Page 76 of Pray for Scars

As if in answer to my silent thought, his hand moves from my face, fully and possessively down my throat, to rest above my heart. I know he can feel what he’s doing to me, the way my pulse goes haywire again in my chest.

I know it, and yet I can’t bring myself to hate it. To hate him, as much as I should. He’s, in some strange way, a safe place. A beautiful safe and violent place that just might destroy me. The more he hurts me, the safer I feel.

The moreIhurt, the safer I feel.

Right now, I want to feel safe.

“Jeremiah,” I breathe again. “We can’t...we shouldn’t...”

“Shh, baby,” he whispers, his words touching my lips, reminding me of Lucifer. “Shh.” His thumb brushes my mouth. “It’s just a moment. Let us have it. You deserve this, Sid.”

I feel the reasons why we shouldn’t on the tip of my tongue. Why I don’t. But he could make me forget…

And Ria said…she said I wasn’t his.

“This is wrong,” I say, turning my head. But he grips my jaw, makes me face him.

“Sid,” he says quietly.

I swallow. “If you’re gonna go on about breaking my face again, please get it over with so I can get back to my drink—”

“Stop.” He lifts my chin, shakes his head. I see something like anguish in his eyes as he looks down between us for a moment. And then he says, “You’re not my sister.”

No.

No.

Maybe he’s drunk, too.

I laugh. “What?” I ask him, trying to calculate how many drinksI’vehad. Maybe he’s on drugs, though. I could use some drugs myself. “Jeremiah, what are you—”

His hand trails down to my shoulder, sliding beneath my shirt. He skims his fingers across my skin, making me shiver. “You’re not my sister,” he says again, his eyes following his fingers as they trail down my arm. “You’re not…I was five when you came,” he continues, clearing his throat. “I was five and you were two.”

I can’t breathe.

“We had three years, Sid. Three years, and then we both got taken from my mom, and we both got flown across the country and I thought we’d stay together, but…we didn’t.” He meets my gaze again. “I failed you. I let them fuck you up.” His eyes narrow. “I let someone fuck you up, Sid, and I’m so fucking sorry.”

I clutch his wrist in my hand, stopping his slow movements on my arm. “Jeremiah. What thefuckare you talking about?”

“You’re not my sister. I’m not your brother. They fucked us, Sid. I don’t know what Lazar wants with you, but the Forgues, the family that took me…” He closes his eyes tight and I don’t hear him breathe for a second. “They fucked me up, too, Sid. Two weeks, in the end. Two weeks I didn’t eat. Two weeks I lived in my own fucking filth. Two weeks, and you know, that wasn’t the worst of it.” His eyes spring open. “That wasn’t all, Sid. Because I knew I was letting you down, too. I knew, somehow, you’d probably gotten worse. You’d probably been fucked as much as I was.”

My chest caves.

My grip on his wrist loosens and I can’t breathe all over again. I bring my hands to my face, shaking my head.

“No,” I breathe out, “no, no, no.” I say it over and over and over again. “Jeremiah…”

He pulls me into him, crushing me to his chest, and I let him.

We stand that way for a minute, and then, gently, he pushes me back against the wall.

“I wanted you to be so strong, Sid, I wanted you to be invincible. I never, ever want them to get to you again, Sid.”

I slowly lower my hands, my eyes locking on his.

He’s not my brother.

Not mine.