The Truths we Burn (The Hollow Boys Book 2)

by Monty Jay

  And the thing is, I would let him.

  I would slice my fingers open until my palms were raw, just to pick up the broken shards. Just so I could help him put it all back together. I would do anything for him, even if it meant hurting myself.

  He was my fire god.

  And I live to burn for him.

  “Do you want to come, Rook?” I raise an eyebrow, leaning dangerously close to the tip of his dick.

  I can feel him jerk. “Yes, baby, please. I need—” He is taken by a groan that vibrates his entire frame. “Please let me come.”

  “I will,” I mutter, “I want to make you come, babe. Just tell me the truth. Tell me you know.”

  My whole life, I’d had this crushing weight of loneliness bearing down on my soul. Enduring years of solitude, even though I was surrounded by people. The burden of being alone, having only myself to rely on, held me below water for so long.

  I almost forgot what it was like to breathe.

  That was the power loneliness had on a person. It makes you so desperate for human contact, for a soul to cling to.

  And here, with him, I know what it feels like to breathe. For the first time, I know what it feels like to be wanted. All I want to do is inhale him. To breathe nothing but him into my lungs until that is all that remains.

  “It—” He grinds his teeth, “I know it’s not my fault. I know that none of it was my fault.”

  “Good, good boy.” I purr, smirking a bit at the words I used, returning my mouth to his shaft.

  I pump my hand up and down as I focus my suction on the tip, rolling my tongue around. His grip on the back of my head tightens and I feel his hips lift into my mouth, forcing himself down my throat.

  We find our rhythm again and it’s not long before he’s groaning my name loudly, while I swallow all he will give. The slightly salty taste washes down my throat, doing nothing to sedate my hunger for him.

  I pull away, panting as I wipe the saliva from my mouth with the back of my hand, falling back onto the back of my legs. Watching him fall down from his moment of climax.

  Heat strikes my core when he makes eye contact with me, the left side of his mouth tipping up slightly.

  “My turn, but like you said,” he says, “You’re going to need to trust me.”

  He stands to his full height; the towel falling to the floor, and I look up at him, admiring the curves and dips of his body. When he reaches down for me, I let him help me up from the floor. Only for Rook to spin me around and press me onto the bed, my ass hanging off the edge.

  I can feel his fingers trailing down my spine through the material of my shirt. My face chasing the cool material of the comforter, needing a relief from the heat that is coursing through my veins.

  “Take your pants off. I need to grab something, but leave the panties. I want to take those off myself.” He mutters, leaving a kiss on the back of my head before he walks to the bathroom.

  “You starting a collection of my underwear, Van Doren?” I ask, referring to my pair of missing panties from the theatre, as I wiggle out of my pants, kicking them across the room when they are off my legs. “Maybe.”

  I liked the idea of him being just as obsessed with me as I was with him. I wanted us to eat, sleep, and breathe each other. The couple that became inherently annoying with how crazy we were about one another.

  I wanted to be embarrassingly in love with him for the rest of my life.

  When he comes back, I’m in the same position he left me in. Dangling off the edge of the bed, my ass up in the air towards him.

  His hand splays across my hip bone, pulling me closer to his body. His fingers toy with the material of my panties before he pulls them off.

  “Do you trust me, Sage?” He questions, the bass of his voice thrums a chord deep inside of me.

  “Always,” I mutter, needing him in every way you could need a person.

  “Good,” His hand skims the inner portion of my thigh, making me spread my legs wider for him, “Because what I’m gonna do won’t feel good. But afterward, everyone will know your mine. Ponderosa Springs, fate, there will be no question of who you belong to, TG.”

  My mind races, trying to figure out what this means for me, but suddenly everything goes blank. Because pleasure licks my brain clean as his fingers dip between my legs.

  He spreads my lips with the digits, just as his fingertips circle my clit carefully, deliberate yet soft. I moan, rolling my hips against his touch, urging him to give me more. I am so needy. I wanted him so badly I could cry. Needing to be filled until there was nothing but Rook.

  I let him play with me, tease me, spreading my juices around until I’m a sloppy mess. My entire core is on the edge, needing just that little push so that I can fall into a pool of electric euphoria.

  “Rook, please,” I beg, my voice cracking.

  “I know baby, I know.”

  It’s then that he inserts two fingers inside of me, my walls instantly clenching around him. The intrusion welcomed as I rock my hips against him, impetuous and desperate.

  My nails tear into the bedsheet beneath me—my breath trapped in my lungs. There is no feeling like this. No feeling like him.

  My body trembles as he works in and out of me, hitting that spot only he can. Mind, body, soul, all of it was sent into overdrive.

  “You’re squeezing me so tight, wish I could feel this on my cock, baby.” He growls, “You are gonna come soon, aren’t you? Yeah, I can feel you getting wetter, your hips rocking faster, you’re so close.”

  I moan, long and broken, “Yes, Rook. Fuck yes.”

  My heart might give out at the rush of this.

  I’m so close, right there, when he removes his fingers. I think it’s his way of repaying what I did to him earlier, but instead I feel his lips at the shell of my ear.

