clear last night that you won’t let me intrude upon your past despite how much you demand of mine. If anyone has been pushing it was you.”
My lips snap shut as his shoulders straighten.
I didn’t need to say that. My insecurities are meaningless in comparison to the situation with Robert. Yet I feel better for getting it off my chest. One of the millions of voices in my head has been heard.
“Is that what this is about?” He frowns. “My past isn’t a topic either one of us want to discuss.”
“I understand, but it doesn’t stop me questioning the secrecy. Maybe this is more of that self-sabotage you spoke about.” I shrug. “I don’t know. All I can say is that I feel isolated from the truth right now. And I’m not sure how to get on top of that when the one person I thought I could trust can be physically near me, yet mentally keep me at arm’s length.”
19
Luca
“Get in here,” I demand.
Her throat works over a heavy swallow. Her chin hikes the slightest bit in defense.
She’s uncomfortable. Unsettled.
We’re fuckin’ twinsies.
“No.” She pushes from the doorjamb and stands tall. “I’ll find another room.”
“Do I need to carry you over my shoulder?” I start toward her, thankful she scoots inside before I slam the door shut. “So me spilling my past will stop you feeling isolated?”
“That’s not what I’m saying… I just—” She throws her hands up in the air. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore. One minute I’m in your house, in your bed, and I begin to feel happy and optimistic and whole. I started imagining a future that wasn’t a waking nightmare. And now we’re here and all those daydreams are gone, leaving me to question everything.”
She wants my secrets.
My truth.
I guess I owe her that much.
“They’re cigarette burns,” I admit, each word slicing open old wounds. “The marks all over my body aren’t from shrapnel. They’re not battle scars. Each and every spot of mutilated skin is from the burned end of a cheap roll of tobacco.”
Her face falls. Her lips part.
She stares at me for long moments, thoughts running rampant in those eyes, but no questions come out.
“How’s that for un-isolating truth?” I drawl.
She shakes her head, her forehead wrinkled in a wince. “Do I want to know who caused them?”
“Probably not. But I’ll tell you anyway.” I back away from her, moving to the bed to slump onto the mattress. “The lighter, more frequent ones are from my father. Because he liked to constantly remind me he was an asshole. Those few that are deeper came from my mom. She wasn’t as carefree about leaving abusive evidence behind, but when she did, she tended not to hold back.”
Pity takes over her beautiful face. Such sickening, unwanted pity.
I can’t look at her when she stares at me like that.
I don’t want sympathy. I don’t even want acknowledgement.
“Obviously, they weren’t the best parents,” I say through clenched teeth. “But my scars are nothing in comparison to my brother’s. He bore the brunt of their abuse.”
“That’s why you’re always helping him?”
“I help him because he helped me for years. He made sure he was the main target whenever my folks went on a rage bender. He kept me alive through childhood and has far more scars to prove it. Mental and physical.”
He grew accustomed to fucking up for the sake of saving me. It was his routine for so long the habit followed into adulthood.
“How long did the abuse last?” She approaches, stopping within arm’s reach.
“Benji was willing to risk living on the streets for as long as I can remember. He only hung around because I was too much of a chicken shit to leave. But as soon as my seventeenth birthday arrived, I forged my parents’ signature and signed up for the Navy. I was out of there and never looked back.”
“And Benji? What did he do?”
“Whatever he could to survive. He got a job. Rented a shitty apartment and kept his head above water with the money I sent him each payday.” I meet the sickening pity still heavy in her gaze. “Is that enough insight? Do you feel better now?”
“Please don’t ask me that.” She wraps her arms around her middle. “If I would’ve known what you were hiding I never would’ve made demands.”
“I didn’t tell you, Pen, because I haven’t told anyone. Not child services when they came to check on us. Not the few friends I had as