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But the cold look in his eyes, the way his lips shaped those awful words.
I don’t feel that way about you.
Maybe it’s because he has too many opinions in his head. Maybe one of them is attracted to me while the others look at me like a friend or a sister. My fists clench against his hard, ripped stomach. It doesn’t matter. They shouldn’t toy with my body or my feelings.
“We’re here,” he says.
I sway off of his back, adjusting my eyes to the sunlight. The motorcycle trembles as he turns it off. He’s standing in front of me with a look that tells me he knows he’s in trouble but I should listen to what he has to say before I freak out. My direction of focus falls on the house behind him.
My house.
My father’s house.
The house he nearly beat me to death in.
“Let me explain.” Not Dessin anymore. Kane. Soft sweet eyes, begging for mercy.
“What the hell did you do?!” My tone comes off angrier, and far more violent than I have ever spoken to him before.
“Skylenna—”
“No!” I grab his forearm and yank it toward the bike. “Get me out of here. Now!”
“Please, just let me—”
“You know what he did! You were there.” My voice breaks off at the end, to something broken and weak. “You saw what he did to me.”
His strong, rough hands are covering my ears, fingers combed through my hair.
“I was there,” he says sternly. “I saw you. I saw your helpless body covered in blood. I thought you were dead!” Agony. Raw agony like someone has just jammed their hand into his chest and pulled out his heart, still beating, still connected to his other organs. “It wasn’t until you saw me through your tears and blood that you smiled. You smiled at me. Even through your pain, you had hope that I had come for you.”
I drop my head. Grab the back of his wrists for support. “Why are we here?” I whisper.
“Jack left something behind for you.”
My head springs back up. The question of what is written all over me.
“He left it for you as a last resort. In case you ever came into any trouble.”
“How do you even know that?”
He blinks slowly, working his jaw. “He told me before he died.”
Oh.
“Can I wait outside?”
A sad smile of reassurance. “Of course.”
He tells me he’ll be right back. I can imagine him walking through the front door. Through the door cut from an oak tree. Squeaking when it opens. Air decompressing when it closes. I remember the scent of the living room. The scent of old books, the scent of the living dead. A lifeless home.
I remember when he would come down from his fits and find enough room in his heart for remorse. Sometimes he would cry. His pale-green eyes would bleed tears that would last forever. His cheeks would glisten and his forehead would perspire out the remaining alcohol in his system. I’d watch him as he’d kneel down in front of me, holding my small hands, explaining through heavy sobs how he tries to resist the madness, how his love for me can’t defy science. A grown man whimpering like a child. It was so easy to forgive him when he’d hug me so tightly and say over and over again, No matter what I do or say, don’t ever forget how much your daddy loves you. He’d put ice on my bruises, he’d feed me after leaving me in that basement for ages.
I believe that man left me something for Kane to go find. The man that felt remorse. I wonder if Violet ever felt remorse for selling her daughter’s body? Maybe Scarlett was right, maybe I did get it better than she did. Being locked in a basement is better than being locked in a closet. Being neglected by my father is better than being molested by strangers.
Looking at this house, two stories, with three windows on each floor, the charcoal paint has chipped so much the house almost looks brown. The room is three-fourths covered in black shingles. A painting of a haunted house.
Kane reemerges in the front doorway of the house. He looks at me apologetically. Holds up a wooden box. I straighten my back. A million guesses of what it could be flopping around my head.
