Every Hidden Truth (Far From Ruined Book 2)

by Nikole Knight

  Even when I didn’t want him, he was there, shoving his way past my defenses to the core of who I was. I didn’t want him to see, fearful of his reaction when he discovered how lost I really was. But still, he pushed and prodded until I could do nothing but surrender.

  “I hate you, Ben,” I choked, pressing myself into him as sobs wracked my body. “God, I hate you.”

  He didn't speak. He offered no words of comfort or empty platitudes, no optimistic promises or soothing assurances. Letting me weep, he simply held me as I cursed him over and over. I wanted him to fight back because fighting was easier, but he didn’t. He cradled me to him as I blubbered and bawled. We both knew he was the only thing keeping me from drowning.

  When my tears finally dried, my chest was hollow like everything in me had been scooped out and strewn carelessly over the ground. I was a vacant grave, gaping and abandoned, awaiting the return of the heavy casket housing my bleeding, dying heart. It was cold and lonely, yet Ben’s presence seeped into me like the warmth of spring, thawing me after a harsh winter.

  At some point, we’d fallen to the ground and now sat in a tangle of limbs. Salt crusted on my cheeks as my tears dried on his bare chest. I hid in his neck; I couldn’t face him after my meltdown. There was only so much brokenness a person could carry before they shattered themselves, and Ben had enough without adding mine. Even now, he held me up when I couldn't stand, but how much could he truly handle before he collapsed under the weight?

  “I’m sorry.” I traced a light bruise blooming underneath his collarbone, hating that I was the one to create it. “God, Ben, I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s okay. It’s not your fault. You were scared.”

  “I’m not afraid of you.” I left the refuge of his chest, wiping furiously at the water stubbornly clinging to my lashes. “It’s not you. It’s my stupid, fucked-up head. I can’t stay here with you. I try but then I’m back there, and I can’t…”

  He cupped my face, swiping the fresh tears from my cheeks with his thumbs. “I know. I’ve been there. The scent of Jack Daniels used to send me into a panic attack, and I’d cry every time I smelled my mom’s brand of lotion. I get it.”

  “Oh, Ben.” I kissed his palm, sniffling like a baby.

  “But it doesn’t have to stay like this. It can get better. You don’t have to do this alone. If you do, you’ll break.”

  “I’m already broken. I’m a fucking mess.”

  Kissing the tip of my nose, he smiled sadly. “Your mess doesn’t scare me.”

  After clearing the snot and tears from my face and wiping them subtly on my jeans, I tilted my head in search of spearmint lips. He answered instantly, the lightest pressure as our mouths connected. I wanted to stay here forever.

  “I never cry, you know?” I clarified as Ben rose, lifting me to my feet, and guided me back to the couch. “Like ever. I’m not, like, a wuss or something.”

  We settled on the couch, and I tucked myself into his side as our fingers twined over his navel. “There’s no shame in tears. They help heal.”

  “You sound like a shrink,” I teased, and he pursed his lips.

  “Well, my therapist was the one to tell me that, so…”

  And I’d once again ruined everything. “You see a therapist?”

  He nodded.

  “Open mouth. Insert foot.”

  He chuckled, pecking my forehead. “Do you think I’m crazy for going to therapy?”

  “No, don’t be stupid.” I flicked his nipple, and he yelped. “I didn’t mean to mock it.”

  “I know.”

  Comfortable stillness blanketed the room as I pillowed my cheek on his pec. His fingers lazily drifted through my hair, and my heavy eyelids drooped.

  My curiosity got the better of me, though, and I broke the silence. “Why are you in therapy?”

  He stiffened momentarily before unlocking his muscles slowly. “’Cause I’m fucked up.”

  “You’re not fucked up.” I rubbed my cheek on his shoulder like a cat. “I mean, everybody’s a little fucked up, I guess.”

  “I suppose.” Air whistled through his nose as his eyes glazed, staring into space for a long moment. “When I was put in the foster system, they moved me to Sacramento. At first, I got into a lot of trouble, fights at school and partying on the weekends. I got busted with weed in my locker, and I was gonna get expelled for the second time. But Aunt June and Uncle Henry flew down to fight for me.

