Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 142764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142764 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
At the top of the stairs is a long hall, and we walk until we reach her room. She has no idea that I know exactly where I’m going, and that I spent one too many nights in this house, hiding from my father’s rage. Once inside, she plops down on the bed and shifts her feet up to sit cross-legged.
"He shouldn’t have threatened you like that. I don’t know what’s going on. He's worried about stuff, things he's not telling me, and then you saw what happened at the party." Bel frowns.
I nod. "Yeah, that’s his MO. When things get tough, he prefers to lock down and turn in on himself. Not that we’ve been talking a lot or even close as of lately, so I wouldn’t have a clue what is going on in his head, but I can guarantee it has nothing to do with you if that’s what you were thinking?”
She shakes her head. “No, I just worry about him. Taking over the family business isn’t easy I assume, and he doesn’t share anything with me about it. Only what I need to know. I think he’s trying to protect me, to limit my association with the bad. I don’t know.”
Her concern and love for Seb makes me rage with jealousy, but it also makes my heart swell. I hate the idea of having to share her with her brother, but it can’t be helped. If she loves him, then she does, and I’ll do anything to keep her happy.
Even share her with my best friend, who currently hates me.
“If it helps, you’re the first person in his life who he seems to give a shit about. The one person he seems to care for other than himself, and that’s saying a lot because Sebastian can be one selfish prick when the occasion calls for it.”
“I know someone else who can be rather selfish too.” Bel looks up at me, her green eyes twinkling. Fuck, I swear I come in my pants a little bit. “Anyway, what did you want to talk about?" Her voice is soft. "Must be serious if you came through the front door instead of sneaking through the window.”
I unbutton the top button on my shirt and lean forward to brace my elbows on my knees. Talking about this is necessary, but that doesn’t mean it’s going to be easy.
“As you know, my father is a grade A asshole."
She huffs. "Tell me something I don’t know."
I let out a long exhale and stare at my shoes, the serious turn of this conversation makes me unable to look at her. "No, I really mean it. He's really an asshole. I don't even know when the beatings started. When I think back on things, I can’t remember a time when he didn’t hit me. One day, he shucked me off to the nanny, and the next, he had all these expectations I suddenly didn't live up to."
Her hand glides down my back. "It's okay, Drew...you don't have to do this. We don’t have to talk about this."
I shake my head and run my fingers through my hair. "That’s the problem here, Flower. We do. I have to do this, release the demons and the pain. I have to try to heal the fucking wounds if we are ever going to get past everything. If you are ever going to truly forgive me."
Fuck. I thought I could do this, but I don't know if I can. I don't want her to see this side of me, to know the terrible details, but here’s no way around this. In order to let go of the past, I have to reveal it, and I’m ready to let go. I shudder out another breath and shrug off her touch. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her flinch and I can feel the shard of glass entering my skin again from that single look.
Reaching for her, I cup her cheek gently in my hand and scan her face, hoping she can understand. "It's not you. I-you can't touch me while I talk about this stuff. The mere thought of what he did to me, and put me through…” I grit my teeth, and my soft grip turns harsh on her cheek. I drop my hand and turn away before continuing. “The memories are strong enough to make me lash out, and I don’t want to hurt you.”
I don’t bother looking at her as I speak. I’m not sure I could stomach it. The pity, and despair, or maybe even disgust that she’ll soon wear on her face.
“I think I was five when he first started hitting me. It was for little things at first, like if I failed to listen to what he said or didn’t do something perfectly. As I got older, the beatings evolved into something else. They became more frequent and more violent. He went from hitting me with his hands to kicking me. There were even times I blacked out, and when I woke up, I was in the same spot with my blood all over the floor. I learned really fucking quickly that if I wanted to survive I needed to do every single thing he told me to. I went where he told me. I was the best at anything he named. He used me in any way he possibly could to get ahead in business, with friends, colleagues. I was his punching bag and his one-way ticket to all the money in the world.” I grit through my teeth, my anger bubbling so close to the surface. I want to give into the burn of it, to let it wash over me, but I can’t. I can’t let it rule me anymore. I can’t let him rule me.