Page 14 of A Past Too Broken

“Bathroom.”

“Let’s go.” He helps me out of bed, and if I didn’t wobble as soon as I was standing, I would protest. As it is, it takes all my concentration not to fall over as we shuffle over to the en suite.

He leaves me alone long enough for me to use the toilet, then helps me at the sink once I assure him I’m decent again. I don’t know why that matters. He literally already saw inside me when he sewed me up; there’s nothing left to hide, really.

When we’re back in the bedroom, he leaves for a few moments after I’m settled, only to come back with a cup of coffee and a plate.

“I’m not sure how you take it,” he says, setting the coffee on the nightstand and the plate on my lap.

“Black like my soul,” I mutter, staring down at the omelet in front of me. “You made this?”

“Well, Reggie sure didn’t.”

I laugh, then wince. I can feel Zay’s concerned gaze burning into me, but I don’t look at him. Instead, I pick up my fork and dig into the food.

Zay trades my plate for the mug and I sigh, drinking in the scent of the coffee before I even take a sip.

“So,” he says. “Want to tell me what happened?”

Bringing the mug to my lips, I take a long drink, ignoring the burning sensation of the still-hot liquid sliding down my throat.

“When my mother was nineteen,” I begin, “she emigrated to the States from Japan. She barely spoke English, but she was determined to get away from her too-strict parents. She managed to get a job cleaning offices and the like, one day, she filled in for someone who cleaned a police station.” I take a deep breath and another sip of coffee. “That’s where she met my father. He was older, a detective at the station, and one night, as she was working late, they got to talking. He managed to charm her off her feet, and they were married within six months.

“She thought she landed the American dream. Instead it was our worst nightmare. He kept the monster inside under lockdown until she told him about me. I don’t know if it was because he never wanted children and just conveniently left that part out during the wooing process, or if he got jealous of a yet-to-be born infant for taking up a lot of her time.”

Zay settles next to me on the bed, but I try hard not to focus on him, clutching my coffee like the lifeline it is. If I pretend he’s not here, then it’s like I’m not telling him this.

“Long story short, as I’m sure you can guess what happened once I was born, he turned into the big bad wolf, rather than the prince charming he pretended was. She died when I was nine. Everyone said it was a suicide, but I knew the truth.”

Zay sets his hand on my leg and I release a shaky breath. “Min…”

“No.” I shake my head. “I need to do this.”

“Okay,” he whispers, so low I barely hear it.

“I knew she didn’t kill herself. My mother was the strongest person I ever met. She believed in her dream of living free, and promised me we would, one day.” I swallow around the lump in my throat, letting the tears pooling behind my closed eyelids fall. “I told the police and doctors, and anyone who would listen, what happened. How he beat us for years, and how he always threatened to kill us if we tried to leave.

“They took it seriously—at first. I was put in a foster home for a while so they could try to piece together what happened. And then my foster father started abusing me.”

I open my eyes and look at Zay as understanding dawns in his eyes. “Steve Larson,” he says. “The guy you hid in the closet for.”

I nod. “He had a good reputation with Social Services, but I’m sure that I wasn’t the first. Anyway, my social worker wasn’t too impressed when I told her. I don’t know if you heard last year about the woman who had the ‘heart attack’ in a dressing room at the mall?”

“Jody… something or other, I heard about it because we have a contact at the county coroner’s office who ran her tox screen. There were a few anomalies that he recognized from doing some… mixes for us. He put out a few feelers, but nothing came back, so he ruled it as natural causes and we washed our hands of it all.”

“Yeah. She didn’t believe me, thought I was making it up. And if I did that, then I must have made up the whole ‘my father killed my mother’ thing. She died because she decided I was a liar, as there was no way two people with good standings could both abuse me.”

My coffee is gone, and I look mournfully into the empty mug. Zay’s hand squeezes my thigh and I look up at him, meeting his golden eyes once more. I don’t see pity—thankfully—in them, but sympathy, and maybe a little understanding.

“The other two men were the cops on the case, and they stopped their investigation without second thought. I’ve spent so many years angry at everything and everyone for allowing him to get away with what he did. Not only did he take my mother away, but he stole my childhood as well. The abuse stopped, but the training to be his perfect little soldier began as soon as he got me back—and beat me one last time for old time’s sake, of course.”

Reggie makes his way over to me and I scratch his head, smiling a little at the sound of him purring.

“I planned everything out and executed everything so perfectly. All the kills went off without a hitch… until I went after him.” My breath catches and I close my eyes once more, trying hard to shove my emotions to the side. “I’d gotten cocky, thought because he’s older now he’d be off his game and an easy target… That wasn’t the case, obviously.”

Zay is quiet for a long time after I finish speaking and I wonder if he thinks I’m as pathetic as I feel. When he finally speaks, his voice is gentle, though there’s a hardness to his tone that has me meeting his intense gaze. “Do you trust me?”

“I… Yeah, I do.” And I realize it must be true, after all, why else would I have told him my story?

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