.
Tears pour from my eyes, streaking down my cheek.
I'm just so tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of life.
My hands drop back to my lap and I just sob.
Kieran doesn't speak. Who can blame him?
He wanted a broken, fragile woman. He won.
I've given up. I'm no longer his obsession.
He can move on to his next victim. The perfect reason to leave.
His fiery gaze lingers. An unapologetic hunger ignites within him.
He takes my cheeks in both hands, caressing my damp skin wordlessly.
His thirst for power supersedes any ounce of sympathy he could ever possess.
“Kill me.” I whisper faintly into his hand.
Stray tears bead down my cheek, catching into his palm.
I inhale his scent like a fiend, ashamed I can still bear to even be in the same room as him, let alone ache for his scent, as if it's some sort of calming agent; if anything it should shatter me whole.
His face turns deadly serious, giving nothing else away. “Nah. Never.” His words burn into my skin. Each painful syllable burrowing further under my epidermis, taking hold.
I sag against his chest. His hands fall to his sides.
He kisses the top of my head. The only remotely affectionate gesture he's ever really shown me.
He lays my body down onto the soft sheets.
His warmth envelopes me like a blanket, hugging my skin.
I'm no fool to think this was for comfort, but more so that I don't escape him.
He owns me, but soon nobody will ever own me again.