  “Remember, it’ll only hurt for a few moments, then you’re mine forever.” He growls.

  That’s when I feel it.

  An intense sudden flash of heat sears the skin at the back of my hip. I let out a guttural scream, burying my face into the mattress as he holds the heat to my body before removing it when he’s finished.

  The cold air makes the burn intensify. He was marking me with something, but I felt it all the way inside my soul.

  Just when the pain was becoming too much, his fingers returned to my core. Sinking deep inside my channel, where they continued at the same pace as earlier. His finger bullying my G-spot repeatedly until I’m back on the edge.

  Like fucking magic, he coaxes my orgasm out of my body.

  “Come all of my fingers, baby. Be my good girl, be good for me.” He whispers, pumping inside of me harder until my legs shake.

  Everything feels so intense.

  The sting directly contrasts the waves of blissful pleasure that vibrate my body. I can’t focus on one or the other because of how well they blend together. That’s what Rook and I have always been.

  The constant mixture of pain and pleasure. We could never have one without the other because without the hurt we would never understand just how good the bliss felt.

  “That’s it, sweetness, that’s it. Ride it out.” His voice tickles me as he buries his face into the side of my neck peppering warm kisses against my skin.

  The aftershock of my climax makes me shake and I can feel the sharp ache from whatever he did. My body and soul were so exhausted that it wouldn’t even matter.

  I feel him leave my body for a quick moment, only to return seconds later. I feel the cold washcloth pressed against my skin, making me hiss.

  “Fuck, that hurts,” I mutter, turning to look at him over my shoulder with half-lidded eyes, “What did you do to me?”

  He looks down at his work, something like pride swimming inside of his eyes. Then he picks up the piece from a broken Zippo. It’s just the brass lid of the lighter and I can see his initials that are engraved on it.

  “Most people would call it a brand,” He mutters, “But it’s more than that.” />
  Something claws at my chest and lights my heart ablaze. The love I have for him eats me alive from the inside out.

  “It’s us.”

  Our eyes meet and even though I’m moments from passing out from exhaustion, I don’t miss how the fire in his eyes catches, the steady flame inside of them burning once again.

  Relit and ready to burn for eternity.

  “Yeah, baby. It’s us.”

  Rook

  Rook,

  If you’re reading this, Frank is dead, and I have followed suit.

  I’m only one sentence into this, and it’s already sappy. I didn’t even want to leave a note. I figured my suicide would be pretty straightforward.

  I’m miserable without her, and knowing that her killer is in the ground has soothed something in me, but it doesn’t feel like enough.

  I didn’t leave a note for anyone but you, and I need to tell you why.

  First, you’re the only one my parents actually like. They’d never say it out loud ‘cause they love and support my choice in friendships. My dad still hasn’t forgiven Alistair for punching a hole in the drywall, and Thatcher gives my mother the ‘heebie-jeebies’ (her words, not mine)

  But they like you, and I know that when I’m gone, you’ll be there for them. I’d like you to remind them that they did everything right.

  They gave me love. A home. A life.

  They did everything they could to help me with my schizophrenia, and I’m thankful for that. Tell them I love them, and this decision wasn’t made selfishly.

  I genuinely believe they will flourish with me gone. After they mourn and they begin to let me go, they will feel the weight of my mental illness be lifted. No more doctors, no more scheduled medications or constant worry. They will be free.

  Just like I am.

  You don’t have to, but I know you will keep an eye on Levi and Caleb. Just make sure they don’t get into too much shit, and if they do, teach them how to not get caught next time.

  Thatcher and Alistair didn’t get a letter because they knew this would happen, and I think they already prepared for it.

  You tried everything to deny it to yourself. To prevent it.

  They didn’t get a letter because while they will grieve and hurt for my loss, they won’t blame themselves.

  Not like you will.

  So this is why it had to be you, because I want, need you to know this was not your fault.

  It wasn’t your fault I had schizophrenia, it wasn’t your fault Rose died, and I know you’ll fight it, but there was nothing you could’ve done to prevent this.

  You did everything you could, and while it was more than enough, it was still never going to be enough.

  Do not punish yourself for my death. You were one of the only things that made my life worth living, and if you fuck my memory up with your guilt, I will kick your ass.

  Know that I’m at peace. That I’m happy. I’m free, Rook, and I’m with her.

  And one day, when you’re well into your nineties, I’ll be with you again too.

  Don’t lose yourself trying to search for the why, especially not after I wrote this entire gaudy thing.

  Never lose your fire.

  I’ll meet you at the Styx.

  - Silas

  I reread the letter one more time, grateful that I’ll never have to follow up on anything inside of it.

  Flicking my Zippo, I take the orange flame to the paper, watching it grab at the thin material and start to eat the edges away.

  It burns quick, even faster when I drop it into the trash can next to my bed.

  One week.

  That’s how long Silas has been gone. Still alive, but still gone.

  I’d refused to let his family send him to Monarch’s facility after what Sage had told me about that place, and they had eagerly agreed to send him somewhere near Portland. Not to get him away from the humiliation of Ponderosa Springs, but to ensure he got the correct care he deserved.

