“So it’s torture, starvation, or debasement.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Physical scars or psychological ones. At some point, everyone has to decide which is worse.”
I cursed under my breath.
He regarded me closely. “What did you do, Sophia? When she didn’t come back?”
It poured from my mouth. Every broken, self-destructive action I took. I’d been reduced to uncontrolled panic attacks. Engaged in unsafe sex. Shut out everyone and everything. I’d careened through wild guilt and dark desires for death, wishing something would come along to end the pain.
I omitted nothing, including the part that led me to him.
He nodded like he not only understood, but expected it all. “Your psychological wounds are worse.”
I frowned. “What about you?”
His teeth flashed in the dark, a wry smile appearing. “You know the answer to that.”
Yes, I did. His entire body was riddled with scars. Some days, he came to me with fresh, nasty injuries. None of them bothered him more than whatever darkness haunted his past.
“Both of us are scarred,” I said.
“Seems so.”
“I’m broken and you’re beyond repair.” I motioned between us. “Maybe we deserve each other.”
He stared for a long moment, and the air thickened. Eventually, he spoke, his voice barely audible. “No,” he said. “You deserve better.”
A couple of weeks later,a chain of violent thunderstorms struck. We worried about a tornado when the sky turned greenand the clouds dipped low, but I booked it to the house on Evanston during a break in the storm.
The rain returned in the last minute of my ride, soaking me in a downpour. Upon my entry, Lucas took one glimpse at me dripping onto his carpet and sighed.
I scowled. “Don’t even start. Let me have some of your clothes.”
“Nowyou want my clothes?”
“Obviously,” I snapped.
With a small chuckle, he ushered me into the master bedroom and dug out an outfit. Clothed in his dry cotton, I headed toward the back room, but he didn’t follow.
“Wait, Sophia. Come here.” He sat on the couch and patted the cushion beside him.
My limbs froze as my abdomen filled with lead. What was that tone in his voice? Was that…concern?
I studied his face, attempting to parse what was coming from his expression alone, but it was guarded. Carefully blank. Dread bloomed in my chest as I sat.
He took a breath, and in the strangest move of all our time together, he placed his hand atop mine. “I’m not sure I should tell you this.”
My breath snagged in my throat. “Tell me…what?”
His gaze dropped to his hand over mine, but no words emerged.
“Lucas?”
“I found your friend,” he said, eyes slicing up to mine.
Time stopped.
My ears rang. My head swooped. The world closed inward. For several seconds, his face floated in a sea of hazy black.
