A gentle hand against my cheek turns my face back to meet Noah's tight gaze. He's obviously noticed Cole as well. “Let's call it a night.”
I nod and turn abruptly, leaving the dance floor with Noah right on my heels. We're completely silent as we leave the club and make our way back to the car. By that time my feet ache and I want to scream with frustration.
The ride home is silent as well and as soon as we step in the house, Noah flips on the light and touches my arm at the same time. Concern darkens his face. “Talk to me. Please.”
I stare up at him with absolute confusion. How can I still be hung up on Cole? I feel awful that I still feel something for him while Noah stands here before me, trying to help.
Slowly, I shake my head. “Good night, Noah,” I murmur before I turn and walk away.
“Please don't do anything, Blayre. Talk with me,” he pleads from behind me.
My feet hesitate near the kitchen doorway before I move forward again and head straight up to my room where I lock the door. As I sit on my bed with my razor, I half expect Noah to barge in but instead he respects my privacy.
I draw the blade across my skin and when I'm done, I feel even more lost than I had before. I'd thought I could put Cole out of my mind and it would be done—that it would be over. I was wrong. I also knew he wanted me to see him tonight because there is no way he could have been that close and not seen me first. He'd wanted to hurt me.
I stare moodily down at the bloody razor.
He succeeded, and in return I'd cut another line across my bikini area. It's a twisted cycle I can't seem to break. With a shaky sigh, I wipe the razor off and clean myself up, using the Band-Aids I'd hidden under my mattress. After I strip out of the rest of my clothes and slip on my usual sleepwear, I open my bedroom door to use the bathroom and come to an abrupt halt.
Noah is sitting on the floor across from my room, his back against the wall as he stares up at me sadly. There's no way he could have seen me, but he knows.
“Go to bed,” I say softly before I avert my gaze and step back into my room, firmly shutting the door.
My bladder could wait.
***
The next morning it finally dawns on me that Thanksgiving is the following Thursday when over breakfast Tate announces Noah is going to make a huge dinner—the whole deal, with turkey, stuffing, and all the other dishes that people eat during the holidays. He goes on about how it'll just be us three this year, that he wants to keep it strictly family.
He never notices my body tensing slightly or my tight smile and it's a good thing Noah wasn't up yet because he could read me easily whereas my brother was oblivious to it all. I don't have the heart to tell my brother that I hate Thanksgiving. That I hate any kind of holiday because they were never meant for me. Julie and Steve had made that abundantly clear through the years.
Thanksgiving is going to be a nightmare unless I can find a way out of it.
I scramble for the first excuse I can think of to go back upstairs where I don't have to hear any more about the upcoming holiday. It turns out, I have ridiculously bad timing today and Noah is just coming out of my room when I come around the corner. I stare at him incredulously as I catch sight of the box of Band-Aids I'd hidden beneath my mattress along with the Kleenex in his hands.
Guilt flickers across his features when he sees me.
“Did you find what you were looking for?” I ask coldly, though I know he didn't because hiding the blade beneath the carpet was a place no one would consider looking.
Noah stands before me, his expression conflicted. “Blayre—”
“Don't,” I say flatly as I brush past him and walk into my bedroom. I turn to shut the door but Noah is right on my heels. “Get out.”
He tosses the Kleenex and Band-Aids aside and rubs his face with his hands in frustration before he stares hard at me. “Nothing's changed. Nothing. You do it just as often as you always have, don't you?”
“You can't change me.”
“I don't want to change you! You need help.”
“If I wanted help I'd ask for it.”
“That's the thing, Blayre. You'll never ask for help because you don't expect anyone to give it,” he says, his voice heavy with defeat.
I look away.
Noah reaches for me but I shift out of his reach and he sighs. “I won't give up on you like you want me to. It was wrong to go through your personal belongings but I'm not sorry. I'll never be sorry for trying to be there for you, even when you don't want me to be,” he says simply before he bends down and grabs the Band-Aid’s and Kleenex before he leaves my room.