  We weren’t sure how long it would take for Silas to come back from his psychosis or how long he’d need to be hospitalized. It could be a few weeks, it could a few months, it could be a year. All we knew was we were prepared to stand by him until he got the help he needed.

  The doctors were hopeful that with cognitive therapy and a new set of medications, he would be back to his old self in no time, but there was always a chance that he could lose himself to the hallucinations and delusions that plague his mind.

  I try not to think of that too much.

  When the fire goes out and there is nothing left of the letter but rubble and ashes, I grab my jacket off my bed and head down the steps.

  My father is sitting at the table, with a few papers strewn out in front of him and a whiskey glass to his left.

  The sound of my feet brings his attention to my presence.

  “Where are you going?” he asks, the gravel in his voice telling me he is in the mood to take out his grief.

  “Out,” I grunt.

  “If I ask you a question, Rook, I expect a real answer. Not a smartass one.” He pushes the chair out from his place on the table, meeting me in the middle of my walk towards the door.

  “I’m going to Frank’s funeral, paying my respects, mourning the dead, doing my Christian duty.”

  “Don’t disrespect God in this house, son. Not when I know what you did, what you continue to do.”

  “I’m not going to sit here and listen to your self-righteous bullshit,” I mutter, sidestepping his frame so I can leave without a fight, but it seems that’s what he’s in the mood for today.

  “You will stand here for as long as I want you to.” He grabs at the front of my shirt, yanking me close to him so I can smell the liquor on his breath.

  I could let him hit me. I could let him hurt me for not doing something sooner about Silas. I could stand here and let him take out his pain on my body and continue being the scapegoat for our mother’s death.

  For a minute, I want to. The craving to feel the sharp sting of pain still lives just beneath the surface of my skin, waiting to be exposed.

  But I don’t. Because she’s waiting on me, and I gave her my word. I fight that urge because I want to be the person she needs. The person that she runs to when the world hurts her, not the other way around.

  “I’m done letting you punish me for something that was an accident.” I wrap my hands around his wrist, squeezing painfully as I rip them from the material of my shirt. “You don’t get to play God just because you miss Mom.”

  The look on his face could only be described as one of utter shock coupled with fear. He knows I’d kill him in a fight; he knows what he has been doing to me all these years, what I’ve been letting him do with no consequences.

  “An accident? If you would have just behaved, just that once, she would still be here!” he sneers. “Even as a child, you couldn’t follow the rules, and so help me, you will learn discipline in this house.”

  He raises his hand to slap me.

  “You better be ready for what happens after you land that. I know I can handle a punch from you—are you sure you could handle me hitting you back?” I warn. “Or I’ll give my friends the permission they’ve been waiting for.”

  “You wouldn’t,” he breathes.

  “Oh, I would,” I smirk. “And you should know, they aren’t fond of fathers who treat their children like shit. So before you hit me again, ask yourself, are you ready to answer for your sins, Dad?”

  This time when I move past him, he lets me go, standing in his own fear of punishment.

  I’d thought about what would happen if he changed, if I could bring myself to forgive him for all the abuse over the years. I think it would take time, but I would because I’d allowed him to do it for too long. I’d almost given him permission to do it. I’d enabled him.

  But tigers don’t change their stripes, not overnight, and that would be a bridge I would cross if it was ever built.

  When the door closes behind me,
I leave everything there.

  Because there is something much more important that requires my attention.

  Sage leans against the hood of her car, arms crossed in front of her and a pair of black sunglasses sitting on her nose. A skirt number is wrapped around her waist, showing off her pretty legs that I love to feel squeeze me when I’m buried inside of her.

  My mouth waters at the sight of her lips painted bright red.

  A poison apple.

  I have this rash urge to eat it off. Leave it smeared all over her chin from my kiss, from all the filthy things I’d love to do to that venom-coated mouth.

  So that’s what I do because I already have low impulse control, and around her, it seems absolute.

  I press my lips to hers, not worried about the stain it will leave on my own skin. I drink her down like air, feeling her come alive beneath my touch. My hellfire and holy water. Sometimes she’s sweet, and sometimes she could burn the world down.

  And I love waking up not knowing which one I’d get.

  My hands fall beneath her skirt, massaging with my thumbs before I skate upwards, my fingers grazing the raised skin just above her left ass cheek. Pride fills me.

  “How’s this healing?” I mutter, pulling away enough to let her answer.

  My toes curl knowing she’s been marked by me in more ways than just physically.

  My initials branded right across the top of her ass, just like I’d told her I would do. She wears the delicate, gothic font like a sparkling jewel, and every time I see it, my gut fills with emotion.

  “Fine. Still a little sore, but I kinda like it.” She bites at my bottom lip, pulling it out playfully.

  “Yeah? You like a little pain, don’t you, TG?” I smirk, looking down my nose at her, pulling one of my hands up to shove the glasses up to rest on the top of her head so I can see her eyes.

  “Only when I know you’ll lick it better.”

  I’d always thought that falling for Sage was the worst mistake of my life. That she would make me weak. That she would snuff the flame that had always burned so hot inside of me.