  “Part of the deal to keep me in school was that I had to see a therapist. Aunt June helped me find one. Sarah’s great. She’s one of the reasons I got into MIT.” He covertly rubbed his nose, sniffing. “She helped me work through my anger and anxiety, then she made sure I got back on track with school. Of course, my sob story of a life made for a good essay with colleges, and other than my first round of sophomore year, my grades are good. But I couldn’t have done it without her and Aunt June. I think they saved my life.”

  Throwing my arms around his neck, I embraced him the best I could in our awkward position. “I’m sorry you had to go through all that. You’re too good for that shit.”

  We kissed chastely before he backed away, ignoring my comment. “I hated talking to Sarah. It made me feel weak. But then, it started to help. Now, we skype every two weeks to check-in, and I can call her if I need her.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “I could give you her number, if you want.” The offer spilled from his mouth like a river, and I scrunched my nose.

  So that was the reason for the history lesson. “Ben, I’m fine. It was just bad timing.” He finagled me on the couch until we faced each other head-on, and I squeezed his hand. “I’m fine.”

  With a displeased grunt, he caressed my cheek with the back of his fingers. “And the next time we mess around and I try to touch you?”

  A cold sweat slicked my palms, and I paled.

  He nodded. “Yeah, I thought so.”

  “Ben—”

  “When you touched me, I couldn’t think straight. You were incredible.” His cheeks flushed at his confession, but he persevered through his embarrassment. “But this isn’t a one-sided relationship. I’m never going to do anything you don’t want me to do, but I’m not okay with you” —he searched for words before settling on bluntness— “getting me off only to be left hanging yourself. You’re my boyfriend, and it’s kind of important that you get off, too, you know?”

  My face burned, but the sentiment was incredibly sweet. “That’s super weird to say, but also really nice, actually.” He rubbed the back of his neck as I chuckled through the awkwardness. “It’ll get better. I mean, it can’t last forever.”

  “Trauma has a way of hanging around.” I glared at him, officially tiring of this conversation, and he held his hands in surrender. “Okay, I’m not gonna push this. Just know that there are options and talking to a professional doesn't make you weak.”

  I drew a design on Ben’s chest, circling his nipple until it hardened. “Thanks, Ben.”

  “Can I ask you something?” He watched my hand trail over his sternum, and I nodded as I focused on the subtle ripples of his abdomen. “Can you tell me what I did to trigger you?”

  Annoyed at repeating myself, I crossed my arms over my chest. “It’s not you! It’s my fucked-up head, okay?”

  “I understand that, but I refuse to hurt you, even on accident!” He poked my shoulder. “Just help me help you. Please?”

  God, this was embarrassing!

  “I love when you touch me, Ben, but when you go for my jeans, it’s just not you anymore. I’m sorry.”

  He smothered my apology with a kiss. It was passionate and intense, but it lacked the sexual drive of our earlier affections. I still loved it.

  “I know it’s hard for you to say, so thank you for telling me.” He punctuated his gratefulness with another kiss. “So, we’re keeping our pants on, then.”

  “For now.” I mimed the shape of a box over my crotch as I sang the pathetic rhyme we learned
in sex-ed. “Stop, don’t touch me there. This is my no-no square.”

  We roared with laughter as Ben tackled me to the couch. He manhandled me until I was positioned the way he wanted, then he wriggled between my legs, his head lying on my stomach with his arms on either side of my torso. My gut ached from laughter, and Ben giggled into my belly button as he peppered me with kisses.

  “We’ll figure this out.” He blew a raspberry into the soft skin of my stomach, and I screeched.

  “Stop!”

  With one last kiss, his playfulness cooled. “I’m serious, Si. If you let me, I’ll help you. We can figure this out together.”

  His eyes shuttered closed as my fingers delved into his curls, massaging his scalp, and my discontent calmed. I inhaled his spring soap and sighed. “Promise?”

  I offered my pinkie, and he grinned, hooking mine with his. “Promise.”

