Although I hadn’t been able to make out the entire phone conversation with his mother yesterday, the wordworthlesshad been rather hard to miss.
And I just told the man Ididn’t want him.
The same man whose mother has made it pretty clear she doesn’t give two shits about him. The same man who publicly proposed to his girlfriend, only to be turned down.
Even on a good day, it’s hard for him to accept that someone might want him around.
I told him he was safe here.
What have I done?
“Luke!” I rush out of the bathroom, through the bedroom door, and down the hallway. As I go, I leave a wake of water droplets behind me. “Wait! Please, I didn’t mean… Just wait!”
“I get it, Alek. Don’t worry about it, okay?”
But he’s not looking at me. Our relationship is new and fragile at best, and I’ve hurt his feelings so irreparably that he can’t even bring himself to face me.
If he would just glance my way, he would get it. Suddenly, I’m desperate for it, and the irony of that doesn’t escape me. But I would rather him discover what I’ve been hiding than for him to think for even one second that my hurtful words could ever be true.
“Look at me,” I croak, ignoring the way my heart climbs into my throat.
He shakes his head, his hand wrapping around the door handle. “I’m just going to—”
“Look at me so you can see how fucked up I am!” I don’t mean to yell, but I do. My voice cracks a little, the swirling panic inside me making it go all high-pitched and breathy.
“What?” Luke’s head snaps around, his eyebrows furrowed.
This time, I’m the one making a wounded noise as I spin around, exposing my back to another human being for the first time in…years. My fingers curl over the soft plaster of the wall in front of me, my head hanging as shame heats my body. Although I can’t see his expression, the air in the room has changed. It feels like it’s all been sucked out.
“I didn’t want you to know how fucked up I am, okay? It’s no excuse for being an asshole, but I didn’t want you to see how ugly…” I trail off when my voice begins to tremble, a lump forming in my throat. Fuck, this is even harder than I thought it would be. That sticky, vulnerable, weak feeling is beginning to close around me, crawling inside me and making me want to hide.
What are you going to do about it?My father’s voice taunts me, the memory of his bitter laugh sending a bone-chilling sort of cold sweeping over me.You’re too weak to do shit, aren’t you? Pathetic.
Even at forty-three, I still sometimes hear those words. That’s what he said to me every time his fist connected with some part of my body, every time I pleaded with him to stop. For most of my childhood and young adult life, things happenedtome. And I was too weak, too vulnerable, to stop them. I’ve been chasing control ever since.
I present the image I want everybody to see: a put together, middle-aged man in professionally tailored shirts and trousers. A tone, athletic body that’s conventionally pleasing to gaze at. Or so they think. Most people only see the surface-level image I present to the world, not the ugly underneath.
Ugly and weak.
“You’re beautiful,” Luke whispers, his voice choked with emotion I don’t recognize.
“Wh-what?” I straighten, spinning around to give him an incredulous look. I would accuse him of lying but he sounds so…sincere.
Is he blind?
He closes the distance between us, those bright emeralds swimming with something that looks like a combination of awe and pain. I don’t quite know what to do with that, so I remain frozen. Luke keeps hismovements slow, his hand held out like he’s approaching a trapped animal. When he stops directly in front of me, his hand hovers over my chest, his eyes seeking permission. My stomach swoops, and I swallow hard. I give a tiny, very subtle jerk of my chin. A warm, soft hand rests over my heart as his body heat presses to mine. The other hand lands on my shoulder, his fingers not hesitating to curl directly over my…scars.
I inhale sharply, my vision blurring.
“That’s why you haven’t taken your clothes off,” he says simply.
I nod.
He gives that pained sort of whine again, but this time it’sfor me.My heart begins to beat faster as his forehead rests against mine. Even now, my skin itches and my limbs feel jerky. I can’t help but want to cover myself again, to don my armor. But the way he’s looking at me makes me pause.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispers again, his breath fanning over my parted lips. “Your scars are beautiful.”
I shake my head. Now he’s just bullshitting me.
