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“But you…you have a hand. It’s still there.”
“Yes. Yes, it is.”
“Okay, I’m confused.”
There’s a buzzing in my ears. Soft. Like the blowing of the wind that isn’t there. There’s a hum in my bloodstream, and I know if I lose Darby, there’s going to be a wound there the likes of which I’ve never known, and I’ve known some bad ones. Like this.
I slowly turn my hand in the darkness so she can see it. She has to get closer because the light isn’t good enough. I let her see my left hand, which is smaller than the other, the skin shiny on top. It’s the palm that is the true horror. The skin is puckered around a burn in the center. It makes it hard to use my fingers, but the doctors worked miracles, and I still have some function. The one boon about this is that after the fact, it didn’t hurt. It’s just nasty to look at.
Darby gasps and sinks down to the sand right beside me. She reaches out to touch the twisted skin, skin that’s all wrong, but then she pulls back her hand. “May I?” she asks, so softly and sweetly that my heart constricts. Will I ever be able to deny her anything again? The prospect terrifies me.
I move my hand in answer, setting it on her leg. She’s wearing little cut-off jean shorts and a black tank top, which is not the red maxi dress she had on when we ate dinner. I can see the straps of a bikini top peeking out behind her neck. She dropped a towel on the sand behind her a few feet away. I focus on something else fast, on my hand brushing her soft skin—no, not that. Look out at the lake.
My eyes get pulled back the second she runs her fingertip over my palm, over the twisted skin. Ugly skin. “I was thinking about going swimming, but the hand really isn’t made for that. If it fell off and got lost in the lake, that would be a fortune lost, not to mention a damn inconvenience.”
“Leon,” Darby chokes. There’s enough pain in the way she says my name to break me. “I—please tell me there isn’t anymore.Please.” Her lashes flutter against her cheek as her eyes shut tightly. “I can’t bear it.”
The only regret I have is how much she’s hurting. For me. I don’t want this, but I can’t stop it. She bends her head, and I feel it. The wetness. She’s crying onto my palm. Her shoulders shake, and I want to touch her. I want to run my hand over them to soothe her. I want to comfort her, but I don’t know how to. I’m frozen.
“It doesn’t hurt.” I need her to know that, especially since she’s being so very careful. “It’s just ugly. I’d rather people not see it on a daily basis and ask me about it.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that I can’t bear it.” She raises soft, liquid eyes to mine. Eyes that look like rain in the rain, if you could pick out such a thing—each individual drop. “Icanbear it. I just hate that someone hurt you so much. Will you…t—tell me what happened?”
“I tell people it was an accident.”
“Kitty said…she said that last night, but she wouldn’t elaborate.”
“When my mom and sister left, it was a trade—me for them. My father wouldn’t lose all of us. I knew he’d go after us and keep dragging us back. My mom wanted to go back to France. To her family. Her parents were dead, but she had a brother. We wouldn’t have been safe. We would never have been safe, so I made a trade. I said I would stay if he let them go. He always wanted a son. And he told me I was his world.” I manage not to let out a bitter laugh, even though I feel every single ounce of that emotion inside. The loathing. The pain. The hate. The scalding fucking irony of it all.
“Jesus, Leon,” Darby whispers, broken. She kisses my hand again. Gently. Over and over.
“I cried when they left. I was twelve years old, and I cried. I thought I was losing them forever. It’s the only time I can remember crying, even throughout the worst of what he did to me. But he punished me. He wanted me to eradicate that weakness. He wanted to prove that I belonged to him, so he branded me. Not with a real brand, as that would have been too fancy. He used a fire poker instead. Heated the damn thing up and told me it was my hand, my ass, or my face.”
“What the actual fuck?” Darby hisses.
“I wasn’t letting him near my ass. He was drunk out of his mind. He wanted to brand me there like cattle, but who the fuck knows what he would have done. And my face? That was a no-brainer. I knew I wasn’t going to be able to get away from him, so I wrapped my hand around the hot metal and held it there.”
“No! No, why? You should have…I don’t know. Run or something? No, I’m sorry. That’s stupid. It’s easy for me to say that now. Because where would you have gone? He would have caught you. Or done worse, I’m sure. When…when you wrapped your hand around it, you were taking back your power from him. Beating him at his own shit?”
“That’s what I thought. I thought I was telling him that he couldn’t break me. That I was strong enough to make that trade, me for my mom and sister, and take whatever else he had to hand the hell out. I wish I would have taken it and beat him with it instead, but I was still way smaller than he was.”
“You were just a kid. No parent should ever…god. I hate him. I know people say all that shit about talking badly about the dead, but you name the curse word, and I’ll say it. I’ll find his grave, and I’ll stomp on it. I’ll save up bottles of urine because one sprinkling won’t do.”
I can’t believe it, but I’m holding back a smile. “Jesus, Darby.” I rake my good hand through my hair. “That’s crazy.” Her eyes burn through mine. She’s waiting for me to tell her the rest. “I had never been to the hospital before. That was the first time. I was sick and in pain, but somehow, I still got there. I rode my bike all the way, delirious and out of my mind with the pain. I said it was an accident. I was a twelve-year-old boy. Twelve-year-old boys tend to be reckless, and they hurt themselves. There was no history of violence, so no one questioned me. I had a few surgeries after that. The healing was the worst thing I’ve ever gone through, but they did a good job and fixed most of the damage, and as I said, it doesn’t hurt now.” I swallow hard and tell her everything because I can’t stand that she’s hurting over my old wounds. “I had broken ribs before. Twice. Cuts and bruises most times. There are scars all over my body, but nothing more than what most guys who play contact sports would have. I guess that’s why we thought of it. The whole rugby thing. I said it once as a joke, and Kitty, when she’s had to defend me, uses it too.”
She’s quiet. So, so quiet. But I know why. Because words are so pathetically inadequate.
I have to ask her. I don’t want to, but I know I have to. “Does it disgust you?”
Darby doesn’t drop my hand. Rather, she folds it gently into my lap and lets her fingers linger there like her touch has the power to heal me. Like she wishes that it could. I wish it could too.
She stands up and strips her tank top away, revealing a black bathing suit top that covers most of her breasts but also defines how perfect they are. Her pale skin shimmers in the moonlight, and her body is all curves and soft, soft, creamy skin. She’s flawless. My mouth goes dry just looking at her, and my body reacts viscerally, my hand entirely forgotten. I’m transfixed by this goddess of the night. The dark is kind to her, but she doesn’t need it. Her hair is a gossamer curtain around her shoulders. It hides her face as she bends and shimmies out of her cut-off shorts. Her bikini bottoms have knotted ties on the sides, and it does little to hide the peach round ass that is also absolutely perfect.
I am rock fucking hard watching her, even if all the old guilt and warnings about being her boss come flooding back. The result is that I’m trying to tone down my body’s reaction with my mind, but my dick is trying to dial it up with its dick brain. And the dick brain, also probably referred to as the lizard brain, is winning the battle. My shorts are a poor shield against my asshole lizard dick brain hard on, and when Darby turns back to me, her eyes are glimmering like she obviously sees it, and she’s not at all worried about the boss work fake marriage relationship at the moment. Her gentle smile is an invitation.Come with me. Come swim with me. I want you. I want to hold you. I want you close to me.
No one has ever looked at me that way before.
I’m still waiting for her to answer me. I don’t know why, but I need to hear her say it out loud.Does it disgust you? Does any part of me repulse you?
