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Always my fault.
After one more kick to my midsection, he sauntered away as if he had no care in the world. As if he did not just beat the crap out of his only daughter.
The tears flowed down my cheeks now that I was alone and could be vulnerable. Would I cry in front of my dad? Hell no. Would I cry now that he was gone?
Well if my snot was any indication, then yes. I couldn’t always act strong, and I didn’t want to. Just once, I wanted to fall and not worry that I would get stabbed by swords on the way down. An impossible feat, I was beginning to realize.
After drowning some aspirin to placate the pain, and I changed into a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt. The clothing did nothing to obscure the bruises darkening my cheeks and neck, but it provided me with some semblance of a shelter.
Still, I couldn’t hide my limp as I wandered down the hall.
I didn’t know where I was going nor, did I care. Half of me wanted to go to my secret pool, but I didn’t want to run into any more annoying boob ladies with their shrill voices and their...well...fake boobs that made me self-conscious. Damn tears trailed unchecked down my cheeks as I walked from hallway to hallway.
A few guests met my gaze before quickly turning away, and the employees couldn’t even meet my eyes. It was always the same story with abuse: everyone was too much of a coward to do anything, myself included. It wasn’t as if I was unused to surviving alone, but it still caused an uncomfortable lump to well up in my throat. For once, I wanted someone to stand up for me as Asher had done before.
Preoccupied with my admittedly depressing thoughts, I didn’t see the person in front of me until I plowed into him.
Looking back, I wondered if it was chance or fate. Why else would we be happening to walk down the same hallway, at the same time of night?
Sniffing, I turned my face up blindly to meet Declan’s dark eyes.
His mouth opened - probably to call me out for not paying attention where I was walking - but his expression shattered upon seeing me. He took a horrified step backwards as if my appearance was a physical repellence.
I wanted to growl. I didn’t need, nor did I want, his damn pity.
Dozens of emotions flitted across his normally impassive eyes until they settled on determination, if determination even was an emotion. If anything, his eyes looked as if they were made of steel, and his expression was almost angry. Not at me, but at the world.
Briskly, he made one motion with his hand.
Come.
I didn’t know if I was more surprised at him for talking to me or me for following him.
We didn’t speak as we walked down hallway after hallway, stopping occasionally to allow a guest to pass us. I appreciated it; I didn’t want any more people to see me than necessary.
When we finally reached our destination, I grabbed his arm to get his attention.
“The game room?” I questioned, glancing at the surprisingly empty room. “What are we doing here?”
He ignored me and proceeded towards an air hockey table in the center of the modest room.
Like the wannabe beach, this room had long since been abandoned in place of a high-tech, shiny arcade located a few halls down. I much preferred this room and its simplicity.
There was a ping-pong table against the far wall, adjacent to what looked to be a bookshelf but was severely lacking in actual books. On the other side of the room was a pool table.
Besides the games, it was a rather unremarkable room. Ugly almost, compared to the rest of the resort. The walls were painted a light blue that clashed with the dark blue of the carpeting. I wondered which designer decorated this room - and had no doubt been fired because of it. Why was it even still here?
“Air hockey?” I asked, my disbelief evident. When he ignored me yet again, I leveled a glare at him. “Are we playing?”
He gave me a look that made me question my sanity. Geez. It was just a question.
He bent over to put quarters into the machine, and I took the time to shamelessly admire his butt. I honestly hadn’t meant to at first, but it had been right in front of me (ha ha. But. Get it?). Realizing what I was doing, I focused instead on the peeling wallpaper at the very top of the walls. Declan wasn’t a person to be objectified. I hated when it was done to me, so why would it be any different for him?
“I’m sorry,” I blurted when he turned towards me. He raised an eyebrow in question. “For staring. At you. When you were bent over.”
When he just continued to look at me strangely, I signed, “your butt.”
I expected him to be mad, I would’ve been, but he surprised me by doubling over in hysterical laughter. I had seen the other guys laugh, and I had even caught a smile gracing Declan’s hardened features, but I had never seen him outright laugh before. It did funny things to me.
