Page 56 of Saving Sparrow (Slow Burns & Tragic Beginnings #2)

Quentin kissed my forehead, his lips resting there a little longer than usual. “I love you too,” he whispered against my skin.

I spun away, fumbling my sponge off the shelf as I internally begged my body not to betray my thoughts. I’d been so good at keeping that part of things under control around them.

“Go check on Miguel, will you? I’m gonna wash my hair.” I thought he’d insist on helping me, but after a handful of quiet seconds he spoke one breathless word.

“Okay.” He left the bathroom, and I sank down to the shower floor.

The rest of the day was pretty bleak. We hung out by the pool a bit. Quentin put some burgers on the grill while Miguel and I read from the same lounge chair, but once the sun went down, we decided to go to bed early.

Quentin kicked out of his sweats when we reached the room, leaving them on the floor before diving under the covers in just his boxer briefs. He’d removed his shirt a while ago.

Miguel dumped his clothes in the hamper, opting to sleep in his underwear too. Hickeys covered his chest. I noticed a few on his back as he headed for the bathroom.

I stripped down in the closet, pulling a green silk nightgown from its hanger.

The straps were thin, and the material felt cool falling down my skin.

I traded the boxer briefs I wore for the lace ones I’d ordered online.

I preferred to sleep in them. The lace felt soft and complemented the nightgowns I wore.

Quentin and Miguel’s eyes were on me as soon as I stepped out of the closet, as if they’d been waiting for me to appear.

“Damn, pretty girl.” Quentin’s drowsy gaze roamed over me.

“You look beautiful,” Miguel said, yawning. “Green is your color.”

I felt too shy to say thanks, so I loosened my braid as I headed over to the bed, sliding under the covers between them. I kissed both their cheeks before Miguel reached over to turn the lamp off.

Quentin held me tighter than he usually did, and I chalked it up to him releasing whatever he couldn’t release onto Miguel after the confrontation with his father.

We were all too tired and mentally drained for anything more than a good night’s sleep.

Miguel closed me in from the front, and we drifted off.

The skin on my back burned as the faceless man cut into me. I begged him to stop in a voice that wasn’t mine, cried hot and steady tears from a gaze that didn’t belong to me. The pain kept coming, kept increasing while the man shouted scriptures and prayers.

A woman encouraged him, her voice soft and familiar, but I couldn’t see her either.

Suddenly, I couldn’t speak or see straight, couldn’t inhale or exhale as something invisible wrapped around my neck.

In the distance, voices shouted at me, growing closer with every breath I couldn’t take. They yelled for me to open my eyes, for me to breathe. I knew those voices. They were kind and scared. They wanted to help me.

I did my best to reach them, trying to focus on the way my heart felt when they called my name. I couldn’t get to them, though. The knife had cut too deep this time, keeping me pinned to the table. I gagged from the agony, the invisible band squeezing tighter around my throat.

A sharp sting on my face distracted me from the wound along my back, but within seconds, the blood trickling down my sides returned my attention to the pain.

There was another sharp sting to my cheek, the other one this time, and the kind voices became a string. I tugged on it, their cries becoming clearer as I pulled and pulled.

“Elliott! Wake up!”

Their voices were garbled, thick, almost like I was pulling myself up from underwater. I kept tugging on the string anyway, faster and faster, as their shouts became more panicked. Tugging until I’d broken free of the surface.

My eyes popped open with a gasp, my arms reaching behind me, fingers scraping against the wet fabric there, trying to get to the wound.

“Elliott!”

“Elliott!”

The two distinct voices called my name again. I could hear them better now, but I couldn’t see them. I couldn’t see anything but blood.

“Wake up!”

I’m awake, I wanted to scream, but fire rose up my throat, turning my trapped words to ash. Fingers dug into my shoulders, squeezing my shaking body.

“Elliott, open your eyes!”

My eyes were open, but all I could see was red, a pool of red trying to drown me.

My head jerked to the side, the sting to my cheek much harder than the others that time. I blinked, sweat falling from my brow as I sputtered, the blood vanishing.

My gaze flew around the room. “W-where… W-what… I d-don’t—” Another slap to my cheek, that one bringing me fully back to my senses.