  Thirteen

  Four days later, I finished my final exam for the day and stared at the clock as it neared eleven fifty-seven. Since it was the last day of the semester, we were released early after our morning classes. Student government would stay behind to decorate for the winter dance tonight and sports teams would still practice. Other extracurriculars were canceled until next month.

  I’d never been more ready for winter break. This week had been a shitstorm, and the end could not come quickly enough.

  Tuesday morning, I’d arrived at school to find my birthday locker in ruins. Streamers littered the ground in tattered pieces and popped balloons hung limp and lifeless from my locker door. The birthday message had been rearranged to no longer wish me a happy birthday but to read, “eat ass,” instead. I had to give them—most likely, Boyt or Jake Thompson—credit for their creativity in creating an e from the letters p and y.

  Heartbroken, I’d cleaned up the mess while exuding artificial apathy over the vandalism. Ben was furious when he met me at my locker as I dropped the last streamer into the trash bin, but I’d calmed him down before he lost his cool completely.

  Thankfully, he hadn’t seen the new message, and I didn’t mention it. It would only piss him off more.

  Telling him, and myself, that it didn’t matter, I went about my week normally, but in the deepest part of my heart, I was devastated. The gesture had been so sweet and innocent, yet they had robbed me of it, anyway. It was ridiculous and cruel, but any response would only incite more aggression. So I swallowed my pride and sorrow.

  The destruction of my birthday locker was simply the icing on the cake of a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad week.

  Thanks to my freak-out Monday night, Ben wouldn’t let me touch him anymore. I’d stopped by his house after work Wednesday night, and though we made out on his couch, making out was all we did. He stopped my wandering hands and ended our passionate session when it became clear I was going to push the issue.

  Apparently, the pants-on boundary applied to both of us. Until we figured out how to get me off, he wouldn’t allow me to get him there.

  I was still pissed about it.

  I’d never force anything he didn’t want, but the fact remained that he did want me but simply denied himself for my sake. Which was stupid! Just because I was some freak who couldn’t stomach my boyfriend’s hand on my dick, didn’t mean he had to go unsatisfied. I liked touching him, wanted to touch him, but he’d closed down shop.

  Stupid, thoughtful boy!

  No matter how I reasoned with him, he’d been adamant, and I’d left his house hard, guilty, and pissed. Being the petty asshole I was, I’d ignored his texts that night and refused to talk to him most of the day yesterday. He allowed me my sulking until he’d walked me to my truck after school.

  “Stay mad at me if you want, but I’m just as stubborn as you are,” he’d said when I’d refused to kiss him goodbye. “I care about you, and I won’t use you just to get my rocks off.”

  It wasn’t his anger that finally broke through my childish irritation but his vulnerable honesty. His eyes had watered slightly at my rejection, his shoulders slumped as he turned away and walked back to the school. If I didn’t have to go to work, I would have chased after him.

  Needing to fix things, I’d gone straight to his house after work and thrown myself into his arms, blubbering apologies.

  Being Ben, the kindest, most understanding boy on the planet, he forgave me instantly. We’d tried again last night, Ben taking his time, but though we managed to get my jeans opened, I’d flipped my lid when he attempted to free me from my boxers. Neither of us were in the mood to continue once I’d calmed down.

  Yet another failure.

  Maybe we could figure something out tonight. Wasn’t that a thing, fucking around after a school dance? Or was that just prom? I didn’t know, nor did I care. I simply wanted Ben, and the constant defeat and subsequent weakness exhausted me.

  The bell rang, freeing me and my fellow students from school for two glorious weeks, and the excitement of liberation buzzed through the air as I cleaned out my locker of anything I might need over break. Ben had practice, and since Kim and I were walking to the parking lot together, he’d kissed me at my locker in farewell.

  “I’ll see you tonight. Six o’clock. Look nice.” He punctuated each statement with a kiss, and I smiled against his mouth.

  “I was planning on wearing my pajamas, but I guess I’ll figure something else out,” I teased.

  He poked my side with a playful wink. “Sass.”

  “Always.”

  With one last kiss, he squeezed my hand, then headed toward the gym.

