I placed my palm against the glass.
In the minutes since I’d left my apartment a downpour had descended upon us.
The rain beat against the glass, the sky a stormy dark gray, and the leaves blew around dangerously from the wind.
Caelan didn’t say anything, but I felt him behind me.
He might have hurt me in the past, but I felt safer with him than I ever had with anyone else.
His presence reassured me and gave me the confidence to speak.
“You know I was adopted,” I whispered, my throat catching. “I always knew I was adopted. It was pretty obvious,” I shrugged. “I look nothing like my adoptive parents. They’re good people and they loved me like I really was their daughter. I always felt wanted and cared for. There were times where I missed my birth parents, where I wondered what my life had been like if they’d lived…” I wet my suddenly dry lips with a flick of my tongue. “I wondered that a lot as I got older,” I huffed. I watched the rain beat against the glass for a moment, marveling in how cold my hand had become from the rain-slicked surface. “They have a son, Marcus. He…never liked me, to put it simply,” I laughed. “He wished I never came along and disrupted his perfect life. Suddenly, he wasn’t the center of his parent’s universe and he didn’t handle it well. He was four years older than me.” I tapped my finger against the glass and closed my eyes. Tap. Tap. Tap. “It started out with typical childish pranks at first. It didn’t take long till they escalated.” I swallowed thickly. “When I was eight he pushed me out of our tree house. I wonder if he hoped it would kill me,” I snorted, shaking my head as a disgruntled smile settled on my lips. “I ended up with a broken collar bone. He told his parent’s it was an accident. They believed him, of course, and I was too scared to tell them the truth. I thought if I did, they’d toss me to the side. After all, I wasn’t their biological child.”
I took another deep breath and turned away from the window. I sank down on the floor, drawing my legs up to my chest and wrapping my arms around them protectively. I wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball and roll away. I was good at hiding. It’s what I’d done my whole life until…well, until.
“I slowly pulled myself away from them, from my adoptive parents. I thought if I didn’t care about them, if I stayed away from family activities, that Marcus would eventually grow bored with terrorizing me. I was wrong,” I mumbled as Caelan sat down across from me. He listened carefully to every word I said like it was precious. I was surprised by how intent he was. He didn’t appear to be bored just…concerned. Caelan Gregory concerned? It was a laughable concept. My oh my how things had changed since summer.
“Marcus was very popular in school, and he always made sure that everyone hated me. I had no parents and then I had no friends. I was alone, just the way he wanted. With no one to trust and no one to talk to about my problems.” I picked at the hole in my jeans to have something to busy myself with. “He made me hate myself. I thought about killing myself at least once every single day. The only thing that stopped me,” I finally looked up at Caelan once more, “was that then, I’d be letting him win. I couldn’t give him that satisfaction.” My lower lip trembled and tears began to leak out of the corners of my eyes. I wiped them away, my breath coming out shaky. “He took everything from me. Happiness. Love. Friendship. Hope. Even my virginity,” I said the words steadily, waiting for a reaction, but he didn’t flinch at my words. “When I was twelve years old, just a little kid, he held me down and he raped me. I cried, I screamed, I bit him. He didn’t stop. He didn’t care. And you know what he did?” I sobbed, unable to keep my emotions in check any longer. “He fucking laughed at me. He laughed! When he was done, he told me it was my fault that he had to do it and not tell anyone, because they wouldn’t believe me and they’d hate me even more. So, I didn’t. Not then. Not the next time. Or the next. I eventually lost count. I eventually stopped fighting him too. I gave in to what was unavoidable, because he’d already accomplished it—he destroyed my soul.”
Shaking all over, I wiped my tears away, my hand coming away wet.
