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“Pardon?” I ask.
“Why didn't you tell me I was a father?” he repeats slowly, and I can feel the edges of his anger that he is trying to contain. “You can't tell me you didn't have one opportunity in four years to reply to me, to call me. Fuck, Rose, you could have let your parents tell me!” Casen says retrieving the milk and slamming the fridge shut. I swallow down the bile that rises in my throat.
He's not Vince.I try to remind myself. Yet his anger burns just as harshly as Vince's did. “We didn't think Vince would hurt us either,” Poppy my wolf reminds me. Her words send fear jolting up my spine. And I realize his anger just like Vince's entices the same reaction, I fight back the urge to scratch.
That sort of fear is more than your heart racing, more than emotion, it's physical too. That sort of fear gets under your skin, makes it crawl, makes it burn, invisible fingers, grazing and prodding, raising the hair on every inch of your body. That itch screams, 'it'll hurt', screams pain, alarm bells ring loudly in your body saying brace yourself. Screams silence, 'don't react, don't provoke'.
For a split second, I forget how to breathe, and I forget everything but that spine tingling feeling, that itch that no matter how much you scratch won't leave. It's all consuming, just like the rage he feels. I'm no longer a person, no longer a life valued, no longer anything but an outlet for his anger, his inability to control emotion, his blindness to the fact I feel, hurt and bleed. To him, I am no longer flesh and bone, the fabric of my existence reduced to padded fabric for his fists, a punching bag.
“Rose, snap out of it!' Poppy urges, her voice cracking through the shell of my panic. I blink to find Casen is still demanding an answer. One I haven’t given.
“Rose?” Casen says his hands grabbing my face, and at first, that is all I see, hands coming at my face. I feel the blow before it happens, my entire body braces for it, endures it. Only I feel warmth of a gentle touch, not the burning sting of his palm, my ears don't ring, and the only darkness that envelops me is from my eyes closing, waiting for the pain, bracing for it, only it doesn't come.
“Rose?” Casen speaks softly, and I take a breath, I didn't realize I was holding. As if I could save it in case it's my last. “Come back to me, Rose,” Casen whispers.
My eyes burn and fill as I try to hold the tears at bay, don't let him see, you'll be ridiculed for them. A lump forms in my throat so large it threatens to choke me. Like swallowing the hands I am so used to feeling around my neck. “I'm right here, Rose. Shh, breathe.”
I don't want to breathe, I know that next breath will come with a choked whimper, a stuttering of how badly that fear grips me.
“Fear is one of two things,” I whisper.
“Rose?” he murmurs the question as if lost to the words meaning, yet I know it as if it's ingrained in my DNA, as if it is a pulsating trait, a living breathing piece of me.
“You said why,” I tell him, opening my eyes to find his face filled with concern. Except he looks at me with eyes that won't haunt every inch of my waking mind like Vince's do.
“Fear is one of two things. It either activates you, or it paralyzes you. Never both. My fear doesn't fight, Casen, it freezes, it submits and endures, just so it will be over,” I choke out the words.
“Rose? I didn't mean.”
I shake my head. “No, you want to know why? I thought I was safe, I thought he was you. I was wrong. And then he had Casey. So small, so fragile, so easily broken, he had her in his hands and it was too late. He knew he had me, he just had to keep her close. Keep me close, and I let him.”
“No, Rose, this isn't…”
“Isn't it? You're right, Casen, I did have opportunities I could have called, I could have done something, but then it paralyzes you, the mere thought of if I am caught, or if help doesn't arrive in time, what then? I leave her in the hands of a man that so easily can break me, what chance does she stand?” I ask him.
He stares at me, words failing him.
“That is why I didn't call, that is why I didn't speak up. That sort of fear doesn't just come and then leave, it is buried deep within your skin, into your very being until it's all you know. It becomes part of you, trains you,” his brows furrow trying to understand. But no one will, I see it all the time, domestic violence is rarely pointed at the one harming, it's pointed at the victim. Just like rape victims, why didn't they fight or run? It's the same for domestic violence, why didn't she leave?
That sort of fear locks every muscle, every sense down, it's paralyzing, then afterward you don't get rest from it, it nags at you, the what if's. What could I have done differently? Why didn't I? That sort of fear doesn't give you a choice, it paralyzes, it steals your voice. You watch, praying it will just be over. And the worst part is, you know everyone will doubt you because how could she just do nothing?
Why didn't she run, fight back? And even if you try to explain it, they don't get how your body could fail you, betray you just to save you. And to say that to someone, to explain it, they will never understand until they've been in a situation where fear is paralyzing. Fear of your baby choking makes you react, yet fear for your own life? That is something else entirely.
ChapterSeventy-One
“It’s okay,” he murmurs, each word a lifeline. “You don't need to apologize, I shouldn't have judged,” he replies, hanging his head and stepping back from.
“I'm sorry,” he says and my brows knit. Vince would say that, say sorry. Then he would then ensure I knew it was my fault. That I made his blood boil, I shouldn't have said what I said, I should have reacted differently. If only I didn't provoke him by existing.
Casen turns back to finish making the hot chocolate, and once again I fall silent. Did I say too much? Does he understand or not? Will he call me a liar, or question further? My mind races, conjuring up every possible scenario, yet the outcome of each is bleak.
Yet, the threat of his potential rejection clings to the edges of my relief, maybe this is my punishment, perhaps he'll wait for me to get comfortable in his presence and then rip the rug out from under me. Vince used to do that, give me this false sense of safety, lure me in with promises, promises he always broke. Yet for a moment, I would hold on to that brief reprieve of his torment with hope, cling to it like it was a lifeline to the mate I wished he would be.
I bite my lip, the physical pressure a weak defense against the surge of emotions. “Thank you for saving me. I know you did it because of Casey, and I understa—”
“No!” he interrupts, the firmness of his tone slicing through my assumptions. “I may have been rejected, Rose, but that rejection didn’t stop my love for you.” The intensity of his words pierce through my heart, creating a new kind of pain. I stare at him in disbelief, unable to comprehend how he can love me still after what I did to him.
I know I shouldn't be questioning his intentions, yet I can’t stop myself from asking, “Why?” It makes no sense, he could have moved on, taken a chosen mate, but he came back. Why?
