Page 47 of Salvation (Clover-Hills #1)
Blake
W e spend the next half hour giving statements.
We’ll have to come back into the station within a few days to work everything else out.
Elain called her mother, so she’s on her way back into town to meet us.
Wesley drove both of us back to my house, and Elain took off to take a shower and clean herself up.
After we hear the shower turn on, Wesley doesn’t miss a beat laying into me as I dab a wet cloth against the top of my head.
It’s a small cut; thankfully, I won’t need stitches.
Just some water and a good bandage. My knuckles are busted back open too, and much sorer now that the adrenaline wore off, but I’ll survive.
“What the hell were you thinking? You’re lucky you aren’t in the back of a fucking cop car right now.” He points an accusing finger in my face. I flinch at his tone, not worried that he’d ever lay a hand on me, but because I’ve never seen Wesley so angry before.
“What was I thinking?” I snap. I look at him and shake my head.
I can feel the stinging creeping into my nose.
Is it really this hard for others to see?
Do people truly never know what’s going on behind closed doors?
Notice a little girl’s behavior or see the bruises and not question it for one second?
I shouldn’t be the one being chastised. The entire goddamn town should be showing up at that asshole's door with pitchforks. In a quieter voice this time, one that sounds much more broken than before, I say, “You have no idea what you’re even talking about.”
I go to move past him, over this conversation, but his fingers wrap gently around my wrist. He holds me in place, like he knows that something else is at play, and he just wants me to break. “Stop! Stop running from me, Blake.”
“What did I tell you about me not being your problem?” I bare my teeth at him but haven’t moved away from his touch yet. “Back. off.”
He moves us so that we’re fully facing each other now, both of his hands wrapping around my biceps.
“ Everything when it comes to you is my problem, Blake. What about that don’t you understand?
” I shake my head, but he presses on. “Just tell me why it matters so much that you’d risk your own life for a girl you’ve only just met?
” His voice comes out as a plea, and much more vulnerable than I expected. It only causes my temper to flare.
“Because someone should have helped me!” I yell as I rip my arms away.
“Because I was that little girl, Wesley!” I’m full-on shouting now.
Not even thinking about how someone may overhear us.
I’m spilling everything I’ve kept a secret from him.
I’m angry, so unbelievably angry that I can’t stop this kind of outburst. “I mean seriously? Why do you think I left? You think I wanted to leave my home? To leave our moms. To leave you ?” My voice breaks on the last sentence, and my entire world feels like it comes crashing down at the same time.
“What did you just say?”
My chin wobbles as I turn back to look at him.
His voice is both calm and lethal, and his eyes so dark they could rival the midnight sky.
His entire demeanor sends shivers down my spine, but I ignore them.
I knew the day would come when I’d have to tell him, I just didn’t expect it to come so soon. Too soon.
“My father. The night I left…I shouldn’t even be alive, Wesley.
” For a few minutes, he doesn’t speak. His eyes just jump between mine, trying to read whatever may lay within them.
Then they land on the scar that’s on full display.
The one that he’s only seen since I’ve come back to town, and one I definitely didn’t gain from my reckless childhood.
He runs his hands through his hair before stepping forward, and I don’t move back, too scared I’ll crumble with one step.
“Why?” He reaches for that arm with the scar and gently runs his thumb over the raised skin. His touch burns and something unreadable falls on his face. So many emotions, and I can’t help but be in awe at how quickly he processes them. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
The question makes me laugh. I laugh at how thick his voice is.
But there’s no humor in it. It comes out all wrong and broken.
He’s now piecing together that I’ve had this scar since I arrived home.
It’s not like it’s hard to miss. But just the mere thought of where it came from…
I can’t stomach the idea of Elain having to carry a visual representation of her abuse for the rest of her life.
One that people will always question, never allowing you to just forget.
“And what could you have done?” I ask him, “We were kids, Wesley. I was just a kid. And so is she.”
I finally crack on that last word, a dam bursting open in my chest. A few tears leak down my face.
And then I’m sobbing. It doesn’t stop, only gets louder, and faster.
Everything is suddenly too loud . I can’t breathe.
I hurt; it all hurts, and this time, not just for me, for Elain, for myself, and for any other child who can be so thoroughly shattered because of another’s harsh hands.
“So is she.” I say again. Again, and again, and again.
My knees give out, and I fall to the floor and wrap my arms around myself. I don’t stop saying it until I feel warm hands pulling me into a lap and placing a hand on the back of my head. “It’s okay, baby, It’s okay.” He rocks me, running a gentle hand over the spot where his hand came to rest.
But that touch, that gentle touch, is what has me coming back to my senses. To the reality of my situation. I scramble out of his hold and get to my feet. “Don’t. Don’t! I don’t want pity.” Snot and tears mix, and I’m glad I’m too upset at the moment to care. “Not from you.”
He just stares at me, and he looks so heartbroken that it physically hurts to look at him. I whisper so quietly that only we can hear. “This - this doesn’t change anything. It can’t .”
So, I turned and walked out, leaving him there on his knees. Not sure where I’m going, but knowing I need to get out. I know it’s my house, but Wesley won’t leave. Not now. And I need space. But as I walk away, I’m left with a sinking feeling that I’ve shattered his heart for a second time.
And I’m not quite sure how I’ll forgive myself.