I take a step forward. “When?”
Like looking through a viewfinder, memories click through, one by one. I remember the multiple times Douglass had a sprained ankle or a broken finger. The bruise I saw on her arm that spanned from elbow to wrist. The black eye she had for a week in tenth grade. Amelia would laugh and regale tales of Douglass’s clumsiness. How she would trip over her own feet or run into something accidentally. And I laughed right along with her.
Bile burns like acid in my throat because Douglass wasn’t clumsy. All those injuries were caused by Amelia. Why didn’t I notice what was happening? Why didn’t Natalie? Surely, she would’ve seen what was happening under her roof.
Or maybe subconsciously you did notice but chose to look the other way because all you cared about was when you could dip your dick inside Amelia again.
Amelia loved sex and was up for anything. She let me fuck her on our first date. I got daily blow jobs in the boys’ locker room after school. We had sex more times than I can recount under the bleachers in the gymnasium during lunch period. I walked through most of my high school years in a haze of lust and orgasms. Life was good. For me. I had a gorgeous, popular girlfriend who put out and had a talented tongue. What more could a guy ask for?
“Shit, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”
I’m also disgusted with myself and my blind ignorance. I’ve never laid a hand in anger on a woman before, but I want to go back out to the bar, find Amelia, and throttle her.
Douglass takes a deep breath, as if she’s struggling to get the words out. The anguish in her eyes when she looks at me is almost too much to bear.
“There’s nothing for you to be sorry about. I’m fine.”
I’m not. And she’s lying because neither is she.
I watch as she shuts it all down, her face curtaining into a blank mask of nothing. I’ve seen that empty look before. Many times. But now I know the reason for it. It’s a defense mechanism. An armored shield to stop others from seeing her pain. But I see it now. And I’m making it my mission in life that nothing and no one will hurt her again.
I’m more determined than ever to show Douglass I’m not the man I used to be. I want to beherman. But I have a lot of work to do to prove I’m worthy of that position.
“The trash has been taken out,” Harper says proudly, walking briskly down the hall. Her mouth turns down at the marks on Douglass’s arm. Harper looks at me, then back at Douglass. “Why don’t we get that cleaned up and get the hell out of here?”
Chapter 26
When I imagined a fun evening out with one of my best friends, two things I never would’ve expected were running into my wicked witch of the West sister and finding myself standing in the middle of a rage room with a sledgehammer clenched tightly in my hands and sweat beading behind my face shield and goggles. I didn’t even know rage rooms existed, and that people actually paid money to smash things.
Harper swings a baseball bat at a dinner plate. It explodes into a thousand pieces like a deadly confetti bomb filled with shrapnel.
“Bennett better watch out. I’m getting pretty good at this,” she exclaims over the thrash metal being pumped into the room.
“I don’t think murder baseball is a thing.”
I brandish the heavy sledgehammer like a broadsword and bring it down on a stack of wood pallets, imagining they’re my sister’s face. My arms feel like jelly, my clothes are stuck to me with sweat, and my bandaged cuts sting, but I don’t stop. Who knew taking your aggression and anger out on inanimate objects would be so therapeutic and feel so amazing.
“Can we destroy a car next time?” I ask.
It was listed on their board at check-in, and I think it would be hella-fun.
“I think I’ve created a monster.”
We both laugh because… yeah.
Harper leans back against the wall and watches me go to town on destroying the rest of the items in the room. We only have thirty minutes, and I’m making the most of it.
“You know about Derek and what he did,” she casually states as I pick up a vase and hurl it against the wall.
I stop and nod yes, not sure where she’s heading with this.
Derek was her ex. He stalked her, tried to kidnap her, then tried to kill her. He’s currently rotting in prison where he belongs.
Harper is the strongest woman I know. The stuff she has survived and overcome would break a lesser person. How she has remained sweet and forgiving is beyond my comprehension. I am the queen at holding grudges. I can’t help it. Every time I’ve let someone in, they’ve hurt and disappointed me.
Harper points at my arm. “So please don’t lie to me when I ask if that has ever happened before.”
“I won’t,” and leave it at that.
