“For skeletons in the closet,” Juliet inferred. “To blackmail her.”
“For leverage,” I corrected. “To persuade her.”
Juliet crossed her arms over her chest, waiting for me to continue.
I took a deep breath. “She had a daughter listed in her personal information. No surprise, except the daughter was named Juliet Adrian Carter. This confused me, because K. C. Carter or any name starting with a K didn’t show up.” I eyed her. “So I started digging. And when you told me your story, I—”
“You already knew.” She cut me off, her eyes pooling with tears. “You just let me confide in you like an idiot while you sat there listening to the same sordid shit you already knew.”
“No.” I tipped her chin back to look at me, but she jerked away. “I didn’t listen to the story. I listened to you, okay? You were talking to me. You were trusting me. I didn’t know shit about you—not really—until I heard it from your lips. I read about you, but I didn’t know you.”
She looked away, shaking her head. She didn’t believe me.
“The more I found out about you,” I continued, trying to make her understand, “the more I couldn’t let you go. One thing led to another, and I …” I hesitated and swallowed. “I wanted to be there for you. I accessed your class schedule to see how you were doing.”
She ran her hands over her face, turning away, but I grabbed her shoulders and turned her back to me.
“I found out you were struggling in a math class, so I set off the sprinklers the morning of the midterm. Shitty thing to do, I know. But I figured extra time to study was welcome. After that, I … I just kept an eye on you, okay?”
I’d never intended to invade her privacy, and as easy as it would’ve been or as much as I wanted to, I never went into her e-mail, social networks, or medical records. I actually tried to talk myself into it. Lots of times. Sure, I’d just be making sure she was healthy. I’d just be making sure no one was harassing her. I’d just be making sure her asshole boyfriend wasn’t screwing around. But I never did any of that. I wasn’t trying to control her. I just wanted to take care of her.
At least, that was all I hoped it was.
“I didn’t feel like you had anyone,” I admitted. “It wasn’t pity. It was actually kind of a relief to know your life wasn’t perfect. I felt like we had one thing that connected us, that made us different from our friends, and I didn’t want you to be alone.” And I rushed to add, “I knew that being away at school was probably more freedom than you’d ever had. I wanted you to love it. I wanted to make things easier for you. That’s all.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, tears running down her cheeks as she bowed her head into her hand.
“So you know everything,” she cried. “You knew about my father. That the day after he cut me, he slashed his wrists. Because he could never forgive himself for my sister.”
Yeah, I knew that, too. How could a father forgive himself for causing the death of his own child?
I nodded. “It was the middle of the night,” I almost whispered. “Your sister had gotten out of bed. He thought she was an intruder. It was a terrible accident.”
Her head hung low, and she wiped her tears.
“He killed himself to protect you,” I said. “He thought he was going to hurt another daughter.”
She looked up. “He did anyway, didn’t he?” Her voice grew strong again. “He left me with her. Wouldn’t you resent him for that? I mean, what about your mother, huh?” she asked. “She left you with your father.”
I slid my hand into my pocket, instantly feeling the comfort of the knife. “Yeah. So?”
“Well, don’t you hate her?”
I wrapped my fingers around the thick plastic of the handle. “I don’t know,” I mumbled.
She smiled angrily, shaking her head. “Neither do I. I know nothing about you. You give me nothing.”
“Because it’s all just shit!” I barked, running my hands through my hair. “I don’t want you to know those things about me. I don’t want it dirtying anything I have with you.” I leaned in, cupping her face, but she slapped my hands away again.
“You won’t have anything with me!” she spat out, turning to leave.
“The fuck I won’t.” I yanked her back, every fucking muscle in my body solid stone as I pressed my body into hers, pushing her into the wall. “Come on. Admit it. This is all you really want from me anyway, isn’t it?” I seethed, forcing my mouth on hers in a rough, angry kiss. “Yeah,” I whispered hard. “It’s what they all want from me, Juliet.”
