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My body is shaking from my tears as I attempt to curl into a ball to get away from Damon. I don’t want him to see me like this, but he holds me in place.
“Blue, just talk to me.”
I can’t. These scars run far too deep. I’m not sure I’ve ever admitted them to myself, so how the hell will I tell him?
It’s just a bunch of questions, but they grip into my heart, tearing at the muscle every time just the thought of them runs through my head. I’m afraid to say them out loud because I’m not sure I’ll survive the pain.
What if the answers are everything I’ve feared in life? Everything I’ve run from?
What if…
“They made us fight each other,” Damon says, his deep voice a whisper against my ear.
His arm wraps over my chest tighter, one of his legs moving to trap both of mine beneath. Damon isn’t on top of me, but he might as well be. I’m practically pinned to the bed.
Normally I would fight being held down like this, but his confession stills me in place, my mind scrambling to dig free of the emotions and questions choking it to make sense of what he’s telling me.
“What do you mean? They did what?”
He rests his head against mine, his breath soft heat against my cheek.
“My dad … well … all of them eventually. Those were some of their favorite fights. The ones where they made Ezra and me fight each other. I don’t think they would have cared if it was to the death, but Ezra and I always stopped in the end. It was enough to please the assholes making money, but we knew when to stop so neither of us died.”
Rage.
Pure and unadulterated..
It washes through me like a tidal wave, the heat of it chasing off my anxiety.
“Those sons of bitches.” My hands grip down into the blankets at my sides. “I’ll fucking kill them. I’ll—“
He laughs softly, the sound of it so sad. “That’s not why I’m telling you about this.”
My heart is a damn war drum beneath my chest, my mind spinning faster over everything he said. How dare any grown men do that to children? How dare any person at all do that to someone else?
What is so wrong with this world that it seems like evil always wins?
“I’m telling you this, Blue, because I know there are some secrets that are buried too deep to let go. You have to rip at them to free them. And you have to trust the person you’re giving them to. I’ll give you mine, Blue. But you have to give me some of yours in return.”
“I can’t,” I breath out on a choked sob, “And not because I don’t trust you with the truth, but because I don’t know if I trust myself with the answers.”
We’re whispering at this point. But isn’t that how secrets are spoken? As silently as possible. As if the wind can snatch them away from you and blow them clear across the world.
“Try. You help me fight my demons. Let me do the same for you.”
I can feel the questions digging out of that deep place in myself. Like a festering sore opening up as the words escape it, one by one. There’s this black spot inside me that has existed for so long that it’s an infection I’m not sure will ever be cured.
“Come on, Blue.” His hand grips my hip. “Tell me.”
Quieting for a moment, he breathes out slowly. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours. Remember?”
A bark of sad laughter escapes me. This bastard is using my own weapons against me, as if he disarmed me during our first battle and has turned the tides of this war.
It takes several attempts, but the first question escapes that festering hole in my chest and manages to crawl up my throat.
“She never hugs me. Never. And I think that means I’ve been the one who hurts her.” I choke on the lump in my throat, the question too painful to ask.
“What if I’m the reason she’s always been so crazy? What if I’m what happened that made her run so much?”
