Page 5 of Pray for Scars

Silence. He doesn’t say a word.

Okay.I thought it was funny.

But then his fingers draw small circles on my leg, and I lift my head up to meet his gaze.

“I gave you...everything,”he says quietly, running his fingers behind that sensitive spot on my ankle, coming back up to my calf, and then down again. “I gave you everything, Sid. Why are you...” His eyes trail my body again and despite how fucked it is, I feel my core tighten at his gaze. “Why are you doing this again?”

My eyes flutter closed. “I don’t want your money.”

His slow, soft movements stop. Instead, his fingers clamp down around me. “And I don’t want my sister to be a fucking whore.”

I smile, eyes still closed. As if I haven’t heard that insult before. “Sorry?” I offer, not sorry at all.

His grip tightens. “Tell me why, Sid, I shouldn’t fucking break your ankle right now.” He switches the position of his hand, so he’s gripping the side of my bare foot, flexing it at an unnatural angle, ever-so-softly.

I keep my eyes closed. “Maybe you should.” Even in the darkness, my head is spinning.

He keeps pressing my foot the wrong way, twisting it painfully inward. “Maybe I should,” he agrees softly.

But then he lets go, the absence of his touch briefly comforting.

Until he yanks me forward, onto his lap.

My eyes fly open, and he grips my ass, pressing me further into him.

“But if I broke your fingers instead,” his own find mine, pinning them behind me and tugging, so my shoulders are painfully shifted down, “then you couldn’t wrap them around another man’s dick.” He circles both of my wrists in his hand, then brings his other hand to my lips.

My mouth is dry. I need water. I need to be sober. And I need to be away from my brother. One of these days, his fucking hurricane is going to kill me.

He runs his thumb over my bottom lip. “And if I broke your jaw,” he whispers, “you wouldn’t be able to taste another man’s cock.”

He leans in closer, his mouth hovering over mine. “Can I tell you a secret, Sid?”

I feel his words against my lips, his eyes locked on mine. He’s always had such beautiful eyes.

“I’ve always wanted to fuck you.” And then his mouth finds mine and before I can decide just how many levels of fucked this is, my mouth parts for him, his tongue sweeping in, his hand on my wrists loosens, comes up to cup my face.

I let him bite my lip, let his hands run down my body, let him think I’m not going to fight back. Let him think I only did that with Kristof. With the foster dad that dragged me into his bed after his wife left for work, flipped me on my back and…

I close my eyes against those memories.

No.

I’m not that girl anymore.

I slowly stand to my feet, breaking off our kiss. He looks up at me, and I see the bruises barely healed on his face from when Lucifer beat the shit out of him, a cut above his brow. I see his green eyes on mine, the smile on his lips as he says, “What is it, Sid?”

I run my hands through his hair, and I hate that it’s so thick. So fucking soft.

Fuck him.

I ram my knee into his throat, knocking him on his ass, me falling with him to drive it in further. He gags, his face paling, and I drive my elbow down onto his nose, hearing a sick crunch and his gasp of pain as I do.

Then I run.

I run as fast as I fucking can, picking up my backpack on the way out the door, and this time, it’s not so heavy. Not like it was in my brother’s hotel, when I was trying to run from Kristof. No, this is easy. Effortless.

Or maybe by now I’m just used to running.