“I dreaded going to my room at night, just waiting for the knob to twist. I never knew when he’d come, so I’d lie there, staring at the door, praying that it didn’t open. And when it did, my heart would stop. In those moments, I’d wonder why I hadn’t ended my life yet.” I let out a soft laugh that held no humor. “You were right when you said that staying alive is the punishment. It really is. Every day of my life was a fucking nightmare. There were so many times where all I could think about was the different ways I could end my life. I could hang myself, maybe even drown in the swimming pool, or jump off the roof. The possibilities were endless. But I never did it.” I leaned my head against the wall, trying to regroup. “The rape went on for years, even after he went to college, when he returned home he was back at it. Sometimes,” I closed my eyes, “it still feels like his hands are on me. I guess I have him to blame for my need for rough sex. He always hurt me, so having someone be…gentle…it just seems wrong now. I feel like I need to be punished over and over again. Sick, I know.” Caelan watched me closely, but didn’t say a word. I appreciated that. He was going to let me get it all out. “He turned me into this person that…” I paused, frantically searching for the words to describe myself, and coming up empty.
“You don’t even know?” Caelan supplied, his voice no more than a whisper.
“Yes, exactly,” I nodded. “If he hadn’t hurt me, over and over again, I wouldn’t be so fucked up. But then again…if he hadn’t done that to me…I wouldn’t be here right now.”
Caelan shook his head. “Here isn’t a very good place.”
“I think it is.”
He shook his head once more, muttering unintelligibly under his breath. Finally, he looked me in the eye, and said, “There’s more.”
Of course he wouldn’t pose it as a question. He could see straight through me. I was always able to keep my thoughts and emotions in check—no one being able to see what lurked behind the depths, but Caelan he saw it all, even more than what I meant to show him.
“I…I finally got the courage to tell them…my adoptive parents and my boyfriend.” I frowned, looking down at my hands that were clenched tightly into fists. “No one took it well. My parent’s called me a liar and told me to get out of the house. My boyfriend, Brandon,” I forced his name past parched lips, “he never looked at me the same after that. It was like I was suddenly…tainted or something. He made me feel dirty and like I wasn’t good enough. We grew apart, but didn’t break up. I don’t know why,” I snorted, shaking my head. “I loved him, I did, but I was never in love with him. I was too foolish to see the difference. I craved the stability a relationship provided, but we weren’t good for each other. I was too damaged and he was too concerned with upholding his public image—because Lord knows he was a fucking prick behind closed doors. I would’ve left him, eventually, but catching him with my best friend was the final straw. I couldn’t keep torturing myself over something that was never real.” Tracing my finger along a groove in the wood floors, I continued, “So, I packed up my stuff, sold what wouldn’t fit in my car, and left. I didn’t tell anyone where I went. I didn’t want word to get back to him.”
Caelan nodded in understanding.
“My parent’s haven’t tried to contact me once since I told them. I guess I should have expected it. He is their flesh and blood. But it hurts, you know? They raised me as their child and when I finally worked up the courage to tell them the truth, they called me a liar and an attention seeker.” I rubbed my fingers over the raised scar on my arm. “I wish I was lying about it. No one should ever have to go through something like that.” Leaning my head against the wall, I said, “Everyone in my life who I should’ve been able to trust and believe in, has let me down. It really fucking sucks. But you have to deal with it.”
Caelan was quiet then, and so was I. The only sounds that filled the apartment was the quiet whir of a floor fan in the corner and t
he symphony of our breaths.
I kept waiting to see the pity in his eyes or—God forbid—loathing. I hated myself more than anything. I didn’t need other people to too.
Without speaking, he slid across the floor to sit beside me. One arm wrapped around me and with his other hand he coaxed me to rest my head on his shoulder. I was surprised by the comfort he offered. Caelan wasn’t the lovey dovey affectionate type and we weren’t a couple. But he knew I needed this.
Silent tears streamed from my eyes.
I always tried to keep everything bottled inside, but it could be really hard. Sometimes you had to let it all out.
“Do you ever hear from him?” Caelan finally asked.
“From Brandon?” I sniffled, wiping away the moisture from my cheeks.
“No,” I felt him shake his head, “from Marcus.”
“Oh.”
“So, you do?” He prompted, gliding his fingers down my cheek. The touch caused me to shiver.
“Yes,” I admitted. “He texts me all the time. I never reply, but it doesn’t deter him. He’s extremely stubborn.”
“Why don’t you change your phone number?”
