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“What were they like?”
“They were good people, who cared for others.” Nothing like me. Shame drenched my words. “They worked hard every day. My dad found extra help on Sundays so he could attend Mass with us. Always did their best to make sure I had a good life.”
And I’ve spat on all their hard work by becoming a monster.My teeth ground together. But I survived and I was not sorry for that. Someone pulled me out of misery, who saw potential in me and gave me purpose. My hands clenched into fists, I was done talking.
Becka stayed silent, but I could feel the pity in her eyes burning holes in the back of my head. Her face would be searching for more, digging deeper into a pit I long ago covered and walked away from. Warm fingertips landed on my shoulder. Comforting. Calming. And yet my body went ridged beneath them, my leg muscles coiled, ready to bolt.
“What happened to them?”
“They fucking died,” I seethed. “Hit by a drunk driver on their way home from closing up late. I was eleven.”
Her sharp inhale cut me like a knife. I glanced back to see a face full of sorrow and… empathy. But how could she possibly have any idea of what it felt like to experience half the shit I went through? Anger had me running hot and spinning away. My lips pinched, brow creasing with the outrage that she felt her past could possibly compare to mine.
“What happened after that?” The trepidation in her voice told me she knew I was on the verge of losing it. She was right.
My life went to shit.
I stood from the bed so fast a head rush nearly took me back down. Grabbing my pants from the night before I yanked them on angrily, not looking back as I stomped towards the door.
“Luca, wait!”
My hand paused on the handle but I didn’t turn around. Anger was ruling me again like it had been for the last twenty years. My mind reverting back to my best defense of pushing everything that made me remember, away.
Sheets rustled as Becka shifted on the bed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you angry,” she pleaded. “I’m just trying to get to know you. It sounds like your parents loved you. I know how alone you must have felt…”
“How would you know!” I spun, roaring at her. “You had your grandparents who raised you!”
Her head flew back, hands gripping the sheets tight to her chest like a shield. Dark things danced in her eyes. Hurt dominated her features. Whatever connection we formed last night dripped like melting ice, in danger of disappearing.
Shit. She let me inside her and now I was acting like a total prick. I didn’t mean to hurt her. Unleashing my anger on her was the last thing I wanted to do. Why can I not stop screwing up?
I raked my hands through my hair, staring at her small form cowering on the bed. “Becka, I’m… shit I’m sorry.” Feeling all the energy leech from my body to pool at my feet, I slowly made my way back the to the bed to sit down beside her. Exhaustion had my shoulders drooping. Becka stared down at the sheets, knees drawn in tight.
“You’re right, Luca.” Her small voice had me turning to look at her. Her expression was a blank mask. “I did have my grandparents, but that wasn’t until later.” She sounded as if the words were being torn from her soul. “Everyone said my dad was a good guy and nobody could understand why he got involved with my mother. She was wild, always testing boundaries, and doing things different from the norm just to say, see I did it different.” Her eyes flicked to mine for a split second. “Like my name spelled with a c-k instead of a c-c.” Becka sucked in a deep breath. “When he got her pregnant, he married her. He loved her and wanted to do the right thing. He died in a car accident when I was three. I don’t even really have a memory of him.”
I watched her closely, not wanting to miss a single emotion splashing across her face. Sorrow. Loss. Disappointment. But something more was coming, I could feel it nipping at the nape of my neck. She was withdrawn again. Scared. My chest grew tight remembering she had demons of her own.
“After my dad died, my mom used it as an excuse to go back to her wild ways. And worse.” Her knees sucked up tighter. “It got so bad that my grandparents had to…” She paused, searching for the right word. “Rescue me. She never loved me.”She choked the last words out.
Becka reminded me of a tiny girl, scared of the monster hiding in her closet. The blank stare she crawled behind let me know whatever her grandparents rescued her from had been bad. It yanked on the strings of my shriveled heart.
I reached for her, pulling her into my lap, unable to take her sad state any longer. She resisted for a moment, then relented to my steady pull. My strong, brave woman needed someone to keep her terrors at bay more than she let on.
I held her tight. The fact I was so fast to think of putting her protection and comfort above all else set me on edge. I had to remind myself to hold steady to the knowledge that I couldn’t let our relationship compromise my loyalty to the Russos. There needed to be a balance.
But one thing ate at me more than anything. What exactly happened in her past to turn her inside out? I knew I had no right to ask, since I was unwilling to share my own story.
If she thought she had heard the worst of it she was dead wrong. And those were the events that made me who I was.
She would look at me with those big, sad eyes again, waisted on my black soul. I still wasn’t sorry for who I’d become, or the things I did to survive and thrive. My one regret rested in knowing my parents would be ashamed of me.
