Every Hidden Truth (Far From Ruined Book 2)

by Nikole Knight

  After another immeasurable amount of time, his fingers tentatively traced my spine. It was a hesitant touch, timid and unsure. A loathsome part me detested his indecision.

  Either touch me or don’t! His vacillation aggravated me.

  Thankfully, I had enough self-control to stay quiet. I couldn’t be trusted with my voice, and I embraced the mind-numbing, emotionless emptiness that had consumed me since leaving school. If I couldn’t say anything nice, then I shouldn’t say anything at all… Right?

  Ben scooched nearer and cautiously, carefully slipped an arm around my waist. Spooning me, he released a long, relieved breath. “Is this okay?”

  I didn’t stiffen at his embrace, but I didn’t relax either. After a moment of mental deliberation, I nodded in answer. My agreement fueled his confidence, and he fit his body to mine until we were pressed together like sardines.

  Melting into me, he relaxed, and his sigh moistened the back of my neck. He needed the comforting touch, so I allowed him to hold me even though I wasn’t sure I wanted him to. The part of me that loved Ben more than anything in the world cursed me to Hell and back for my unfeeling detachment. I should be holding him, whispering words of comfort and assurance, but the most I could accomplish was lying cold and immobile in his arms.

  We lay silent and still for ages. I stared blankly at the wall until I had every scratch and imperfection of the drywall memorized. Ben clung to me like a rescue buoy, his fingers tangled in the front of my shirt.

  I didn’t sleep, but time passed strangely. Was it possible to sleep with my eyes open?

  Hours passed and I waited, anticipating the moment my emotions would come seeping back in. I expected there to be a pivotal moment when I would feel something, anything, but it never came. I was numb, empty, cold.

  Aunt June checked on us at some point, but since neither of us acknowledged her presence, she believed us asleep and left quietly without addressing us. Maybe she’d made dinner and wanted to know if we were hungry. Or perhaps she was worried and needed to ensure we weren’t drowning ourselves in Ben’s bathtub.

  Eventually, Ben shifted behind me, his hand pressing to my abdomen as he buried his face against the back of my neck. He inhaled one long, steady breath, and I prepared myself for him to speak. I wasn’t wrong.

  “Silas?”

  I didn’t respond. He knew I was awake, and it would be redundant to speak as a sign I was conscious. If he wanted to talk, then he’d talk, whether I spoke or not. So, I lay in wait, anxious for the inevitable conversation.

  “Si?” His lips traced the skin of my neck, and when I remained silent, he swallowed audibly. “Are you mad at me?”

  It wasn’t what I expected, and it took me a moment to comprehend his question. Mad? Was I mad? I wasn’t not mad, but I also wasn’t actively angry. Anger was a human emotion, and I felt far from human. What did it feel like, anyhow? Rage, wrath, fury… I couldn’t remember.

  Realizing I never answered him, I slowly shook my head, but he wasn’t placated. “Do you hate me?”

  Did I? I didn’t think I did, so I shook my head again.

  “Do you… Do you still love me?”

  His voice broke, and the depressing sound stirred some deep-seated emotion in my chest. I recoiled from the feeling, not wanting to relinquish my peaceful numbness, but to salvage whatever remained unblemished between us, I would need to.

  There wasn’t much that wasn’t soiled and stained from the events of the day, but there had to be something, right? We couldn’t be completely broken… Could we?

  I turned from the wall, my exhausted body creaking at the movement after hours of lying immobile. As I faced Ben, the small spark of emotion flared, erupting into a tiny flame. I cringed at the lifelessness in his eyes. His normally golden skin was sickly pale. Lines of agony carved into his forehead and around his dull eyes.

  Oh, Ben, my Ben. He shouldn’t look like this, this wrecked, this demolished.

  With a mind of its own, my hand reached for him, my fingers trailing over his cheek. They paused at the spot near his mouth where his dimple should be but continued their journey over his jaw until I traced a small scar hidden near his ear. Briefly, I wondered how he received it.

  Had he fallen off his bike as a child? Did he slip at the pool, cracking his jaw against the tile floor? Was his father to blame for the blemish?