I reach out and quietly shut the door.
Guilt
Guilt moves to the horizon that has
been building for years
There is absolutely no excuse for getting out of Thanksgiving. Nothing I come up with would make it okay to bail on a holiday that my brother is looking forward to. So with great care, I get ready as the scent of turkey and stuffing drift up the stairs. I'd heard Noah preparing for the dinner early this morning and as I run the brush through my hair with jerky strokes, I can hear the two men downstairs laughing and clearly enjoying each other's company.
I set the brush down and bite my lip. I actually feel guilty for being present during this dinner. I'd clearly been invited but yet I feel uneasy—like I don't belong there. My eyes lift to my reflection and I stare long and hard at myself. Noah's right. To some extent my aunt and uncle have brainwashed me. Their beliefs have in a way become my beliefs. I don't know how to break it. I don't know how to make myself feel better.
A wary sigh escapes me as I turn to leave the bathroom. Somehow, I am going to have to find a way to eat dinner with them and try to enjoy it. My footsteps are silent as I make my way downstairs. I'm dressed in the black pants I'd worn to Blake's funeral and a nice tank-like blouse. I'd left my feet bare since we weren't going anywhere.
When I reach the kitchen, I hear my name and pause in the hall, listening.
“You sure he hasn't bothered her at all?” Tate is asking Noah.
“Not that I am aware of, but Blayre isn't the type to announce it if he is.”
“That's the problem with her. She never really comes to me about anything,” my brother says with a hint of frustration.
“Give her time. She's still adjusting from the move and all.”
“It's not that. I feel like there's something else but I can't quite put my finger on it. Did you know that she hasn't ever made a move to be affectionate towards me? I think I've hugged her twice now and she's never been the one to initiate it. It's like the second I get close to her, she distances herself from me.”
My fists clench at my sides with the realization that Tate had noticed that I'd been keeping him at arm’s length.
“I think...maybe you should talk to her sometime. But not today. Let's just enjoy the day and keep things light. Where is Blayre? Dinner's pretty much good to go,” Noah says as I hear the sound of plates being set on the table.
“I told her dinner was ready about ten minutes ago. I'll go get her,” I hear Tate say.
I quickly scramble up the steps as fast as I can, grateful that my feet are bare. Then I spin around and begin to walk nonchalantly back down the stairs where I come face to face with Tate near the bottom.
He grins. “Hey. I was just coming to get you.”
“Everything smells good,” I comment as we go back down the last two steps together and head for the kitchen. I see that the kitchen table is full of platters of food and an extra chair has been brought to the table. I also note that my brother and Noah had taken time out to dress nice and were in pants and nice shirts.
Noah smiles at me. “Happy Thanksgiving, Blayre.”
“You too,” I murmur before directing my attention to all the food that's piled up on the table as I avoid looking at him for too long. Things have been a little tense between us lately. I've had a hard time forgiving him for invading my privacy and I found
another hot-line card again the other morning, this time taped to my brush. It was hard to be mad at him but I was a bit annoyed that he was reverting back to pushing me to get help.
We all sit down at the table and Tate grins widely as he looks at the feast before us. “For once, you outdid yourself, man,” he says to Noah.
Noah chuckles. “My motto is go big or not at all. We'll have leftovers to last a few weeks.”
“Works for me,” Tate says before he turns to me. “Want to say grace?”
My heart skips a beat and my mouth goes dry. I manage to force a smile and say, “No, thanks. You do the honors, it's your house.”
I can feel Noah watching me intently but I ignore him. We all reach out to clasp hands and I am aware of Noah's warm hand in mine. He squeezes my hand just enough to let me know that he's aware this meal is uncomfortable for me.
My eyes drop and shut as Tate says grace. Then we dig in. I'm just beginning to relax and enjoy the food when Tate drops the bombshell.