Wheezing, I stared at Miguel, trying to work out what was going on. He knelt beside me, his hand on my shoulder, his normally tanned skin pale.

I was upright, something hard beneath me. I looked down, eyes clashing with Quentin’s panicked stare. I was straddling him, like maybe he’d had to haul me onto him. My head began hurting, with black dots floating around my vision. I felt weightless suddenly, like I was floating away.

I needed to stay here. I couldn’t explain it, but it felt important to stay grounded. Every time I’d ever felt this way in the past, I ended up forgetting things. I didn’t want to forget Quentin and Miguel. I wouldn’t be able to live with that.

“Again,” I panted at Quentin. “Hit me again.”

“What? No, fucking—”

“Again, please!” I cried. “I have to stay here. Please .”

Without understanding, he slapped me again.

“Quentin!” Miguel sounded hysterical, but I ignored him.

“Again!”

Quentin hit me again, this time nearly knocking me off him. My hair clung to my face, the headache slowly receding. “Again,” I whispered.

“N-not his face,” Miguel said. “You’ll hurt him.”

“Again… Please . Again… Again… Again…”

Quentin fumbled with my sweaty nightgown, hiking it up to my waist. His palm whistled through the air, cracking down loudly on my ass cheek. I jolted against him, falling forward. My fingers curled into the sheets on either side of him, my hair curtaining us both, blocking everything else out.

“Yes,” I hissed. “Just… l-like that. P-please.”

Quentin slapped my ass again, harder than before. I dug my knees into his sides for leverage. “Again, don’t stop. Please, Quentin. You can’t stop.”

Snarling, he tore through the lace underwear, then he let himself fly free. His large, heavy palm crashed down on my hot skin repeatedly. My eyes fluttered closed, my body taking over as my hips rolled without my permission.

I vaguely registered Quentin growing hard beneath me, and couldn’t control myself as I scooted back an inch to ride the length of him with the crack of my butt cheeks.

Sweat streamed down every inch of my skin, replacing the pain I’d felt in the dream. Quentin’s panting filled my ears, replacing the religious ramblings of the faceless man hurting me.

The bed rocked as I moved faster over him, as nothing else existed beyond the curtain closing us in.

The ache in my head vanished completely, a calm numbness replacing it as my lower back began to tighten.

“Quen…” I tried but couldn’t get out. I moved faster and faster, chasing the thing that scared me, knowing we were doing something wrong but couldn’t work out exactly what yet. Dread crept in, making my heart skip a beat, but I needed to stay here… I needed to—

With one last slap of Quentin’s hand—the sound bouncing off the walls—I came, choking on it, my body spasming and melting from the inside out.

Blinking back to awareness, I stared down at Quentin. Moisture and worry filled his eyes. I’d never seen Quentin cry before, and it made my heart splinter to know I’d been the one to cause his tears now.

I couldn’t sit up, couldn’t push my hair out of the way, because I suddenly remembered Miguel. Just like with Gideon, I knew I’d ruined everything.

My body trembled with the force of my emotions, my tears falling onto Quentin’s shocked face as reality came tumbling down on me.

“It’s okay,” he whispered shakily. “It’s okay.” He didn’t make any move to pull back the curtain, though. He seemed just as terrified to face Miguel. His tears fell as I peered down at the mess staining the silk nightgown.

Slowly, I pushed myself up with Quentin’s help. I was achy, sweaty, sticky, embarrassed, and heartbroken.

I shoved my hair back before sneaking a glance at Miguel. His lashes were wet, his chin trembling. But it was the love I still saw in his big brown eyes that finally broke the last of the held-together pieces of me.

My vision blurred, and I scrambled off Quentin, a shame I hadn’t felt since my time in Alaska consuming every part of my body.

I took a moment to stare at Quentin. The beautiful boy who’d just saved me at the cost of losing everything. I’d been so selfish.

I turned back to Miguel. I couldn’t take my eyes off him as I backed away to the far edge of the bed, as far away from them and their love as possible. I was disgusted with myself.

All I could do as he knelt there, unable to move as his tears stained his skin, was to say the three words that explained what I thought of myself right then. “I… I’m so sorry.”