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“I’m sorry, darlin’,” Jay murmured, voice still cold but eyes as warm as they’d ever be.
I’d smiled at him like I smiled at everyone. One hundred percent fake.
“It’s okay. I’m here. I’m okay.”
He inspected me, picking apart the lie with a practiced eye.
He didn’t call me out on it. Just squeezed my hand once more before leaving.
He checked in every day. The calls were brisk, almost businesslike, but damn near warm for him.
And warmth was all around. Chester brought banana cake. It should’ve been funny, the goth kid bringing banana cake he’d baked himself. I’d made it seem like I found it appropriately funny. Laughed and joked with him as he pretended not to be shocked with my bruises and cuts.
But like everything else, it was surface.
My friends came in a steady stream so not once was I alone.
Never.
It was a blessing and a curse.
Because I would’ve thought that seeing the love, the light I had around me would chase away the worst of the demons, when really it invited them in.
Because I couldn’t escape my pain in people’s eyes.
I didn’t tell them to leave, didn’t say no when many of them asked if they could visit. Because I knew that they needed to. For their own peace of mind. Peace was lost for me, but I could give it to the people I loved even if it caused me pain.
It wasn’t broadcast, my kidnapping and…everything else. But good news traveled fast, bad news traveled everywhere. Luckily, my parents were switched off to our L.A. lifestyle and news had been carefully kept from them. Lucy understood this, better than anyone, but she didn’t like it.
We’d agreed we’d tell them an extremely sanitized version of the story when I was healed enough. That Craig had lost it and hit me then disappeared.
They would not know the ugly truth.
No way would they ever know that.
I would do everything in my power to make sure no one knew that. Even Heath. Especially Heath. But he saw more than everyone else. So he’d see soon. I’d be unable to hide soon. I had to stop it before it got to that point. But I couldn’t. His was the only touch that I could handle without wanting to throw up. Because he seemed to know that I couldn’t handle a lot of it. Even though he didn’t know the real truth. If he did know, I’d know, because the pain on his face would be something more than was already there.
He didn’t know that, he knew that he needed to be careful touching me too much, even though he needed to. I’d seen him reach for me multiple times, down the street, in the car and then snatch his hand back right before he made contact as if he’d seen the way my skin prickled with revulsion. With fear.
Not from him, from the shadows, the demons crawling underneath it.
Before, I’d been a touchy person. Expressive about my love. Even our short time together had shown Heath that.
But he understood that something inside me had been fundamentally changed and that wasn’t me anymore. I knew that he expected this to be temporary, like my cuts and bruises.
It was not.
I felt temporary. But also horribly permanent in this temporary state.
And Heath was the only one who made me feel real. Falling asleep in his arms every night, waking up to his eyes, his scent every morning.
And he hadn’t pushed me for anything more.
He laid his mouth on mine gently, closed mouth kisses when I knew he couldn’t stop himself. I fought against pleasure and revulsion as he did so.
But that was it.
He didn’t push.
For whatever reason, I was glad. Because if he pushed, then he’d know. He couldn’t know. Which was why I needed to make him leave before he found out. I wasn’t strong enough to push him away because I wasn’t strong enough to be without him just yet.
I needed to figure that out.
“I come bearing gifts,” Rosie said, jerking me back into the present and proper wakefulness.
I sat up and hastily put on a smile that I hoped wasn’t wonky. The last thing I needed was Rosie to take on my demons. She had plenty of her own, they were quiet now, and no way was I going to be the reason her life got loud again.
Well, any louder—she was Rosie.
Luckily she wasn’t focused on me, she was placing three plastic bags on my kitchen counter.
“I got all sorts of treats for us, I’m getting good at knowing what to buy post-kidnapping.” She gave me a look that was carefully structured to look jaunty, easy, light-hearted. “Of course, every woman is different, just because I crave tater tots in the month after I’ve been taken captive does not mean you will.” She pulled out a bag. “But I got them just in case. And also, I feel like tater tots. Plus, a plethora of other things, and don’t worry,” she made a face, “they’re all vegetarian.”