“So, Thanksgiving is a time for appreciating one another and giving thanks. I think we should go around the table and say what we are most thankful for this year. I'll go first,” he says before he turns to me, his green eyes warm as he gazes at me affectionately. “I am most thankful this year that Blayre is here. That we're once again a family.”
My fork clatters to my plate loudly and I ask sharply, “How can you say that?”
The words are out of my mouth before I can pull them back.
Tate's expression clouds up and he looks at me uncertainly. “I'm not sure what I said that has you...upset.”
“I ruined our family. How can you even stand to look at me?” I demand.
A stunned look crosses his features and he looks like he's struggling to say something but I don't want to hear it.
I quickly rise to my feet, tossing my cloth napkin aside as I make a move to leave the table. Noah's there in an instant, his hand firm on my arm as he keeps me in place where I stand. “Let me go!” I snap at him.
His eyes look tortured when he says, “No. No more running. Tate needs to know the truth, Blayre.”
The blood drains from my face as I suck in a quick breath. No... He wouldn't! A painful tightness in my throat makes itself known as I stare at Noah while panic begins to unfold within me.
“What the hell is going on?” my brother demands as he rises to his feet, his eyes shifting between me and Noah.
“You promised!” I say anxiously as I look at Noah with stricken eyes.
“I promised, but I also made it clear that you were going to have to tell him. Now is the time to come clean because I am done watching you destroy yourself,” he says grimly. I watch with horror as he turns to Tate and says simply, “She was going to run from this table and go upstairs to cut herself. It's how she handles the emotions she doesn't want to deal with. She's a self-mutilator.”
In this moment, I hate him. I want to scream at him that he's hurt me more than anyone else in this lifetime ever could but instead I find myself reluctantly turning my attention towards Tate.
My brother's mouth opens, then shuts as he looks from me to Noah and then back to me again. “He's serious?” he asks me faintly.
I want to deny it and lie but I can't. The lies are caught up in my throat and I can't seem to find my voice anymore. All I can do is stare at him painfully as my shame catches up to me and rips my world apart.
“You...you actually cut yourself?” he asks, revulsion clear on his face.
“She has scars on her inner thighs and above her bikini line,” Noah says flatly.
I turn on him and glare because he didn't need to go into detail. He's done enough damage and this is unforgivable. “I hate you!” I say bitterly as I tremble with fury. My fists clench at my sides and all I want to do is hit him or hurt him like he's hurt me.
His face twists with pain but he doesn't look away. “If that's what it takes to get you help.”
“Slow down,” Tate orders as he comes out of his shock. His eyes turn to me with dawning horror before he turns on Noah angrily. “How the hell do you know all this? Why you and not me?”
I'm furious and I turn so Noah can read my lips while I speak to Tate. “Noah knows because he felt my scars when he almost fucked me.”
If I'm going down, so is he. It's petty, but I don't care.
The color drains from Noah's face before he gives me a hard look while my brother stares at Noah incredulously. “You've been messin' with my little sister?”
I'm not sticking around for the rest of this and I spin around just as Tate makes a move towards Noah. I rush from the room and race up to my bedroom where I shut the door and lock it with shaky fingers. This can't be happening! My heart feels like it's been shredded into pieces from Noah's betrayal and Tate's revulsion. I'll never forget the way my brother looked at me moments ago.
This is what I was so desperately trying to avoid. Tate's all I have left in the world and for him to look at me that way...
My feet carry me to the corner of my room where the razor lays beneath the carpet. I freeze a foot away from my only source of comfort when someone pounds on my bedroom door. Frustration sweeps through me as I realize there's no time to take care of myself the way I want to. I can't run from the upcoming confrontation, it's been a long time coming and I need to force myself to deal with it.
A loud crack sounds and I spin around to see my door slamming open, Tate crossing the threshold as he rushes in, his eyes anxious. His gaze rests on me and a flicker of relief crosses his features when he sees me just standing there.
