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An awkward silence fell. My hands trembled as I set down my fork, the food in front of me now ashes in my mouth.
Ghost sighed. “There’s something I want to tell you.” He ran a hand through his scruffy hair. “ I... I told Remi something dark ... something about my past that I’ve kept hidden for so long. It was worse than what she revealed about my step-brother’s suicide.”
The tension flowing between us was almost palpable. Under the table, I nervously clenched and unclenched my hands, trying to control the pounding of my heart.
“Whatever it is, you don’t have to tell me. Just know that I’m here for you. No matter what.”
Ghost stared at me for a long moment, his gaze piercing. I felt stripped bare under the intensity of it, as if he could see into my soul.
Then he looked away, shoulders hunching. “When I was a kid, my father...” His voice wavered, and he took a deep breath before continuing. “He would drink. A lot.”
Fuck. His father was an alcoholic and his step-brother had taken his own life. His childhood must have been rough. I had sensed that his scars ran deep, and now I knew why.
Swallowing hard, he finally looked up at me, his eyes filled with pain and vulnerability that made my heart clench. “My father ... he used to let men ... do things to me ... when I was a kid.” Ghost’s voice trembled, and he squeezed his eyes shut, taking deep breaths as if attempting to keep his composure.
I gaped at him, bile rising in my throat. A wave of nausea and horror washed over me as the implication of his words sank in.
“He ... he pimped you out?” I rasped.
He nodded, but his eyes were downcast, avoiding my gaze.
He looked up at me with those soulful blue eyes, and I saw aching vulnerability in their depths. “Afterwards, he’d call me horrible names. Tell me how much I loved it — what a little faggot I was for letting those men touch me.”
He choked on a sob, his body shaking, and I fought the urge to reach out and comfort him, fearing my touch would only remind him of his trauma. My heart shattered into a million pieces for him. All the pain and trauma he’d endured was unthinkable. No wonder he had such a hard time trusting people or letting anyone get close to him.
“Jesus Christ,” I whispered, my stomach twisting into painful knots. Anger and sadness swirled within me like a raging storm. “I’m so sorry, Ghost.
The room grew eerily quiet as my mind raced, struggling to process what Ghost had just revealed. The darkness that had always surrounded him suddenly made sense, and I understood why he had been so hesitant around me. My heart ached for the little boy he’d once been, and the lasting damage that had been done to him. But I also saw the strong, complicated man he’d become, despite it all.
I forced myself to stay grounded in the moment, focusing on Ghost’s needs rather than my own swirling emotions.
“Ghost, you didn’t deserve any of that,” I whispered fiercely. “You’re not your father’s twisted perception of you. You’re so much more than that.”
My words unleashed something in him — a flood of anguish and rage he’d bottled up for so long. He shuddered, slamming a fist on the table. “He ruined me. I’m so fucked up because of him.”
“No, don’t say that.” I scooted my chair closer and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, relieved when he didn’t pull away. “You’re not ruined or fucked up. You’re strong, brave, and amazing. I won’t let anyone hurt you like that again. I promise.”
His eyes were haunted, staring into the distance as if reliving a particularly painful memory. “It’s just ... fucking hard. I still struggle with the memories, and sometimes I worry that I’ll never be able to escape them.”
“Then we’ll fight those demons together,” I promised, squeezing his shoulder. “No matter how long it takes or how hard it gets, I’ll be here for you.”
We sat in silence for a while, the weight of his horrific past heavy in the air. I was heartbroken for the suffering he had endured, and I vowed to myself that I would do everything in my power to help him heal from the scars of his past.
Resting my head against the cool window, I stared out at the city lights as they blurred together like a watercolor painting. The tension in my chest had been building all night; I wasn’t sure how I could help Ghost. I could feel his gaze on me, but I didn’t know what to say or do.
I snapped the curtains closed against potential prying paparazzi lenses and turned to the room, which was dark except for the soft glow of the fireplace flames.
Bishop would be arriving shortly, so I didn’t have much more time alone with Ghost. I wanted to say so many things before he left and went back on tour, but nothing seemed appropriate for the situation.
I swallowed hard, my throat tight. “Have you spoken to someone about this — someone professional — that can help you?” I prodded gently.
He leaned back in the chair, seeming much calmer now. “I have. I’ve been seeing Maggie, my therapist, for years, but I only recently told her the entire story after I told Remi. And I was doing really well. At least until Remi betrayed me. Betrayed all of us.” His voice broke on the last word, and he looked away, jaw clenched.
I sat in the chair across from him, sliding my hands down to my lap to keep myself from reaching out to him. “So, talking to the therapist is helping?”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “She has all these strategies — coping strategies and stuff about negative thinking — and it’s weird, but they work. And I’ve been working hard to stop popping pills to numb the pain.”
“That’s good,” I encouraged.
