I'm staring at her, trying to figure out how she could possibly say that, much less mean it. She laughs coldly when she notices my confusion.
“If it had been, maybe I'd feel like it was valid. Maybe if it had been violent, if he'd nearly killed me, someone would have taken notice... someone who would have been able to help. If it had been violent, maybe—”
“No.” I cut her off. “It doesn't matter if it wasn'tviolent. That didn't make it okay.”
She stares hard at me, like she's trying to see inside my head.
“Your brain expects there to be physical proof when you're hurting…”
“Scars.” I surmise.
“And since mine weren't visible to me, I decided to make some that were. Some that could change the pain into something else. I learned to dissociate, and thank fuck I did because I needed that skill to survive everything.”
“But whySLUT?” I ask, frowning. “Why would you carve that on yourself?”
“Does it matter?” She scoffs. “It was six years ago.”
Six years ago.
It can be a lifetime and also not at all. I've got shoes buried in my closet that are more than six years old.
“It matters to me.” I tell her, swiping my thumb over her lower lip. “Everything about you matters to me.”
I watch her war between coming up with a sarcastic response or feeling the truth of it. And it is the truth.
“It's what I kept telling myself.” She says. “Because I didn't fight back. I let it happen because I must have wanted it, and that made me a slut. He never even fucking noticed what it said... just told me to knock it off with the attention-seeking behavior.”
I act on impulse, rolling over top of her so that I pin her flat against the mattress. Her eyes are bewildered, but not scared or angry, as she stares up at me.
“Don't ever let yourself believe that lie again. Do you understand?”
Her lips part to let a small laugh pass. “It's not a lie anymore. My body count is probably double yours, and yours isn't exactly single digits, is it?”
“Not even close.” I agree. “Does that bother you?”
“It bothers me that you buy women to sleep with and then kill them.” She says honestly, her eyes not leaving mine, challenging me. “Mommy issues?”
She already knows my first kill was my brother. But she's dead on about the mommy issues, too. She couldn't possibly understand the full context of it, though. Dex has explained it to me more than a few times, but I still don't understand. I don't want to. I prefer not to think about it.
“Yeah.” I chuckle. “Something like that.”
“Was she a slut who slept with too many random men? Did she try to seduce your friends?”
She's lucky she's so damn bewitching because I've shut down a dozen shrinks for less.
“Neither.” I bite the inside of my lip, an offering to keep the beast at bay. My beautiful little doll is still caged beneath me, warm and soft and safe. I don't want him to ruin the moment. “She was perfect until my brother died. It destroyed her.”
Amber is quiet as I think through my memories.
Perfectmay be a little bit of a stretch, but she was good to us. Everything I needed in a mother. And then she disappeared inside of herself and never came back out, no matter how much I begged or how loudly Charlotte cried.
“I can't even imagine.” She breathes. “I don't want kids, but I don't think you'd ever be the same after losing one.”
“She wasn't.” I confirm.
“Did she… did she kill herself?”
“No.” I shake my head.