Helplessness sweeps through me as my eyes fill with guilty tears. “I killed them, Tate.”
He quickly crosses the room and pulls my stiff body into his arms and holds me tightly, his mouth close to my ear as he says fiercely, “You were four-years-old, Blayre. You didn't know any better.”
I shake my head against his chest, not believing him as I try to struggle out of his arms. There was no excuse for what I'd done fourteen years ago. I'm desperate to get away from him but he won't let me go as his arms tighten around me, holding me in place.
One of his hands cups the back of my head and he keeps talking since I can’t go anywhere. “Mom and dad are dead because a number of unfortunate incidents led to that night,” he says firmly in my ear. “They were smokers. Hard-core smokers and they left their lighters all over the damn place. Even at nine, I tried to pick up after them. They loved us to pieces Blayre, but they were young and immature. They didn't think to have fire safety talks with us and they always forgot to change the batteries in the smoke detectors. A lot of their choices led to their deaths.”
My struggles cease as his words begin to sink in. For a long moment I stand still in his arms before I pull my head back enough to peer up at him uncertainly. My eyes widen when I see the truth in his eyes. He wasn't just saying these things just to make me feel better, he truly believed them. “You don't blame me?” I ask a bit weakly as I continue to search his gaze, waiting for the resentment or anger to shine through but it doesn't.
“God, no. Don't you remember all the talks we had when you were younger?”
I shake my head.
“I told you over and over when you were little that it wasn't your fault. You were so young and confused, even at that age you blamed yourself. I spent years assuring you that no one blamed you. You don't remember any of this?” he asks, his eyes searching mine.
“No.”
“You were fine when I left, Blayre. What changed?”
A movement in the doorway catches my attention and I see Noah standing there, an ugly purple bruise developing around his left eye. I can't bring myself to care in that moment that Tate had gone after him.
Noah's brown eyes capture mine and he gives me a reassuring look. “Tell him everything. He needs to know.”
Tate frowns down at me, hurt glaringly evident in his eyes. “He knows but you won't tell me, your own brother?”
I'm uncomforta
ble standing in his arms so I pull back and he reluctantly lets me go. “Let's go downstairs. I'll tell you everything,” I say with defeat. It's not possible to hide it anymore. I'm sure if I don't tell him, Noah will.
We head downstairs and Tate leads me to the living room where we sit down on the couch. I note that Noah has seemed to disappear and I am relieved. I can't face him right now. Tate sits down next to me, his eyes grim as he waits for me to share all the things that I've been keeping from him for so long.
There's no turning back and I begin to tell my brother about my life with our aunt and uncle. At first he looks confused before his expression begins to turn to horror, anger and most heart breaking is the guilt that haunts his eyes. By the time I am finished, his eyes are full of unshed tears and a muscle is ticking in his jaw. His fists are clenched at his sides and I reach over and tentatively touch one of his hands. There was no blame in my heart where he was concerned. He hadn't known and I was the one who'd kept it a secret.
Tate swallows hard and his hand turns over to clasp mine. “All this time I thought you were safe. They were always a little over the top, but this... I should have known or something. God, I'm so sorry,” he says in a choked tone as his eyes meet mine.
“You couldn't have known, Tate. They always treated me well in front of you. It wasn't your fault,” I insist as I squeeze his hand.
He looks away from me, his jaw clenched as he struggles with everything I've told him.
“You couldn't fix what you weren't aware of. I'm the one who didn't say anything.”
“Why didn't you?” he asks as he turns back to face me intently, his eyes accusing. “Did you think I wouldn't help you?”
“It wasn't like that. I told the school counselor at one point but she didn't believe me—”
“You thought I wouldn't believe you?”
“I was thirteen when it all started. I didn't really know what to think,” I say quietly.
Tate curses under his breath. “I should have come to visit, maybe than you would have confided in me. I shouldn't have let my feelings for them get in the way of checking up on you.”
Unraveled (Twisted Series) Page 13