“Jax!” Her voice trembled as her arms tried to push me away. “Stop it!”
I yanked her loose top down over her shoulders, exposing her in her bra. “Oh, come on, Juliet.” I held her tight. “I’ll fuck you so good. You can go tell all your friends that you finally had your turn, and that I was such a good time,” I growled. “They can all get their places in line.”
I pulled the knife out of my pocket and hit the button, the blade shooting out. “You’re going to love this. They all do.” And with the speed of a bullet, I slipped the knife under her bra, between her breasts, and sliced the material.
“Stop!” She brought up her hands, covering herself and crying.
“Isn’t this what you wanted?” I bellowed, getting in her face and pushing her and pushing myself, falling over the edge and knowing that I was going to hit bottom sooner or later.
Fuck!
I gripped the blade in my fist. “Aren’t you finally fucking happy now?” I yelled, and reached up, punching the wall above us, sinking the blade into the plaster.
She cried out, and I nearly fell on my ass when she launched off the wall and wrapped her arms around me, stunning me silent.
I stood there, wide-eyed and not breathing. Her arms tightened around my neck, blanketing me in warmth, and I closed my eyes, my rabid heartbeat pounding in my ears.
Juliet. A tear spilled out of the corner of my eye, falling over my cheekbone. Fuck, what was I doing?
“It’s okay,” she whispered, her shaking lips wet against my chest. “It’s okay.”
I wasn’t sure if she was trying to assure herself or me, but she wasn’t running. Why wasn’t she running?
I stayed, unable to open my eyes, unable to move. The world spun around me, and I felt like I was swaying and about to fall. What the hell’s wrong with me? I might’ve hurt her. I’d never hurt a woman. Except one.
I squeezed my eyes tighter. Oh, Jesus. I wrapped an arm around her waist and put my other hand on her face, holding her to my chest.
“Shh,” I soothed, running my hand down her hair. “I’m sorry.”
Her body trembled in my arms as she tried to catch her breath, but she quieted and slowly relaxed her hold around my neck. All I felt was the heat of her lips against my skin, and I knew one thing.
I wanted her more than I wanted my secrets.
“I like knives, Juliet,” I confessed, still stroking her hair. “When you see someone getting shot on TV, they look shocked. It’s over too quickly.” I forced my raspy voice to stay steady. “A cut is different. As you know. It’s pain, followed by fear.”
She pulled back, covering her naked chest as she looked up at me and listened.
I reached up and pulled the knife out of the wall, making sure to hold it gently.
“I don’t even need to use it,” I pointed out. “People know that I have it, and that’s enough.”
Her pained green eyes looked between me and the knife.
“But there was one time when I needed to use a knife, Juliet. One time when I was tired of being hungry, tired of bleeding, tired of them touching me where they weren’t supposed to … tired of being afraid and being alone.”
Her lips trembled, but she stood strong as she whispered, “What did you do?”
I let out a small laugh. “Yeah, that’s what people want to know, isn’t it? What happened? How did they hurt you? How did they touch you? Where did they touch you? How many times did it happen? Fuck.” I laughed to myself, my eyes blurring and my jaw aching with tears I wouldn’t let go.
But I swallowed down the pain and locked eyes with her. “I need to remember how I survived. Not what I suffered,” I said. “How I fought, and not how I hurt.”
She looked up at me, trying to understand.
“I’m not the kid wearing filthy clothes to school anymore.” I sheathed the blade and stuck it in my pocket. “I stopped throwing up half of what I eat. I don’t beg for them to stop. I don’t cower in corners, hide in closets, or fear coming home.”
That was all I needed to remember. All that was important.
“I’m not cold,” I said. “I’m not hungry. I’m not helpless. I’m not scared. And I’m not always alone anymore.”
That was what I wanted her to understand about what I’d been through. About what she’d been through. The more you suffered, the more you survived. It shaped people in different ways, and what broke one person could empower another.