  I drew my fingertip down his neck as goose bumps rose along his skin, and I circled his Adam’s apple before sliding my finger over the hollow of his throat. His pulse pounded against my index finger. My hand lowered, my palm coming to rest over his racing heart.

  “Why wouldn’t I still love you?” After several hours of disuse, my voice was hoarse.

  His hand blanketed mine over his chest, and his expression pinched as he studied my blank face. “You’re shutting me out.”

  Yeah, I guess I was. I didn’t know how to remedy that, so I opted for apologizing instead. Maybe that was what he wanted to hear. “I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t want you to be sorry,” he snapped, his mouth pursing into a thin line of displeasure.

  “What do you want me to be?” I asked, earnestly curious.

  “I don’t care!” He scowled at my emotionless stare. “Be sad, be angry, be something! Anything’s better than this… this apathy.”

  Having no idea how to respond, I chewed on my bottom lip and shrugged. “Sorry.”

  Apparently, that wasn’t what he wanted. Grunting in disapproval, he shoved my hand away and rolled onto his back to glare at the ceiling above.

  His frustration caused a trickle of something to slide through my veins. It wasn’t a pleasant emotion. Annoyance, I finally named it. I was annoyed.

  That was a good sign, right? Or maybe not. Fighting with the one person who was supposed to be my ally wasn’t constructive. What did he want from me?

  “I don’t feel any of those things, Ben.” I focused on the tick in his jaw, my hands lying limp on the mattress between us. “Or maybe I feel all of them… I’m not sure. I just feel numb.”

  He angled his head to the side, his teeth grinding as he met my gaze. “I’m not numb. I’m angry.”

  I dropped my eyes, the small sliver of annoyance giving way to guilt. “Sorry.”

  “Stop—” He clenched his jaw shut as he took a deep breath, blowing it out between puckered lips as he fought for control. “Please, stop apologizing.”

  “Okay.” He was the one who wanted to talk, but everything I said upset him. How was that fair?

  Ben’s face screwed in bafflement, like my responses mystified him. After half a beat, something clicked in his eyes, and he grimaced. “I’m not angry with you, you idiot!”

  “Then why are you yelling at me?”

  “I’m not—”

  He scrambled from the bed, thrusting his hands into his messy blond curls as his chest chugged with emotion. He visibly trembled, and I sat up, wrapping the blanket around my shoulders as I watched him warily. The last time he’d been this angry, he beat Eric’s face in. Not that I expected him to hurt me, but his rage sparked a nervousness in my gut, advising caution.

  Pacing before the bed, he tugged at his hair, his face wild and deranged before it solidified to petrifying ice. He spun with a roar and smashed his fist through the wall, plaster and drywall giving beneath the force. I scrambled back with a cry of alarm, his violence frightening me. If he punched me that hard, he’d break my face. Sure, I wasn’t the hottest guy on the planet, but I possessed a rather healthy attachment to my features.

  But my fear was unfounded. He gingerly removed his fist from the wall, leaving a gaping hole behind. As a strangled moan escaped his throat, his fury dissolved into anguish. Burying his face in his hands, he collapsed to his knees as his shoulders shook.

  He was crying; Ben was crying.

  His sorrow hit me like a freight train, shocking my system from its robotic slumber. I stumbled out of the bed, tripping over the carpet as I knelt before him. My eyes watered,
and I threw myself at him, covering as much of his body with mine as I could manage.

  Bawling like a baby, I held Ben’s quivering form. I didn’t know how to aid him and settled for cradling him to me as we wept. We grieved over the loss of something precious and innocent, mourned the invasive violation of our most private moments, lamented the defiling theft of what was meant to be sacred. We had been robbed of something holy and irreplaceable, something that I wasn’t sure we could ever recover. The misery smothered us until we couldn’t breathe.

  The door to Ben’s room burst open, and Uncle Henry and my dad staggered into the room, their eyes wide with alarm. As they took in the hole in the wall and our sniveling, sobbing selves, they withdrew.

  Dad paused at the threshold, his hand hovering in the air, but after a fleeting moment of eye contact, he allowed me the privacy I sought. Leaving us to our solitary grief, they shut the door quietly behind them.

