We leave a pile of sopping wet clothes at the entrance to the cabin, finding our way upstairs to the bathroom.
It’s equipped with a shower and a tub, but right now my muscles are screaming to be submerged. Besides, I still haven’t gotten over my aversion to showers, and I wonder if I ever will.
Ace starts the bath, and I impatiently climb in, letting the water crawl up my feet.
“Ah! Cold.”
“Give it a second to warm up, why don’t you?” He shakes his head at me as the water slowly warms. Droplets from the rain fall off his hair and down his bare chest.
He gets in behind me and cradles me against his chest.
“Tell me about your tattoo.”
I feel him tense behind me, his hands running the length of my arms. “What do you want to know?”
“Why did you get it?” The water continues to fill the tub, covering our legs and stomachs.
He reaches for a washcloth and soap, taking his time lathering up the suds. “When you left Kingston, the place was in an uproar. Families came to get their kids. It was total chaos.” He drags the washcloth along my shoulders and down my arms. “Sarah’s disappearance had rocked them, calling into question the leadership.” He reaches around my front washing my breasts and circling my sensitive nipples. “My father, however, wasn’t one of them. See, he knew exactly how Kingston works. The way they treat the students.”
I stiffen remembering the way the counselors would openly beat anyone who they thought was disobeying their many rules. Or, if you had really offended them, sometimes only by breathing, they would drag you with the help of anothercounselor into another room. And that’s when the real beatings would take place. Girls had it even worse, especially if they had the misfortune of being caught by a male counselor.
Ace dips the washcloth into the water, spreading my legs and cupping my pussy with the fabric.
“My father is one of the founders of Kingston Prep, wanting to shape the youth of America into the perfect, obedient subjects. Kingston is his vision of what our world should look like.”
A shiver runs down my spine at the thought. I raise my foot out of the bath and turn the tub’s knob off with my toes, so I don’t have to move away from Ace’s embrace.
“After we all met with the police to give them our statements from that night, my father dragged me into one of the beating rooms. Or as they liked to call it the ‘reflection room’.” I tense, knowing that what he’s about to confess isn’t going to be good. “Kyle held me from behind as my father carved this mark into my face for disgracing the family name. They took turns beating me after they tied me down to a chair.” He stops moving the washcloth, taking a shaky breath in. “When they were done, I was laying crumpled on the floor, blood seeping out of my nose and mouth, barely able to manage blinking. I vowed right then and there to commit my life to taking them down. I got the tattoo shortly after leaving, to remind myself of my purpose.”
I rest my head against his chest, letting the vulnerable information he’s shared with me settle.
“So, let’s bring them down. Together.”
He kisses the top of my head. “Together.”
CHAPTER 32
ACE
27 YEARS OLD
The guitar’smelody flutters gently around the room, echoing off the high vaulted ceiling. I haven’t played in years, but today I felt called to it. The familiar feel of the strings vibrating beneath my fingers calms a torrential storm that’s been building inside of me since I shared about my tattoo with Hazel.
I’m not one to share easily. Keeping to the shadows and digging into other’s lives is how I get by. But having to face my own demons is another story. The music helps calm my mind, giving my fingers and brain something to hold onto so I don’t drift into the dark of my past.
Croissant seems to be thoroughly enjoying his solo concert as he sways on his hind legs, cracker in his paw.
“Oh, my fucking god. Where is a camera when you need one?” Hazel asks, walking in on us. She’s barefooted with her fiery hair thrown up into a messy bun. Hip cocked to the side she smiles down and my heart lurches at the sight of her.
Croissant runs over to her, and she gives him a scratch on the back before he scurries off through the back doggy door nails tip tapping on the hardwood floor as he leaves.
“Well, bye to you too.” Hazel calls out before going into the kitchen to fix herself a cup of coffee.
I strum a few more chords while the rain patters against the roof. It hasn’t let up all night, which means the trails will be practically impassable.
Hazel sits next to me, steaming cup in her hands smelling of coffee and vanilla.
I like this- the easy peace between us despite the horrors that haunt our past. With her I can just be. Existing in the same space without fear of judgement or expectation. She accepts me as I am. Flaws and all.