I let out a sigh, nibbling on my lip with nervousness. I slowly tilted my head up to look at him. “I know it probably sounds silly, childish even, but I keep hoping that my parent’s will call me and it’ll all be okay.”
“No,” he breathed, his eyes heated with affection, “it’s not silly. It’s normal to hope for things—even impossible things. Once you lose hope, you lose everything.”
“You’re being oddly insightful,” I muttered.
He chuckled, his lips brushing against my hair. “When you’re so filled with anger and resentment, you tend to shut yourself off from everyone and everything. It allows a lot of time for thinking, so yes, I can be insightful.”
“You know what I hate the most?” I whispered.
“What?”
“Despite the fact that they didn’t believe me, I still love them and miss them.”
“Your parents?”
I nodded to answer his question. “Isn’t that dumb?”
“Not at all,” he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “They’re your parents, by nature you’re going to miss them and love them no matter what.”
“I hate myself for it, though,” I admitted. “After the things they said…” I trailed off, shaking my head. I sat up straight, no longer using Caelan’s body for support. “I should never want to see or hear from them again. But I can’t help feeling like if my mom called me right now, and said she was sorry, that she believed me, I’d end up on a plane back to Dallas tomorrow.”
I hid my face behind my hands, ashamed of my admission. I wanted so desperately to hate them, but I couldn’t. That fact made me angry. I mean, I was certainly mad at them, but there’s a huge difference between being mad and hating someone.
“Hey,” Caelan said. “Hey,” his voice grew louder and he grabbed ahold of my wrists pulling my hands away from my face. He was now crouched in front of me. I turned my head away, unable to look at him. I could barely breathe. I felt like I was suffocating—like the truth was killing me. Why had I thought this was a good idea? Why had I shared this with him? It was far too painful having it out in the open. Having him know changed everything, and we’d both be lying if we said it didn’t. “Come here,” he finally murmured. I didn’t move. I didn’t have to. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me against his chest. We lay down together on the floor, wrapped in one another’s arms. The smell of his soap comforted me and helped to still my racing heart.
“Shh,” he hushed, his fingers tangling in my hair. “Shh, I’m here, Sutton. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.”
Sobbing, I clung to him—my whole body twined around his.
How was it possible that it hurt to tell the truth, but felt so incredibly liberating at the same time?
“It’s okay,” he whispered, his lips lightly pressing against my forehead in a tender kiss. I found my eyes closing and a soft contented sigh passed between my parted lips. It felt so good to be held and comforted—by Caelan Gregory of all people. He’d frustrated me at first, pushing all my buttons, but I’d known there was more to the addict across the hall. I was right. And he had a heart of gold—even though he couldn’t see it. One day he would, though. I’d make sure of it. He wasn’t all bad like he believed. Yeah, drugs and alcohol are some bad shit, and he could be downright abusive, but there was so much more to him than that. He wasn’t mean for no reason. He was haunted, and when you have monsters hiding in your closet, it makes you lash out. That’s why I understood him when no one else could. We were far too much alike.
“What happened to you—all of it—was horrible, Sutton,” he spoke after several long minutes of silence. “But you’re not tainted because of it.”
I breathed deeply, savoring his words like they were a delicious wine and my taste buds couldn’t get enough. I slowly sat up, my hair falling over my shoulder to brush against the fabric of his thin cotton shirt. “You’re not either, you know.”
He breathed out roughly, his whole body shaking with the effort. “It feels like it. I feel like everyone is judging me, watching me, waiting for me to fuck up even more and do something irreversible.” A frown marred his beautiful face. “Everyone gave up on me after they died. Instead of pushing me to get help, they thought I was beyond it, and let me be. They didn’t try hard enough. And I know I shouldn’t hate them for it, because it’s my fault too, but I was just a kid.”
“We both were,” I whispered, crossing my arms and laying them across his chest where I then rested my head. We stared at each other, cataloging our features, and soaking in one of the rare moments where you were connected to someone who understood you. “Tell me about after they died,” I whispered. “Please,” I added, when his face hardened.
