The Silent Princess

by T. A. Grey

  “I’m sorry, Alex.” Nothing she could say could repair that kind of damage.

  “Yeah, shit happened in that house. It needed to go.” A bead of sweat trickled down his temple and he rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s where we fought. That’s where he hit me. That’s where we screamed at each other and he threw bottles at my head.” He laughed, the sound strained. “Nothin’ was good in that house. Not a damn thing.”

  Hanna’s heart cried for him. She could tell something else had happened, something awful in that house.

  “When I was sixteen I decided I was ready to be a man. I’d been feelin’ it for some time then, like a calling you’re meant to go experience. I put it off. I’d been too scared to challenge him. And somewhere, deep inside me, I knew that’s what I had to do. It wasn’t until I got expelled from high school that I realized I was ready.”

  Hanna sucked in a startled breath. “I remember that! Everyone was talking about it. You got into a fight with another boy and beat him rather thoroughly if I remember.”

  “Damn right I did. Todd Cardinal. He was a punk. Someone who spent all his time at school trying to make my life harder. God only knows what his home-life was like. Finally, I’d had enough one day. We were out at the lockers between classes. Only a few students milling about before the bell rang. Shit happened fast. Before I knew it, he hit me, then I hit him back. I ended up the last one standing. When I stood over him with my bloody lip and sore knuckles, I felt a feeling I’d never felt in my whole life. A strange sense of victory. I’d won. I defeated him. My biggest tormentor at school.” He paused. “And that’s when I figured out I could beat my dad too.”

  “You fought your own dad?”

  “A few days later, maybe a week. Who knows? Dad got on my case, started another fight over nothin’. He told me not to bother coming home anymore; he’d be changing the locks again. And if I broke in, something he taught me to do,” Alex laughed humorlessly, “he said he’d be waiting with a shot gun.”

  He spoke like he was reciting words from a history book--statements of fact--yet they were brutal to listen to and Hanna couldn’t look away. Not even for a moment would she miss this.

  “What’d you do?” she asked.

  “Well, I did what any troubled, sixteen year-old boy would do. I hit him first. I was actually taken by surprise at how quickly he reacted. I think I was more surprised at hitting him than he was. He got me with a solid punch to the jaw that nearly broke it. Before I knew it, I was in a full on fight with my dad, and I knew in my gut, that if I lost--he’d kill me this time. This wasn’t about having a bed to sleep in or a place to live; I just didn’t want him to kill me. Eventually I pinned him. I beat him fair and square. He was bloodied, on the living room floor, in the same position I’d been so many times before. It was almost funny. We didn’t say a word to each other. I just walked out and I never came back.”

  Hanna shook her head. “You left? Just like that?”

  “There was nothing else to be said.”

  The long breath Hanna exhaled eased some of the tension in her body. “Hot damn. That’s a helluva story, Alex. Ho-ly sheet.”

  He laughed but it wasn’t a real laugh. However, he caught her vexed expression and something about must have been funny because he started to really laugh. A rich, full-bodied sound that made her laugh too. They shouldn’t be laughing at this. None of it was actually funny, yet they did and it felt nice.

  But there was one burning question remaining in her mind.

  “I know he died. Your dad,” she said gently. “But how? I never really knew to be honest. Did you...” The question hung in the air.

  At that implication, Alex’s eyes widened. “No, I didn’t kill him if that’s what you’re asking. Someone else did. He pissed someone else off and they did the deed. The night they buried him, I lost my virginity.” His mouth suddenly clamped shut and Hanna wondered if he had more to say.

  “What is it?” she encouraged him.

  He pursed his lips. “Nothing. Not a damn thing.”

  Alex stood and started banging things around, moving objects without any real order to what he was doing. He simply needed something to do.

  Hanna knew Alex had “issues” with sex. At least to some degree. She wondered what else had gone on in that house. Yet there was no polite way to ask. So, she thought, to hell with it, and tried anyway. At most he could always simply deny answering her, which was likely for the best.

  “Alex, did he...”

