Beckham scoffed, his fingers tightening around my waist, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he traced slow, idle patterns against my skin, as if grounding himself in the present while his mind drifted elsewhere.
“She would’ve liked you,” he murmured after a beat, his voice lower now, almost distant. “She hated pretentious people, loved my father but despised the world he lived in. Made me into the detached artist I am today.”
I brushed a stray hair from his forehead, watching as his gaze flickered back to me, assessing, waiting for criticism, for something to judge his openness. “What was she like?”
He studied me for a long moment, as if debating whether or not to let me in further. Then, finally, he exhaled, rubbing his thumb along my hip absentmindedly.
“She wasn’t afraid of anything,” he said, his voice carrying a slight sense of relief. “Not my father, not her diagnosis, not the people who whispered about how she didn’t belong. She had this way of making you feel like you mattered, even when the rest of the world made you feel like nothing.”
I felt my heart clench, my eyes wanting to swell with tears as his face remained emotionless.
“You matter, Beckham,” I whispered.
He looked over to me. “Like I said…you’re just like her.”
Shifting my in his lap, I straddled his thighs as he held me firmly, possessively, almost as if he didn’t want to let go.
“You make livinglookeasy,” he began, “you make it look effortless, just like her. Hiding your pain. Hiding the way you hurt inside. Wanting to see the best in the world and everyone in it... making those around you feel like they’re worth something.”
Grabbing his face in mine, I lifted it, ignoring the way his words unintentionally picked apart my faults. “You are worth something.I see you, Beckham. I see your passion. I see your artistry. I see everything that makes you who you are.”
“And yet… you can’t seem to see yourself. You can’t see you’re worth more than the shit Gavin does, than the treatment you receive.”
I swallowed hard, my breath catching in my throat as I lowered my hands. Beckham’s words sliced through me, exposing wounds I wasn’t sure I was ready to face.
His grip on my waist tightened as he studied me, his dark eyes searching…challenging me.
“You see me…You don’t think Iseeyou?” he murmured, tilting his head, meeting my eyes as I looked away. “That I don’t see how you bend over backward to please a man who will never be satisfied? How you shrink yourself just to fit into the box he’s put you in? Howeasyyou make it all seem to the outside world?” His thumb traced small, deliberate circles against my hip, his touch gentle, but his words anything but.
“You fight for everyone but yourself, Flower,” he whispered, his voice a low murmur, thick with something I couldn’t quite place. “You tell me I matter, that I have worth—but when was the last time you believed that about yourself?”
I tried to pull back, to escape the weight of his words, but Beckham wouldn’t let me. His hands tightened around me, keeping me still, forcing me to listen.
“You don’t have to answer,” he said, his tone softer now, less cutting but just as firm. “Because I already know.”
I looked away, my throat tightening as tears burned at the edges of my vision. My entire life, I had convinced myself that if I just tried harder, gave more, sacrificed enough, I wouldbe enough.
But Beckham? He saw through it. Through me. And that scared me more than anything.
No matter how much I gave, it was never enough.
Not for Gavin.
Not for his parents.
Not even for myself.
And that’s when the cycle started. After I had nothing left to give, I’d leave, searching for air, searching for something real, and I’d find Beckham, the reminder that I was enough—the reminder that I did deserve more, his presence, his touch, his words, stripping away every lie I told myself.
Then Gavin would apologize. Swear he didn’t mean it. Promise he’d do better.
And like a fool, I’d go back.
Only to end up right here again.
“Rosenna,” Beckham murmured, his fingers brushing along my jaw, tilting my face back toward him.“I see you.”
My breath shuddered, my fingernails unintentionally digging into his skin to cause him the pain I felt. He didn’t seem to mind, he welcomed it even.
