Page 22 of I See Red

I’m so fucking mad I begin to see red, my hands ball into fists, and I’m nine years old again, defending myself for a dead man’s decisions; the only difference is I’m defending them to the only man I never wanted to know any part of it. I would literally burn the entire world down for him to never have this information, even if it meant killing every human in it. This was not only my burden to bear but it was mine to never have to share with him.

“What the actual fuck, T?”

“Ivy, amor, listen to me. I’m not judging, but if I’m being honest, finding out this information makes me understand you so much more—love you more.”

“See, see thatright there, that was exactly what I didn’t fucking want. I didn’t want you to love me more because of my horrible past. I didn’t want you to fucking understand me more because of the horror of my childhood. I wanted it without your savior complex. I wanted it purely for loving me T, loving the woman who stands in front of you now, the perfect girl who loved you then, not the broken girl behind closed doors that spent her whole life trying to kill me.” I stop talking immediately, realizing I just confirmed what he already knew. I blew it. I confirmed my worst nightmares to him. It’s over.We will never be the same.FUCKKKKKKKKKKK!

“Ivy, there is nothing in this world that can make—” I abruptly cut him off.

“How did you know?” I demand. His eyes unknowingly already staring at me differently. His words ferment without release.

“How did youfucking know,T,” I scream, my eyes deadly, my finger pointing down to the ground as my voice gets louder. “Don’t fucking make me ask again.”

“My dad,” he responds, tears filling his eyes as I look into them, emotionless yet feeling so many emotions all at once. My face begins to soften at his words, tears forming in my eyes.

“Your dad?” I cry out, my tears flowing like a river down my face, his words the dam that broke me.

“I was in my dad’s office. I needed to get some papers for work. I couldn’t find them, so I went to the storage closet, and I stumbled upon your name. Ivy, I swear I didn’t know, but I had to open it, and what I found told me a piece of your story. It fucking broke me, Ives. I didn’t eat for days. I was drunk for weeks on end, angry, and confused with all this information—it broke me. I haven’t spoken to my dad since. My assistant, Brooklyn, is handling all his calls playing referee between us. Every time I see him, this rage fills inside me unlike any feeling I’ve ever felt before,” he confesses.

“Talk to me, Ives,” he pleads, both of us standing in a stare-off, completely broken and raw. Tears falling from our eyes at an alarming rate, our breaths heavy, the tension so fucking thick a hack saw couldn’t even make a dent in it.

“Your dad? Why did your dad have a file on me? What was in it?” is all I can muster to ask. I want to run. I want to run so goddamn hard and fast and curl up in the darkest hole on the earth to never return. Fuck that. I want answers to my own puzzle even more, one I thought I had already solved and filed away in the game closet.

“The night of my birthday party, you left. Apparently, you were taken to a place in Massachusetts that night for children with psychiatric issues. There were tapes, like cassette tapes and VHS tapes. There were recordings of you screaming and of your father. I didn’t listen to them fully, and I stared at those tapes forweeks, never able to press play again. I could only stand about the first few minutes of the audio before I had to shut it off,” he cries out.

Tingles begin to fill my entire body. I’m about to fucking break; I feel it.

“T, why did your father have those, and what files?” I demand. My nostrils flare as I fight like hell to keep myself together. I know I can’t hold it back much longer. His eyes broken, his soul crushed, he reaches out to pull me into him. I step away from his grip as I repeat myself.

“What was in the files, and why did your father have them? Last fucking chance, T.”

“The files were records and receipts. From what I could make of it, he helped finance and/or arrange your stay that time and a few others. There were so many; I swear I had no idea, Ivy,” he pleads, terrified of my response.

What the actual fuck? I knew my dad was a fucking dick. I knew he wouldn’t stop at any cost to have me as his own, to have complete control, but to use the only good thing in my life I ever had as a weapon against me. FUCCCCKKKKKKK.

“How long, T?”

“How long what?”

“How long have you known?” My hands clammy, my knees threatening to buckle out from under me. The room begins spinning.

“How fucking long, T?” I repeat psychotically.

“A little over two years, Amor.” My heart shatters, my worries confirmed. We go on and off without talking, but this,thisis why he crept back in after a long stint of not talking. I found it odd when he initiated it, as I’m always the one to reach out first after long spurts of radio silence, but this last time, it was him, and now I have my why.Guilt. Guilt for something he has no reason to feel guilty for, exactly what I spent my whole life protectinghim from. The tragedy of me. That’s what this entire home is, an apology he doesn’t owe me. The love of my life has the one emotion towards me I never wanted from him. Pity.

“Did you know? That day at my birthday party?” he questions, but I don’t respond. My thoughts are spiraling, my mouth as dry as the Sahara, my words all jumbled in my brain.Fuck I can’t breathe.Think, think, retreat, revert, do something.

“Work?” I question.

“What do you mean by work, Amor?” My lack of engagement in his initial questions confusing him.

“Earlier, you said work was good, but you’ve been meaning to talk to me,” I choke out through the tears, wiping them from my hot, reddened cheeks.

“Ives, we can talk about that another time. Please talk to me, and if not, at the very least, just let me hold you,” he begs, grabbing me as I once again jolt back. My words slashing like throwing knives through pine, “Don’t fucking touch me. Work. What’s up with work, T?”

His eyes plead for understanding as he whispers, “I’m here because I just moved back to Boston. Well, Manchaca Square, just outside the city.”

I look up in complete shock. I have absolutely nothing but just fucking sadness. Distance made this easy—uncomplicated. What the fuck was he thinking? And now that we’ve fucked, he’s living all of twenty minutes from my city loft—forty from mine and Liam’s place if we’re getting technical.

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