“Of course, if I can,” he breathes, like I’ve bestowed a grand honor on him.
I ask, “Have you been holding back?”
“Holding back?” His brow knits.
I nod. “I…need more opportunities like last night. More chances to have a conflict of interest with someone I trust, and right now…the only person I trust is you. If you could demand more of me, I think that would help.”
His throat bobs. “Demand more…like…what?”
“Anything.”
His fingers quake against my cheek as he echoes, “Anything?”
“Outrageous things. Things I must hate, so I can practice standing up for myself. That…that’s what you were trying to get at. Weeks ago. When you were talking about kissing me. You wanted me to sayno, didn’t you?” I squeeze my eyes shut again and drop my head. “How obvious has it been that I’m this…broken?”
His other hand meets my cheek, and he lifts my face. “Clara…no. You…you aren’t broken.”
“Abused, then,” I hiss. “Is there a sign on my forehead? You’ve been trying to help me from the start.” My breaths turn harsh, and I feel my sanity slipping. “I don’t like being looked at. I don’t want to be pitied.”
“I don’t pity you.”
“Right. You just kidnapped a girl with no self-esteem so you could use her in your own twisted fantasies, without a single scrap of remorse. That’s whysomany of your fantasies happened last night, isn’t it?” I battle the spiral, grip Lukas’s hands for support. “I’m not— I’mnotthat stupid.” My lips tremble. “Am I?”
“You aren’t stupid at all,” he whispers. “But I’m no saint. I don’t pity you, Clara. I’ve been through worse. I know I have. It doesn’t help to compare our pasts, though.”
“Worse?” I whisper.
“Physical, emotional, mental…even sexual, a time or two. That’s what happens when you throw a child into an adult world and force them to make money for you.”
“Who…”
“My parents were also not good people.”
Also. So he knows the truth about my parents, too. He knows where this brokenness comes from. He knows, yet instead of following his instincts and desires and taking advantage of me, he is fighting to do better. For me.
He says, “It doesn’t matter how bad they were or if yours mean to be bad. The point is that I don’t pity you, and my very real motivations were selfish and lacking in all remorse. Most horrible people can justify just about anything. My twisted mind found a way to justify bringing you home becauseIwanted to. I found a good enough reasonbecause I wanted you. But those flimsy justifications don’t matter.”
“What does matter?”
He kisses my forehead, lingers, lets his exhale run through my hair. “I have come to care about you. I sincerely want what’s best for you. Even if that’s not me. And I’m almost positive that’s not me. I can’t be everything for you—no matter how much I want to be. Would you like to talk to a therapist about what you’re dealing with?”
“That sounds terrifying. I don’t know how I’m supposed to get the words out. They’re stuck. And my brain keeps screaming at me that I’m wrong and ungrateful and a horrible person for even suggesting that I’ve been mistreated. I don’t know how to deal with the past right now. I just want to try to be stronger in the future.”
“The past is a very important element in creating a better future. Could you try journaling the things you feel guilty sharing aloud? You can self-reflect, and then if it’s too much to look at, we can burn the book.”
I…like the idea of scribbling all these feelings into pages that I fill with rainbow glitter and stickers. I also like the safety of knowing I can watch them go up in flames if they get too big. I say, “I’ll try that.”
“Processing might take a while, so don’t feel discouraged if you don’t feel a change any time soon. It took me years to come to terms with everything, and I’m still battling the character flaws I’ve been left with. Time heals many wounds, but the deepest cuts, the cuts that reach your soul, take the longest.”
I fit myself against his chest and welcome his arms as I grip his fading signature to my heart. “Please find some worth in me while I’m healing. Please don’t let my struggle frustrate you. I don’t want to take advantage of your kindness or patience.” My stomach dips as I confess, “I’ve been reading about abuse. All morning. So many people say when they were finally safe, they were so much worse for a long time. Some said they had to fight not to become just like their abusers in an effort to protect themselves or maintain the respect they couldn’t stomach losing again. I’m scared. I don’t know how much I need respect if I’ve gone my whole life without it, but I do know I don’t want to lose the happiness I’ve so briefly found here.”
“Your place here is never going to be in question.” His hold around me tightens. “You never have to worry about losing your home.”
“What if you come to hate me once I’ve started healing?”
“I won’t.”
“How can you know?” I blurt, then I wince. “I’m sorry. I’m being annoying.”