His eyes closed and his whole body shuddered as the memories resurfaced. I knew what it was like to remember things better left buried. Each time you recalled them, another piece of you died. I hated myself for asking such a selfish question—I should’ve left it alone—but I needed him to share a part of himself with me. ‘Always so curious, Sutton,’ my mom used to say. She was right. I had innate need to figure out and understand everything that confounded me.
He wet his lips with a quick flick of his tongue and his eyes opened once more. The pain that shown there was excruciating and I wasn’t even the one that felt it. My heart broke further for Caelan Gregory. My body, my heart, and my soul ached to comfort him, but I knew that’s not what he needed. Right now, he needed me to listen, because he was finally going to open up. We would no longer be two people using each other to fulfill selfish desires. We were crossing a line in to dangerous territory—one where our hearts would entangle and be altered forevermore.
“It was November when I lost them, and myself,” he said the words slowly, swirling them around in his mouth like they were a foreign language. “Two weeks before Thanksgiving,” he snorted humorlessly. “Since you Googled me,” he looked at me pointedly, “I’m sure you know all the gory details. How I found them, like that,” he paused, swallowing thickly. I saw his pulse jump in his throat and his whole body shuddered painfully once more. “There was so much blood, Sutton. It was everywhere. Sometimes I still feel like it’s on me and I can’t get it off, no matter how hard I scrub my body it’s always there clinging to me, reminding me of what happened.” A look of revulsion tore over his facial features. His chest rose and fell with a shaky exhalation. “Sometimes, when it should be quiet, I hear screams…and I can’t help but feel like I’m hearing their last moments even though I wasn’t even there.” My hands fisted, the nails digging into the palms as I fought against the need to provide him comfort and reassurance. I knew he needed to get this out and there would be time for the other later—if he allowed.
“After they died…nothing else mattered to me,” he whispered, staring up at the ceiling away from me for a moment. “I
moved in with my grandparents after.” He chuckled to himself, and then explained the reason for his outburst, “After,” he repeated. “My life exists in before and after. How pathetic is that?” He struggled for composure, but once he gained it, he continued. “I retreated in to myself. I didn’t care about school. Or going to college. Or friends. At that time I didn’t even care about girls.” He gave me a wry smile. “I fell in with the wrong crowd.” Laughing again, he asked, “How cliché of me.” Shaking his head, he bit his lip and struggled for words. “My grandparents didn’t know how to handle me. My grandpa took the tough love route and my grandma…well, I think she was afraid of me. Kyle, my friend since we were in diapers, he never gave up on me even though he should have. He’s tried to get me to go to rehab several times. The last time was a few weeks ago when you found me destroying my apartment. I was so angry that he couldn’t understand that I need the drugs and the alcohol. Without it, the pain is all too real. It consumes me.” He rubbed one hand up and down my back and used the other to scrub his face. “I often wish I could forget everything, but then that means I wouldn’t remember my family, and do I really want to forget them? No.” He answered his own question. “So, I’m stuck in this endless vortex of pain and suffering and hatred and it’s all that exits.”
“That’s not true,” I whispered.
“Isn’t it?” He countered. “I’ve let it rule every facet of my life—changing all the plans I had for my life because I couldn’t deal. I’m a weak and useless excuse for a human being.”
“You’re wrong, Caelan. So, so wrong. You’re none of the things you think you are. Is the stuff you do bad? Yeah, it is. But the damage is reversible if you choose to fix yourself.”
His lashes lowered to flutter against the high planes of his cheekbones. “I’m scared to make the decision to get help. This is all I’ve known for so long. I don’t think I can function as a normal person. I’ve forgotten what it’s like not to have the need to get high, or drunk to dull the pain, or to not be angry.” His hands fisted. “There’s so much anger inside me, Sutton,” he continued, “that I can’t feel much else. It runs through my veins all the time. I’m angry with the person who killed them. I’m angry with my grandparent’s for abandoning me when I needed them. I’m angry with Kyle for caring too much. I’m angry with myself for letting it go this far. I’m angry at you because you make me care,” his voice cracked. “And worst of all,” tears shimmered in his eyes, waiting to spill over, “I’m angry at them for leaving me. How wrong is that? They didn’t ask to die, and I’m mad at them for it anyway.”
Beauty in the Ashes Page 18