  Kim simpered at our display of affection, and I glared at her when she undulated in an obscene, sexual manner. “Bow-chica-wow-wow!”

  “Shut up, Kim.” I flipped her off with a hiss.

  “Your dad's not home tonight, right?” Her tone dripped with suggestion, and I refused to answer as my neck heated. “You could so get lucky. First-class ticket to Pound Town.”

  “Seriously, Kim? Could you not, right now?” I snipped as we battled the crowd toward the parking lot.

  She giggled, looping our arms tightly. “You love me, and you know it.”

  “I’d love for you to get your skank ass away from me.” I smiled sweetly at her unamused glower.

  “Kiss my skank ass!” She lunged at me and smacked several loud, wet kisses on my cheek as I struggled.

  Gagging, I screeched and fought her off the best I could. “Ew, girl cooties! Get off, wench.”

  “Dickbreath.” She backed toward her car as I walked in the opposite direction, tossing insults back and forth.

  “Satan’s concubine.”

  “Rainbow fairy unicorn!”

  We burst into laughter at that one. I pirouetted, slipping on the snowy pavement and catching myself on the nearest car.

  Shrieking with laughter, she blew me a kiss then pantomimed yanking a train’s whistle. “Choo, choo! Next stop: Pleasure City!”

  “You’re repulsive.” I shouted as I righted myself, using the shiny, red Volvo as a crutch.

  She climbed into her SUV, cackling. “See you tonight.”

  I didn’t bother responding.

  With my hands on the hood of the expensive car, I peeked through the windshield only to blanch as Jake Thompson glared at me.

  As he shoved his car door open, I yelped and ran for it, sprinting to my truck and clambering inside before he could catch and beat the shit out of me for smudging his pretty vehicle.

  Once home, I ate Mac and Cheese before showering.

  After dumping half my wardrobe on the bed, I wasted an embarrassing amount of time sifting through the clothes. I would rather die than dress in some penguin suit, but I didn’t want to show up to the dance in ripped jeans and a T-shirt.

  Whether Ben admitted it or not, he was looking forward to this, and I didn’t want to ruin it for him. He was excited, so I’d put in at least forty percent effort to make it worth his while.

  Narrowing it down to two outfits, I took a break and used the b
athroom. After washing my hands, I fingered my dry, chestnut locks. My hair was getting long again, and if I didn’t style it, the ends would dangle in front of my eyes. I would get it cut before school started.

  I used wax, teasing the strands until they fell in perfect chaos, then sprayed deodorant under my arms. I warily eyed the bottle of cologne I’d received for Christmas last year from Dad before hesitantly dabbing a bit on my wrists. It was subtle but pleasant, and I added a drop to the base of my neck.

  Studying my reflection, I traced the length of my throat with my finger, following the line of my collarbone then my sternum. My skin was pale but thankfully not pasty, and an attractive flush colored my cheeks. The skin beneath my gray eyes was dark with shadows, but aside from using makeup, there was no helping it.

  I wasn’t usually self-conscious about my appearance, but knowing what Ben looked like in nothing but a Speedo made me doubt. I was decently attractive as far as looks went, but I wasn’t muscled or powerful. To my delight, I was still getting taller, and I hoped I’d pass Ben one day. But there was nothing particularly extraordinary about me.

  My features were too soft, my lashes too long. I looked a lot like my dad, but the slender slope of my jaw and thin, arched brows feminized my face. And I couldn’t grow a beard to save my life. It took three days of no shaving to get a healthy five o’clock shadow, five days for a good amount of stubble.

  I was happy with the definition in my arms, but my pride ended there. My chest was slim and my stomach soft. Whatever muscle-mass I had hid beneath layers of squish. I hoped Ben didn’t mind. Of course, he never seemed to when I was shirtless.

  Realizing I stood before my mirror, flexing my arms as I contemplated my level of attractiveness, I smacked my cheek and grumbled internal insults.

  My phone trilled on my nightstand, and I answered the video call, uncaring that I stood in nothing but a pair of orange boxers.

  “Ezzy!” I smiled as my screen filled with dark brown hair streaked with purple and hazel eyes.