  He turned and looked at her sharply. Almost as if he knew she was about to ask. “What?” he growled.

  Hanna gulped. “Um, I guess.” This was way harder than she would have thought. “I guess I was wondering if he’d ever... if the reason why you’re uncomfortable about, um, sex is because of him. Did he-- did something happen...?” Her words trailed off. She literally could not ask the question. It was too personal, too raw, and none of her damn business.

  Alex’s jaw flexed angrily as he stalked over to her making her head careen upward to see him. So much anguish on his face. A man, ravaged.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, instantly regretting speaking at all.

  Some of the anger in his eyes died and his voice gentled, yet was no less harsh. “Did dad touch me? Yeah, he did. But not how you think. Not like that. But he did do something else to me. You could say it fucked up my entire life. Yeah, you could say that.” His gaze bore into hers, simmering with raw emotion. Daring her to ask.

  Screw it, she thought. Pulse fluttering with frightened excitement. If he wanted her to ask, she’d be brave enough to do it. She had nothing to lose. Literally. They might not live another day, so why not ask? Logic told her, he didn’t have to answer her after all, which eased her guilt a tad.

  “What did he do to you, Alex?” A whisper of a question. Barely heard over the crackling fire.

  A long minute passed that left her trembling with knots of anxiety squirming like worms in her stomach.

  Then he squatted low. Got square in her face. “You wanna know or do you wanna see it?”

  Alarm bells rang in her head. At the same time, an excited rush kicked her heartbeat up another notch.

  Hanna’s eyes flared. “See it? How can I see it?” What on earth was he talking about? Here she’d been picturing some kind of awful sexual abuse to fit on top of the rest of the violent home scenario he’d explained. What else could there be?

  “Just answer me,” he said ominously. “Do you want to see it?”

  Her answer came immediately. And honestly. Her heart feeling bared and open to him, she wore her emotions on her sleeve. “Yes.” One word was all she had to say.

  And so Alex stood up before her. When his hands reached for the button and zipper of his pants, she couldn’t hide her surprise. Not even when he let those camo pants drop to his ankles, and he shoved his long-john underwear down his strong legs. He paused in his disrobing, leaving him in a pair of black briefs.

  Hanna’s poor, confused mind didn’t know what to make of this. But he was opening up in a big way here and so she remained quiet and waited for him to tell his story.

  Alex shoved his underwear down. “That’s what he did to me.” Spoken with the venom of the betrayed.

  Hanna’s visibly withdrew, palm flying to cover her mouth. How awful. Unlike anything she’d ever seen in her life. She saw the residual pain in his gaze. Fury made his jaw clamp shut and his posture stiff with aggression.

  Oh...Alex, she thought. How could your own father do this to you?

  * * * * *

  Whelp.

  There he was.

  Towering above Hanna MacKellen with his dick out and it wasn’t out of some sexual fantasy he’d dreamt up. If only. No, it was because he’d finally shown her what he hadn’t shown any other women. Even he kept them in the dark, not just figuratively. Now she would see why. The only woman he’d ever willingly shown. And he was so fucking scared of her reaction, of her thoughts, of what she would do or say, that h
is legs fucking shook. Actually fucking shook.

  And she was on the floor, staring at his cock, looking on the verge of crying.

  Whelp. This wasn’t awkward at all. Nope. Not even a little bit.

  Though, to be honest, he wasn’t as embarrassed as he would have thought he’d be in this moment. How come he didn’t feel as he would have thought--frightened and revolted? Instead, with Hanna, he felt almost safe.

  So, he told her the truth. Might as well at this point. There was no going back from this. Maybe it was his way of explaining the riot of emotions coursing through him. “You’re the first. To see me like this. Usually I keep it dark. It’s just easier that way.”

  Fuck. He’d actually just said that stupid shit out loud.

  Please, someone put a gun to his temple and pull the fucking trigger, because he hated himself. He didn’t deserve to live.

  Hanna reached out, as if she wanted to touch him. Honestly, he was so surprised that she’d try to touch his cock that he ended up standing there like a statue.

