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“He didn’t rape me,” I blurt out. “Fuck…stop.”
His hand retreats, going back to my stomach as the other calmly washes my collarbone.
“What did he do?”
“He beat me up. That’s it. Nothing out of the ordinary for most kids on the North Shore.”
He stops moving for a second, and I sense him turning my words over in his mind.
“No. That sleep talking, screaming, whatever the fuck that was you put me through last night is not from someone who got beat up as a kid. You were terrified.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” And I really don’t. I dream about it sometimes, but Ivan never mentioned me screaming during the night. All I know is when I have dreamt about it, I wake up with a headache. “I don’t remember anything.”
“You don’t remember dreaming about your dad? Screaming at him not to break you?”
I gulp. How the fuck does he know about that? Those are the exact words I used to say to my asshole of a father when he lost it.
“I…”
“My, my.” His free hand trails down my front, and he pinches my inner thigh. “You’re a little liar, Kayla.”
“I’m not. I don’t remember.”
“But you do know why you said those words.”
My stuttered breath reverberates all the way down my back.
“He—” I lick my lips. They feel dry despite the mist in the shower. “He would beat me really hard if I tried to stop him from assaulting my mom. But her cries…it was horrible. Especially when he, when he…”
Dropping the loofah, he stops washing me. One hand comes around my wrist to press against my pulse, and the other lays flat on my chest. “When he what?”
I hate Nate’s soft voice. I know it’s only to coax the truth out to me. And yet I fall for it.
“When he raped her,” I whisper. I squeeze my eyes, attempting to stop the onslaught of images. “When I was little, I wasn’t sure what it was, but I knew it hurt her. And when I grew up, I understood it happened all the time. So I would try to get him off her, but when he moved on to me, the attack was brutal, and I was terrified he would completely break me.”
The grip on my wrist tightens, and I sense the frustration emanating from him. “He sexually assaulted you.” His voice is a low, angry growl resonating in his chest.
“No. He didn’t. I know what sexual assault looks like. I’ve witnessed it many times on my mom. He beat me. I’m not lying. It was unbearable and vicious, but he never sexually assaulted me, okay? Stop believing that. He only did it to my mom. That’s how they had me, and that’s how they had my brother. And Caden, he was too little to understand shit. So I’d just take him to his room and get him to focus on the only thing in my life that made sense. Numbers, math. Something simple like that.”
I turn around in his hold and press a flat hand to his cheek, making him look down at me. My eyes cross with the storm unfurling in his gaze.
“What happened to you never happened to me, but I’ve seen the way it affected my brother. He doesn’t remember, but he saw shit that changed him. He saw my mom crying and bleeding after being raped, and how I’d try to console her. Caden…now…he’s just like you. He can’t feel things, can’t understand emotions. He doesn’t relate to people’s sadness or fear. Not even to their happiness. I know how you’re wired, Nate. You can’t understand me, but I understand you.”
He stares at me for god knows how long, and I force myself to hold it. I don’t care if I drown in him. I need to appeal to the human side of him if I ever want to get out of here. He thinks he doesn’t care about what happened, but he shared a vulnerable event that affected him deeply. The almighty Nathan White wasn’t always indestructible, and I need to hold on to that to survive.
He only breaks out of the hold when a chuckle escapes him. Tilting his head to the side, he bites his lower lip before smiling. Shit, he is way too fucking beautiful when he does that.
“Little sunflower, you’re not trying to find something redeemable about me, are you?” His face falls, his entire demeanor darkening. His voice is a rough purr when he talks again. “Because that would not only be stupid.” A split second later, my back crashes against the shower wall, his hand around my throat. “It would also be dangerous.”
He’s practically lifting me off the floor, my feet stretching so I can still stand on my own. My hands fly to his forearms. They’re veiny, muscles tensing.
He is not playing anymore. He’s over his little game of digging into each other’s pasts and the way he presses against my windpipe makes me cough.
“Kayla,” he says flatly. “Think again why you’re here. Think real hard about why I would want to know what haunts your nightmares. It’s not to cuddle you and make you feel better, and it’s not so we can cry over our fucked-up pasts.” He presses his forehead against mine, but I still notice the way he grits his teeth.
For the first time, Nate’s impacted by what I said. He’s angry, and he’s trying to hide it.
“The only reason I want to know about your worst nightmares is to make sure I can replace them. There’s only one thing you have to fear anymore, and that’s me. Do you understand?”
