“That’s not getting to know me.” She placed the glass down on the desk next to the armoire and raised her hands and dropped them. “That’s going around me. That’s not my story you read. That’s someone else’s version.”
“You’re right. It’s not. Those were just words on a page. Someone else’s interpretation. I know that. I didn’t look it up to hurt you. I did it because I care. I care about you.”
She could see that. His eyes were filled with it and it gutted her, made her want to fall into him. But she couldn’t, and she knew exactly how to make that sweet concern of his fade to mist. Do it, Liza. Even if it hurts. Do it. “You want to know my version?” she asked, picking up the glass again and throwing the liquid back. It burned, but not enough.
“Someday,” he said softly. “Whenever you want to talk about it.” Someday. But there could be no someday for them.
“Why not now? You already know all the high points. Let me just fill you in on the details.”
“Liza—”
“No. No. Don’t stop me now. I’m ready to open up. I’m ready to talk.” God, she was being such a bitch. She knew it and yet this feeling of wild desperation was clutching her insides, telling her to push push push him away. Make him run. And she couldn’t stop herself. Not now. “Those articles, I’ve read them all too. I know what they say. They say the Nolan children were abused by their alcoholic father. I was raped by my father, Reed.” He flinched and she was glad. He should know this. It was better for him. “I still smell him sometimes,” she said, and wrapped her arms around her body. She was shaking now, that deep, familiar chill rushing through her blood as the phantom scent of liquor, dirty sweat, and tobacco met her nose.
“Liza, you don’t have to—”
“No, I do. I do. See, I’d like to say the rapes were the worst of it for me, but that’d be a lie.” She sucked in air. “What else, let’s see? The articles said we were loners, right? No friends? That’s true. But it wasn’t just that we kept to ourselves. The other kids, they thought we were weird. They avoided us, made fun of us, because we smelled bad. Like unwashed clothes and body odor. See, in my house we didn’t have things like soap and laundry detergent. I tried to do the best I could but—” Her shoulders sagged, and she forced them up. Reed was just watching her now, a look of sorrow so powerful on his face she knew it would be tattooed on her heart forever, whether she wanted that or not.
And she didn’t. She didn’t want that.
“My sister, Mady, she had muscular dystrophy. It caused a progressive loss of motor control and she was losing the ability to walk. She needed a wheelchair, but of course, my father didn’t have the money for that because he spent it on liquor and gambling. I couldn’t help her, the most I could do was keep him away from her.”
Liza took a deep shuddery breath, dropping her hands to her sides.
“Let’s see. The root cellar. That was mentioned, wasn’t it? It was one of his favorite forms of punishment for crimes we never committed. He’d leave us locked in there in the pitch-black for days at a time. Days. Alone. With monsters as big as our imaginations could conjure. The rapes were better than that.”
“I’m so sorry.” His voice was guttural, filled with sincerity. His heart was in his eyes, she could see it.
“Is this what you were looking for?” she asked, quietly, shaking her head in answer to her own question. “That night you met me, is this what you hoped you’d find in a woman? Was this the more you were referring to?”
“I don’t know how to answer that.”
“No, of course you don’t. It’s not a fair question.” She shook her head, suddenly exhausted. Weary to her bones. “I don’t want to deal with this—to live with it every day—much less ask someone else to.”
“It’s not all you are, Liza.”
She leaned back against the armoire again, letting her head fall to the wood for a second, her gaze focused on the ceiling. “The thing about monsters in the dark, Reed, is that if you can’t escape them, you have to let them in. They force you to.”