  Together, Ben and I sobbed like young children. We cried until our tears ran dry and our throats ached. We wept until we could weep no more.

  As the hysteria passed, our tears dried, and a somber silence settled around us. Gently retrieving Ben’s damaged hand, I utilized my best doctoring skills and deduced it most likely wasn’t broken, though he winced and flinched as I conducted my investigation. Maybe a knuckle or two were cracked, but he didn’t seem too concerned.

  Helping him to his feet, I led him to the bathroom, and he followed like a docile child. I cleaned the blood from his tattered flesh. The water in the sink ran red before turning a rosy pink color. Ben barely flinched as the cool water cleansed his wound.

  When his hand looked less like he had stuck it through a wood chipper, I splashed my face to wash away the dried salt on my cheeks. Ben copied me, then dragged me back to his bed. We crawled back inside in our shirts and boxers, and he finagled me the way he wanted until we faced each other on our sides. Our legs tangled, noses almost touching. He surrounded my body with his arms, hands pressing to my spine as I curled my arms between our chests.

  I didn’t feel better—better would take a long time to accomplish—but I felt different. I was no longer numb, but I wasn’t drowning either, which was an improvement of sorts.

  Yet, even as we twisted together like a human pretzel, I felt the space grow between us. We were two buoys drifting in a vast ocean. Where we had once been connected by a line, we were now detached, left to the will of the tide as we floated farther and farther apart.

  I loved him, but in the deepest, darkest parts of my soul, I hated him. But my bitterness in no way compared to the overwhelming self-loathing weighing on my shoulders. This was all my fault, and I hated myself for it.

  “Don’t give up on me, Silas,” Ben whispered, his lips too close, yet not close enough. “I’m not giving up on you, so don’t you dare give up on me.”

  Our foreheads met, and I trembled at the intensity in his eyes. “I won’t,” I vowed. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.” He leaned in as if to kiss me, but I turned away, unable to share the intimate affection. The violation was too fresh, and, to a certain extent, I resented him for my pain.

  Ben may not have put a gun to my head, but he had still forced my hand, hadn’t he? Or maybe I just needed someone to blame. Either way, it made me an insensitive bastard. I ducked my head and refused him his chaste request.

  It was rejection, plain and simple, but he took it in stride. Changing course, he kissed my brow and allowed me my selfishness. He had always been the better man.

  Seeking solace in unconsciousness, we remained in the basement until my father fetched me to return home. I didn’t want to leave, but I couldn’t stay, either. After clinging to Ben for another heartbreaking moment, I allowed him a kiss on my cheek before stepping out of his embrace.

  Dad wrapped a comforting arm around my shoulders and guided me to his SUV. The walk to the vehicle fueled my paranoia. I curled against my dad’s side, feeling too exposed.

  Was that the flash of a camera lens? Were those bushes moving in the breeze, or was someone hiding behind them?

  I scrambled into the car, thankful for the tinted windows, and buckled up as Dad started the engine. I waved to Ben through the windshield, and he returned the melancholy motion as Aunt June stood next to him, her arm secured around his waist. Even though she was tiny in stature, she was the only reason Ben stood upright. Without her support, he would have fallen.

  I was more tired than I ever remembered being, but I didn’t think I would be sleeping tonight. Something told me Ben would have the same issue.

  As we drove home in silence, I focused on the dashboard, determined not to fall apart again.

  When we parked in the driveway, my palms broke into a sweat, and my heart rate kicked up an extra notch as I exited the car. By the time we made it to the front door, I was hyperventilating. It was only Dad’s presence beside me that kept me from passing out on the porch. This shouldn’t be so difficult, but it was.

  “Silas.” Dad gripped my elbow and dragged me over the threshold and into the house. “Do you want to call Will?”

  I shook my head, removing my coat and hanging it up on the coat rack. “No.”

  “What do you want me to tell him?”

  “Tell him whatever you want. I’m going to bed.”

  “Okay.” His concern prickled over my skin, and I sent him a reassuring smile.

