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A deep breath made her breasts push against the sheet, apprehension making her throat work hard. “His slave,” she deadpanned. “A good little soldier who would do anything and everything asked of him without question.”
Becka flinched when I moved fast, rolling away to sit on the edge of the bed.
Feet on the floor, back flexed into knots, my fists gripped the sheets with white knuckles. What the fuck! A rage I rarely experienced flashed bright red across my vision. I took deep breaths to keep it from flowing out into uncontrollable fury.
Becka took daggers and slashed into my entire life, making me hemorrhage with disbelief. She accused me of being used. The idea suggesting I was too stupid or ignorant to see it. Pride welled inside like a rising tide, telling me that it’s impossible. “You don’t know what you are talking about.”
The ruffling of sheets and shift of weight on the bed behind me said she was moving closer. Delicate fingers touched my shoulder, making me want to tear them away. “He saw an opportunity to shape you into someone with undying loyalty. I heard him that night Luca, outside Matteo’s office. Telling you that he made you and can unmake you. That’s not someone valuing who you are but… what you are.”
I heaved for air. Burning, raking, stabbing pain yanked on every cord in my brain. How can she be saying this? I bared my truth and she took it in her hands and twisted it like ringing out a dish rag. Fury seeped into my veins until my blood started boiling. White noise buzzed in my ears loud enough I’m sure she could hear it too. She is wrong.
She has to be.
“He fueled your anger and impulse to fight to manipulate you.”
Her soft voice hit me like a freight train. Fueled your anger. They were the exact words Matteo had used not hours ago. I even admitted that fact about the fight. Lorenzo had used me. Doubt nipped at my mind with razor sharp teeth.
No. Denial charged like a bull, destroying my control.
I spun, gripping her biceps, driving Becka back into the mattress. Her gasp of fear had zero effect on me. Pinning her with my weight I loomed over her, our noses almost touching. Her hands flew to my chest defensively as I pressed my full weight on her, glaring down into her enlarged eyes.
“You. Are. Wrong.” My voice was more growl than human speech. “I am what I am. This is who I am inside. If I wasn’t meant to be this, then why am I so fucking good at being the scum of society?”
“Because you had no one else to tell you otherwise.” Her face turned serious, thrusting up her nose. “You think that no one else has those thoughts and feelings? Anger, hurting people, being dishonest, revenge and worse? Every person has them, Luca. The difference is whether you act on them or not.”
“And how would you know?” I squeezed her arms angrily. “Have you ever been so angry your whole body hurts every moment of the day. To want nothing more than to cause someone else the same pain you feel?”
Becka’s beautiful face stared up at me with a calmness I couldn’t understand. Something flashed in her eyes. Her lips parted to say something but hesitated. I waited silently, demanding she answer the question. By the time she spoke my jaw hurt from being clenched so long.
“Yes, Luca. I have.” A shiver made her body shift under me, her eyes went distant. My brow furrowed deeper as I processed her change.
Her voice sounded so unyielding I couldn’t even bring myself to ask, how. Then she gently rolled to her side, curling into a ball. I moved to lay behind her, loving the sight of all her naked skin.
Her throat cleared. “Not long after I turned four, my mother moved us in with a new boyfriend in another town. That’s when she got into really heavy drugs. More and more people started coming over, always making a mess. There was hardly any food in the house, so most of the time I went hungry. My mom would treat me more like a nuisance that wasn’t deserving of her time, let alone her love.” I’d never heard her voice so pained.
My God.Four years old and the one person who was supposed to love her more than anyone else treated her like an unwanted pet. My ribs compressed with sadness, making it hard to breathe. I heard her first sob and moved to lean over her, pressing my front to her back. Tears fell down her cheeks as she hugged the sheets. I placed my hand on her shoulder and rubbed soothing strokes down her arm. The anguish in her voice gutted me.
“My closet was where I hid all the time, but even my room wasn’t safe. There were times I’d be playing and people would bust in, not even caring I was there. They would start having sex on my bed. I would crawl in my closet, cover my ears and hum to myself, because people were probably doing the same thing in the rest of the house.” A chill shook her body. Suddenly Becka’s skin felt clammy and cold. I moved my hand faster along her arm.
My own problems were forgotten. I chased away the goosebumps on her skin the best I could, but the chill remained. My stomach clenched hard with sorrow, and anger at her mother. What a piece of shit to allow that to happen to her own daughter.
She hiccuped and sniffed trying to get her voice working again. “It went on like that for a couple of years. But I had to find new places to hide, or stayed outside when I could. Some people that came over would harass me. Blow weed smoke in my face or make me watch them shoot-up. If I cried they would laugh and harass me harder. We lived in the middle of nowhere, so I had no friends and no where to go. I didn’t find out until later that she never told my grandparents where we lived. They had to hire a private investigator to find me. The morning they came to the house, they found me almost froze in the dog house outside. My mom had locked me out the night before and then passed out. I couldn’t get back in.” With sobs making her body shake and convulse Becka cried in earnest. Her body moved into the fetal position, the torment making her look small and broken.
A thought hit me, making my chest seize up tight. Bile hit the back of my tongue. A little girl in a house full of strange, drugged up men… “Did anyone ever…,” I nearly choked on the words, “touch you?”
“No. Some would stare and make me uncomfortable. But no one touched me.” Air expelled from my lungs in relief. Her shoulders scrunched up to her ears with a wave of fresh tears.
My stomach churned, for a moment I really thought I might vomit. What Becka endured as a tiny girl was more than I could bare just hearing it.
Yes, I lost my parents in a tragic accident and had a shitty time after that, but I had known love as a child. I was cared for and protected, like every child should be. But to be so small and know nothing but fear and hunger and pain, crushed my soul. All I wanted to do was crawl into the past and put a bullet between her mom’s eyes. In my opinion, it would have been a merciful killing compared to what she deserved.
I rolled Becka over so her face could bury in my chest, holding her tight. “Shh, baby.” Wet eyelashes brushed my skin as terrible wracking sobs stole her breath and cramped her muscles. “Breathe Becka, I’ve got you.” I pulled her in tighter as she curled into me.
Shifting against my chest, she moved so I could hear her. “By the time I was ten, I had nothing but hate inside. Unable to escape the past. I hated everything and everyone, especially my mom. I was happy that she went to jail but I wanted more. I would fantasize about all the terrible ways I wanted her to die. Even killing her myself. I revolted against my grandparents. For the longest time I was… lost. My grandparents, my faith and good friends that cared about me got me through it. But without them, I probably would have taken the same path you did.” The last sentence came out as barely a whisper, somehow driving the impact of her confession deeper.
With Becka sucked into my chest, her tears wetting my skin, I roiled in self-awareness. My blood ran cold with doubt. Ice crawled up my back at the thought that Becka could be right. Her questions started a chain reaction I couldn’t stop. I laid there while she fell into a fitful sleep, running the last twenty years of my life over in my head. Everything appeared skewed, side-ways, upside-down and backwards. Looking back called into question the motive behind every conversation, situation, words of encouragement, and the circumstances surrounding them.
The question I tried to suppress reared its head. My body hardened into stone, throat closing up tight. If it wasn’t for Lorenzo would I have been destined for this kind of life? And do I still want it?
