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“I—I don’t know. I have no idea what I want.”
“Have you forgiven him?” I ask, my own voice cracking now.
He shrugs. Shrugs. Like it’s nothing. Like he isn’t breaking my fucking heart. “For some things. For other things… I might never forgive him.”
“What about me?” I make myself ask, heart pounding, throat tight, stomach turning. “Will you ever forgive me?”
“Maison…” He stares down at his hands wrapped around his coffee mug, taking a deep breath. “Do you know the worst thing that happened to me?”
My knees nearly give out. This is it. I’ve needed this. I’m terrified of this. Please stop talking. Please tell me everything.
“No,” I answer, my voice probably giving away my every thought. “Would you tell me? Please?”
“It’s not anything you’re thinking,” he begins. He’s not looking at me. I can’t decide if I’m relieved or not. “It’s not when Travis whipped me so hard I pissed myself, or when Todd Henley pissed in my mouth, or when I was beaten bloody and then raped in front of a crowd while I watched Casey just feet away getting raped to what I thought at the time would be his death.” Carter finally looks at me. I realize I should have been relieved before. This is worse. Looking into his big blue eyes—my eyes—is so much worse. “It was that I lost myself. It happened so slowly. Little pieces of my humanity. I’d find myself believing the things that were said about me. I’d find myself in this headspace where everything felt warm and fucking fuzzy as long as I was pleasing him. I didn’t care if I ate or drank water or slept, I didn’t care if he was hurting me or fucking me, I just cared that sir was happy. That I was being good for sir. Sometimes I was so deep in that mindset that I felt like I was absolutely nothing. Like I didn’t fucking exist except for him.”
There isn’t a way to describe what his words do to me. It’s like they wrap around my heart, around my throat, around my mind, and tug. Not just tug… rip. Tear. Shred.
I try to think of words to make it better. To apologize. To explain to him that I’ve lost pieces too. That sometimes I lie awake at night, terrified that I’ve lost so many of them I’ll never be able to recover. But this isn’t about me. No more being selfish. I hang my head, forcing my mind to shift to what Carter needs from me. “Carter—”
“That was your fault,” he says before I can continue. The sudden venom in his voice is a thousand needles to my skin. I squeeze my eyes shut, a coward who can’t face him. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. “The whipped so hard I pissed myself and the Henley pissing in my mouth and the beating and rape on stage while Casey was hurt—that was all Travis. Everything physical was Travis. But my mind? That was on you because I never knew it wasn’t real. I never knew we were playing roles. I would have fought harder to keep those pieces of myself that I let go to survive. I would have had Travis in private to talk me through what was happening. I lost so much of myself, Maison. Pieces I don’t think I’ll ever get back. And fair or not, that’s a lot harder to forgive.”
I fall back on the truth, already knowing it won’t be enough. “I didn’t think you could handle it, Carter.”
“You were wrong,” he says firmly, his eyes on fire, and I didn’t know I could be both devastated and proud at the same time, but I am. “I proved that.”
You sure did, baby brother. You’re so fucking strong. “Carter—”
“Did he hesitate?”
“What?”
“Travis. When he left last night. Did he even hesitate before leaving me without so much as a goodbye?”
Of course he did. I made him leave. My fault, again.
I look away, ashamed and angry. “Yes. I told him to leave you alone.”
He huffs incredulously. I can sense him moving away. Ready to retreat. I try to brace myself for whatever words he might throw at me, knowing there’s a good chance they’ll hurt. Knowing I’ll deserve the pain if they do. “Haven’t learned your lesson then, I see.”
“I was pissed at him for fucking you,” I admit.
“You don’t get to be pissed about that! If I want Travis to fuck me, then that’s my decision. Hell, if I go around the house and offer my ass up to every person here, that’s still none of your fucking business. This is my body!” I force myself to look at him, knowing he deserves that. Knowing he’s right about all of this. Knowing I made a mistake—so many fucking mistakes—and it may be too late to fix any of them. He glares at me. Look at you, baby brother. You’re so fucking strong. I’m so fucking proud of you. You’re breaking my fucking heart. “It’s my body. You don’t get a say in what I do with it. No one does. Not ever again.”
I nod. “I’m sorry. I’m just—I wanted to protect you. It fucking killed me not to be able to do anything while you were at that compound, or even before then. Now that we’re together, I just want to protect you, baby brother.”
“I can protect myself now, Maison.” He starts walking away, no longer needing me. Not even willing to bother with talking to me anymore. “You made sure of that.”
I last six minutes in a session with Dr. Singh. He doesn’t even try to stop me when I storm out.
I skip dinner, barricading myself in my room with stacks of files from Ace. When I start to get hungry enough to feel nauseous, I lean my head back and breathe through it. How many slaves were starved at the Roarke compound over the years? How many times was Carter hungry? Or Nolan? Or Casey or Bryce or Matt or the others? How many slaves are hungry right now because our operation wasn’t able to save them?
When the hunger softens, I return to my work.
I stare at the clock on my phone for a long time, knowing in my gut that Nolan is downstairs waiting for me. Did he build one of his absolutely pathetic attempts at a fire? Is he warm or cold? Is he comfortable? Is he tired? Did he have a bad day? Does he need me?
He’s better off without me. He’ll learn that soon enough.
All I do is hurt people.