  It didn’t convince either of us.

  Reluctantly, I ascended the stairs, bolstering my courage as I approached my bedroom door. Standing on the threshold, I gazed into my room where, mere days ago, Ben and I had lost ourselves in each other. He had held me close, a gentle yet secure embrace, and I surrendered myself to him.

  This room should have been holy ground, a sacred place, but I couldn’t bear the notion of entering here. Not tonight. Maybe I could face it tomorrow, or the day after, or maybe the day after that, but tonight…

  I snuck into Will’s room and grabbed a clean pair of boxers left behind when he moved to California. Listening in the hall to Dad tinkering downstairs, I skulked down the hall and into his room, using his en suite bathroom.

  Showering off under the scalding water helped. Throwing up whatever was left in my stomach after a day of eating nothing but an apple for breakfast worked better. I leaned against the wall of the shower, retching and heaving until nothing but acidic bile dribbled past my lips. When nothing remained but my stomach itself, I used Dad’s Old Spice body wash to rid myself of the remaining filth running through my blood. I scrubbed until my skin pinked raw.

  Will’s boxers were loose, but I secured them best I could as I retrieved a large shirt from Dad’s dresser. The shirt hung over my butt. Unceremoniously, I climbed into Dad’s bed. The smell of laundry detergent and subtle Old Spice calmed me.

  It was strange lying on the side of the bed my mother used to occupy before she left, but I banished the thought from my mind. I had enough to deal with right now. Adding my abandonment-mother issues wasn’t going to aid anyone.

  When Dad came to bed, I feigned unconsciousness. He wouldn’t have kicked me out, but I didn’t want to chance it. Plus, it was easier for both of us to pretend.

  He shuffled around the room in preparation for sleep. Before he took his side of the queen mattress, he sat down next to my pretend-sleeping form and ran his large hand over my head. He didn’t speak. I didn’t move an inch, breathing even and steady.

  His tender touch swelled my throat, and I fought tears as he patted my head softly. I was equal parts relieved and saddened when he retreated to his side of the bed.

  Neither of us slept much that night. We tossed and turned until the wee hours of the morning, but we didn’t acknowledge the fact we were both aware the other was still awake. Dad started to snore around three in the morning. I was glad he could finally escape reality.

  I wasn’t so lucky. I stared at the dark ceiling and continuously checked to verify Dad’s curtains were closed securely. It wasn’t until t
he seam around the fabric started to glow with early morning light that I finally drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

  Of course, I dreamed of Ben. Lost in an unforgiving sea, we swam toward each other, but never closed the distance. The waves pushed us apart, beating against our determination until he was nothing but a speck on the horizon, screaming my name.

  At some point, I stopped fighting. What was the point? We were both sinking, and I didn’t think it was possible for us to save each other this time. After all, a drowning man was impossible to rescue. He always took someone down with him.

  The only question remaining: was I the drowning man or was Ben? And which one of us was the innocent dragged beneath the surface to suffocate under the flood?

  Epilogue

  Ben

  I watched Charlie drive Silas away, and with every foot of distance, my heart shriveled a little more. At this point, Aunt June was the only thing keeping me standing. When the SUV finally disappeared around the corner, the last of my strength left me. I slumped, and Aunt June tightened her arm around my waist.

  “Come inside, Benjamin,” she cooed, rubbing my back, and I followed her diligently through the garage.

  Uncle Henry was in the living room on the phone. Maybe it was the lawyer or one of his cop buddies down at the station. I wasn’t sure. Since I didn’t want to overhear, I tuned out his voice as I removed my shoes and set them on the shoe rack.

  Once inside the kitchen, Aunt June faced me, cupping my cheeks. Her brown eyes, so much like my mother’s, gazed up at me. I felt ten-years-old. My lip quivered, and her face fell. She drew me into her neck as I broke for the second time.

  I clung to her, the sting of her muscle relaxant cream burning my nose. It was a harsh scent, but I had come to rely on it. Because Aunt June was always on my side, always fighting for me. It made me a horrible person, a terrible son, but she was the mother I should have had. I wept into her neck, seeking comfort only a mother could give.