“How are you not more bitter?”
He lets out a small snicker. “In case you hadn't noticed, I am, most days.” One of his hands slides up my back and moves up to my face, and his thumb swipes gently at the wetness on my cheeks, an action that seems totally out of character for him, or maybe not. Maybe that is what he was like before it all happened. “But you make the days a little more bearable.”
My insides melt at not only his touch but also at his words.
My heart is feeling so many things right now. It's clear that it knew something all along, something that I had failed to see. Although, I did always find it hard to see him as the truly evil man he was supposed to be.
The blurriness in my vision begins to subside as I get a hold of my emotions. His beautiful blue-grey eyes come into focus, and I feel like I'm truly seeing them for the first time. Where I once thought I saw guilt and regret, I now see torture, pain, and anguish. He was ripped of his innocent teenage life and thrown into a pit of monsters, labeled as one himself.
As my eyes trail over his face and land on his lips, a thought suddenly occurs to me. “Was that your first kiss?”
He lets out a quiet groan, releases his hold on me, and walks over to the couch, rubbing a hand over his jaw. I follow him over and sit down next to him.
“What?”
“It's fucking embarrassing.”
I place my hand on his arm. “No. Please don't be embarrassed. I certainly don't think anything less of you. God, I mean, you were robbed of so much. If anything, I find you more attractive because of it.” Then, stroking his arm a little, I add, “I feel privileged to be your first.” When I realize how that sounded, I feel my cheeks flush. “I mean your first kiss.”
He actually smirks down at his hands in his lap, and I'm struck once again by how young and handsome he looks when he does.
“Why did you let me think you did it?”
After sighing, he says, “Remi, I spent months trying to tell people I was innocent. My own family, who knew me my whole life, and friends who knew me for years, didn't believe me. Why would I ever think you'd believe me? It was better for you just to think what everyone else did anyway.”
“And why is that?”
He shrugs. “You don't belong in the world of the debased.”
“Neither do you.”
His eyes swing to mine. “The rest of the world would disagree with you.”
“I don't care. And I'm not staying away from you. It didn't stop me when I thought you were guilty but were a changed man. It sure as hell isn't going to stop me now that I know the truth.”
I lean my head on his shoulder, feeling so incredibly grateful that I stuck around him in the first place, despite my initial thoughts.
My sights settle on one of the cameras, and my burning questions pertaining to them come to the forefront.
“Why do you have cameras everywhere?”
Jacob takes in a deep breath before releasing it slowly. “The biggest problem I had was not being able to prove that I didn't do anything wrong. If there were proof, my life would be a lot different right now.”
“So, the cameras are so that you always have the proof?”
“Yeah. I'm not exactly welcome in this town, so I like to be prepared in case someone tries to accuse me of something. It makes me feel better to have these ones here even though I'm pretty much only around people when I'm in town and there are in-store cameras everywhere. I keep all the videos on my laptop.”
A thought occurs to me, and guilt fills my insides, bringing me back to when I first stumbled upon his home.
“Did you, um, see me in some of your videos?”
“Yes.”
“I'm sorry.”
He shrugs as if it's the least bad thing to happen to him, but I still feel bad.
I've seen him look up at the cameras occasionally when I've been here. I wonder if that's out of habit, or if he's just making sure they're on?
