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Theo is quiet for a second, and I just know it’s because he’s trying to hold back from asking the question that I really don’t want him to ask. But, of course, he does, ignoring the pleading in my eyes. ‘So what did you do?’
I look down, so ashamed of myself. Not just for what I’m about to tell him, but for bending the truth. ‘I was a stripper, Theo. I took my clothes off for men.’ I wish that was all there was to tell. I so wish that was the end of my story.
I see him move away a little. Like I’m dirt. ‘A stripper,’ he murmurs, so quietly.
‘I’m not proud.’
‘How old were you?’
I’m wincing again. ‘Seventeen.’ I hear a low growl. ‘It wasn’t for long. I scraped some money together and got out.’ Another lie. ‘I hated not being able to ease my mother’s pain when she was ill. It was natural for me to study medicine. So I left Manchester and came to London. I wanted to be a doctor, but I couldn’t afford the fees. Nursing was the next best thing. It was as far as I could go on my own.’ That much is the truth. The rest of the horrid story will remain under lock and key. I look up to Theo, hating the undeniable shock on his face. Shock and disgust. It’s exactly the reaction I expected, but was so hoping I wouldn’t get. And now I hope he regrets probing me. ‘I’ll leave.’ I back up, feeling filthy, humiliated, and empty once again.
Theo quickly comes to life, following my steps. ‘Stop walking, Izzy.’
‘Only if you stop looking at me like I’m dirt.’
‘Stop fucking walking.’
I stop. Theo stops. And I blink, letting a fat teardrop tumble. ‘I don’t like talking about it.’
‘Fucking hell,’ he breathes, raking a frustrated hand through his hair. ‘I’m shocked, that’s all. You’re so . . . normal.’
Normal? If only he knew. I find my eyes dropping to the carpet again, unable to look him in the eye.
‘Is that what you ran from?’ he asks.
I nod, not allowing the blanket of guilt to suffocate me. Guilt for being selective with what I tell him. For bending the truth. His face when I told him what I did to scrape some money together is the one and only reason I need to keep the rest buried. ‘I needed a fresh start.’ I fear the worst when his gaze drops to my stomach, lingering over the sight of my scars. Then he looks up at me, too many more questions in his eyes. My teeth clench, warning him to leave it there, and he studies me so very closely for a few moments, his eyes trying to strip back a few more layers of my history. I won’t let him. It’s a staring deadlock for a few minutes, both of us unmoving and unwilling to say any more.
Then he breathes out, defeated. ‘Come here.’ He raises his arms for me, and I walk right into them, grateful and relieved he’s not pressing me further, though I sense he’s dying to. I bury my face in his shoulder, overcome by his acceptance. By the fact he’s not disgusted by me. ‘I’m sorry about your mother,’ he says in a hushed whisper, and I hold him tighter. ‘What about your father?’
‘I don’t remember him. He died when I was two.’
He breathes out in disbelief. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Stop apologizing. I don’t need your sympathy, Theo.’ I let him hug me, breathing calmly and deeply. He’s the blanket of peace I need. ‘You’re not repulsed?’
Theo withdraws, his chest contracting with a silent laugh, his eyes finding me, his head shaking in wonder. ‘Repulsed? God, no. You’re amazing,’ he says, planting a light kiss on my lips. ‘You’re a survivor. You saved yourself, and that’s admirable. I’m just crushed you went through that on your own.’ He picks me up and carries me to the bed, putting us both back in the exact same positions as before. My eyes are heavy, but I fight to keep them open, my view too spectacular to give up. But then Theo tucks me into his shoulder, kisses my head, and rubs my back, and exhaustion finally beats me.
My eyes close.
But I still see him.
‘And now you’re saving me,’ he whispers quietly.Chapter 15
I feel my sleepy smile falling from my face as I stretch, my drowsy mind registering the lack of warmth pressed up against me. My eyes spring open, finding the bed beside me empty. Pushing up on to my elbows, I blink as I gaze around Theo’s bedroom, listening for any sounds of him nearby. It’s silent. I look at the bedside clock. Three a.m.
‘Theo?’ I call, pushing to the edge of the bed, my feet sinking into the carpet. I finish my stretch, reaching up to the ceiling before turning on the lamp. Getting to my feet, I head to the bathroom. No Theo. I find my bag on a chair in the corner of his room and pull out some skinny jeans and an oversize white tee, throwing them on quickly and roughing up the waves of my hair. I venture into his extensive private quarters, but after peeking in every room, I still find no Theo. Where’d he go?
