Chapter 20 - Trina
The moment I curl up in Owen’s arms, memories of Aunt Dana rage through my mind again. My blood prickles painfully as if it’s somehow full of needles, and my chest burns like my heart is full of red-hot coals.
Sweat starts to pour down my face, and I cling to Owen as the memories rush through me, completely taking me over.
“Trina, what’s wrong?” Owen asks, holding me.
“Get me… out of here,” I gasp. “Take me home.”
“Are you sick? Should I call a doctor?”
“No,” I moan. “Just take me home, please.”
I feel him arrange my dress neatly, then wrap his own dinner jacket around me before picking me up. I catch a glimpse of lights, dark shadows, and glass cases on the way out, but it feels like Owen is using superhuman speed, and before I know it, we’re out on the street.
He didn’t just tear through there using his powers, did he?
My head aches too much to even contemplate that, and I just gulp in big breaths of fresh air. To my dismay, it feels thick, damp, and humid as if a storm is brewing. It does nothing to ease the pain in my temples.
The drive home passes in a blur, but by the time we arrive back at the house, the pounding in my head has eased, even if my stomach still hasn’t settled. Owen carefully carries me inside and puts me on my bed, bringing me some water and helping me sit up to take a sip.
“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asks. “I feel like you should see a doctor.”
“No, no,” I protest, managing to sit up without my head splitting in two. “It’s not something a doctor can fix.”
“Oh?”
The sweat has cooled my skin so much that now, I’m shivering, and I reach for the blanket with trembling hands. Owen wraps me up in it, getting on the bed to pull me into his lap.
“If you want to talk, I’m right here,” he says, cradling my head with one hand. I snuggle against him, loving the soothing feel of his fingers stroking my hair.
“It was more memories,” I say. “From my childhood.”
“Oh,” he says. “Your aunt.”
“Yes,” I reply. “But far clearer, this time.”
I take a deep breath, feeling my insides tremble as I try to gather the courage to say the words out loud. As much pressure as there is to speak them—to be heard, seen, and comforted—it also feels like there is a block in my throat that these memories can’t pass through.
“When I said she was abusive,” I begin, my voice thick with tears, “I really sugarcoated it.”
“Oh, wow,” Owen mutters as he continues to stroke my hair.
“Yeah. I… didn’t tell you everything.”
“It’s okay,” Owen says. “You can tell me anything.”
Even though the words in my throat don’t get easier to say, something about his tone and the soothing touch of his handmakes me feel so safe that I know if I’m ever going to get these words out, now is the time.
I might not get another chance. If I don’t take this one, I could carry this ugliness inside me forever, until it poisons me.
“Okay,” I say, wrapping my arms even more tightly around him to press my cheek against his chest. “My aunt began with small types of abuse. Emotional control, psychological stuff. That was bad enough, but it didn’t take long for it to escalate into something physical.”
Owen’s hand pauses on my hair, but he doesn’t interrupt me, just resumes his slow stroking.
“She tied me up. Locked me in the basement without food. Aunt Dana covered my injuries, or lied to people and said I was hurting myself and that she was doing her best to help me.”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Owen mutters.