  “It’s... I mean I want to ask what happened. You say your father did this to you. Why? It looks like someone tried to butcher you.”

  It hurt to breathe. His skull felt stretched from inside and it created an intense, burning agony at his temples and behind his eyeballs; so much pressure, he wondered if his eyeballs would explode. His nose tingled somewhere in the back of his sinuses, like a sneeze that hadn’t come yet, the worst of it all in his chest, like too much force had built up inside of him and it needed to a place to go. It needed relief...now!

  Memories of the night his dad deformed him forever flashed in his vision. He rarely thought about it. That was one particular scar he didn’t prefer to rehash. Ever. The scars were too personal, too vivid, and every day he looked at himself served as a reminder of his father’s insane cruelty.

  Somehow, he managed to laugh at what she said. It looks like someone tried to butcher you. Yeah, that about summed it up.

  Soft, doe-eyes stared up at him and all his ugliness with such compassion he struggled to breathe.

  Who knew he’d be standing in front of Princess Hanna MacKellen one day with his damn pants trapped around his ankles, and here he was laughing while his scarred dick hung in her face.

  Once he started laughing, it felt like air pressure being released in his body. Intense pressure deflated like air released from an overblown balloon. He began to feel better. If only slightly. Faintly he felt the pressure ease in his chest and behind his eyes. Her soft laughter joined him and the fact that they could find anything happy in lieu of it all made him feel better. It actually made him feel for more comfortable about his body than he’d felt in a long, long time.

  “So, he attacked you? In one of his rages probably.” Her accurate observation surprised him. “That sick fuck.”

  Alex stammered in surprise. His eyes looked uncomfortably around the room, not meeting her gaze. He couldn’t bear to look at her as his mind performed a cartwheel.

  Had she just...defended him?

  He needed a moment to collect his brains after that incredible realization.

  “Why?” she probed gently. “If I may ask.”

  She wanted to know why?

  Why had his insane father beaten him into oblivion, then deformed his genitals? The why of it didn’t matter. Why didn’t even begin to cover it.

  Alex shook his head in frustration. “That’s not a question that pertains to any of my father’s actions. He didn’t have reasons for why he did half the things he did. Maybe it was because he hated me? Because he despised me and my very existence? Because I reminded him of who he lost?” His hands clenched into hard fists. “Who knows? I don’t care why, and I’ve long stopped caring about anything regarding my dead father. I think you can see why.”

  She blinked rapidly, staring at the deformed scars that covered him. “Yes, I suppose I can understand why, Alex. If I may ask how did your mom die?”

  “My mom?” A blurry vision came to mind of a woman with long brown hair tied back from her face and blowing in the breeze. She wore a long dress and an apron tied around her waist. He couldn’t really make out her face from the memory, but he knew he resembled her.

  His father had been sure to remind Alex every chance he got, and that usually involved him being shit-faced.

  “She died when I was a kid. She got sick and she died. I don’t really remember her. I guess you could say my dad didn’t handle it well. I don’t know if he loved her...but he seemed to have felt something for her.”

  “He took it out on you,” she noted gently.

  Again, her quiet clarity startled him, cracking a little piece of him inside. How could she know? Looking into her eyes unsettled him. As if she knew, or could see everything his father had done to him; as if she could see all the crimes he’d committed, and yet, on top of all that, he didn’t feel judgment by her. Only acceptance.

  Unable to prolong contact any longer, fearing she might dive deeper into his soul, he looked away. He didn’t need her unlocking all his horrible secrets.

  He felt dirty.

  Raw and fucked up.

  He stepped back and moved to pull his pants up. He couldn’t believe he’d lasted this long with her seeing his one true scar. The one fucked-up thing he’d never been able to cope with. How the fuck could he? He was a man, god dammit, and his masculinity rested in his stupid cock whether he liked it or not. How was he supposed to ever be good enough for a proper woman with his deformity?

  How could he ever be a proper mate? His defect was too significant, and he’d figured out a long, long time ago, that he was no prince. And there was no princess for him.

  Hanna held up a hand to stop him. “No, wait, don’t dress.”

  Alex paused with pants in hand, yanked up to the knee, half-bent over. “Excuse me?”

  She rolled her eyes, exasperated. “I’m not trying to boss you around, it’s just that... It’s just that I want to take a closer look.” She shrugged helplessly.

  “Princess, my dick just hung in your face for a clear five minutes,” he said, voice raw. “That wasn’t good enough?”

  She laughed softly, somehow not taking offense. What his brain kept struggling to figure out was how was she wasn’t running from the room? And why on earth did she want to keep seeing it. Was he a freak who belonged in a museum? He should charge her for a damn ticket then.

  The last woman who’d gotten a glimpse of his fucked-up business had done just that—ran from the room. She’d locked herself in a bathroom and called a friend, hysterical, to come pick her up. Like he was some damn monster.

  That’s why he’d taken to sex, generally from behind, but always in the dark. It was easy enough, and he wore condoms with those women. When they went wide-eyed at the feel of him sliding into her--he’d explain he used ‘ribbed’ condoms. It honestly worked. What they actual felt was his real dick. Thanks to his dad. Those ribs were made of him, not latex.

  Though, at least, that’s where the ribs came into play in a positive way. He’d never had a problem with women not enjoying sex with him once he touched her. Of course, he’d trained himself to enjoy a woman’s body with both his hands and his mouth, but his dick actually gave him an advantage. So far, every woman he’d ever been with came like none-other thanks to his fucked-up dick. They told him they’d “never felt anything like it!” Extra stimulation and all that. They thought it was due to the condoms.

  “I guess it wasn’t long enough, because I wasn’t done checking it out,” Hanna said, chin raised in the air, one eyebrow arched.

  If she’d been standing she probably would have cocked a hand on her hip. Sassy wench.

  Feeling...oddly masculine and strangely aggressive, Alex was surprised to find he wanted to.

  Why the sudden change?

  Because of Hanna?

  Because...god dammit...he trusted her.

  Why did that idea scare him more than showing her his fucked-up dick?

  “I’v
e never been in a situation like this,” he admitted.

  Her pretty mouth curled into a sweet smile, teasing him. “Well, don’t worry, because neither have I.” She curled her finger at him. “Come here, Alex. I wish to see the goods up close and personal. Once and for all. See what has kept you from finishing the deed with me.”

  Fear no longer in the room. Only heat and mystery remained.

  “You wanna see my dick up close and personal?” He growled the words, his lykaen rising to the surface with his chaotic emotions.

  He wanted to do exactly that. But, oh, he wanted so much more. He wanted her sucking on his cock, bobbing up and down--another treat he’d never, ever experienced--even that had been too much for him to consider. He wanted to caress her wet pussy and dance his tongue along her flesh, sucking on her breasts until her nipples grew hard so he could pinch and play. And then, after she came on his fingers, he wanted to bury his cock inside her and feel the last vestige tremors shuddering around him. He wanted to fill her up until he could no longer move.

  And that was just the beginning of it.

  Hanna nodded. “Yes, I would like to see it up close and persona, please.”

  Well, she did ask nicely.

  His beard had been growing in, hair getting shaggy and long. He looked more like a lumberjack than anything. Yet she didn’t seem to mind. He felt like his cock was a disgusting work of shit-skin, yet she didn’t seem to mind that either.

  Hanna MacKellen was an enigma of beauty. A fine specimen of honor, determination, and faith. Unafraid to hurt herself in the process, in the sacrifice for others. Hell. Even for him.

  He took a step toward her, coming to stand at his full height, creating a shadow over her kneeling form. His pants dropped to his ankles, underwear and all, only a long shirt covering his torso.

  Her breath caught. He watched her chest rise and fall quicker and quicker.

  Something was happening. Energy twirling around his body, pulling him closer to her, like a magnet attracted to its polar opposite.

  Helpless, he took another step, and another, until finally he stood before her once again. Legs splayed as far as his cargos let him, boots braced against the hard floor, hips bare to the chill in the air, other parts of him feeling the glimmer warmth from the hearth.