Page 47 of Backstroke

“My father has always made sure I knew it was my fault and that he’d rather have her on this earth than me,” he murmurs, his expression pained.

“Apparently she was the love of his life and I fucked it up by being born,” he shrugs. I know my family was messed up but fuck, that’s on a whole new level. No wonder he hates him so much.

“You know that’s not your fault, right? He shouldn’t be treating you like you have anything to do with that because you don’t.”

“It is what it is. I’ve learned to deal with it.”

“I know but—“

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore, Fallon,” he snaps, making me flinch out of his grasp.

“Let’s finish up. You’re staying here tonight,” he says more calmly, and I know it’s not up for discussion. For once, I don’t have it in me to fight him, but I still have one more question that’s been in the back of my mind since Rowyn mentioned it. I open my mouth, but the words don’t come. Maybe I don’t want the answer. As it stands, I feel special, but what if he really does kiss other girls. Then I’m just like the rest.

“Spit it out, Fallon. I know you have more you want to say..”

“I heard that you don’t kiss girls but you’ve kissed m–” He presses his soapy finger to my mouth.

“It’s true. You were my first,” he answers.

“I-what?”

“I never wanted to be that close with someone. I never had the desire, until you,” he murmurs, brushing the hair from my face.

“I don’t know what to say to that,” I admit.

“You’re different, Fallon, and I crave you.” I bite down on my lip as I consider his words.

“Keep doing that and I’ll press you up against this shower,” he warns.

“Maybe that doesn’t sound so bad,” I tease. His nostrils flare as his hands circle my waist, pressing me against the cool glass wall. I gasp from the chill soaking into my fevered skin. Remy’s fingers lightly dance over my cheek, then he pulls my chin out for our mouths to meet. It’s soft and unhurried, but oddly holding even more passion than before. His lips are soft and warm and his tongue tastes like me and spearmint gum. It’s a heady combination. He pulls back then kisses my forehead and I think I melt into a puddle on the shower floor.

Remy grabs a washcloth and squirts it with his soap. “So you’ll smell like me,” he laughs, and starts running his hands over my body. He spends extra time on my breasts, but when I see him smirking, I know he’s doing it on purpose. His hands begin to go lower and I freeze. I don’t want him to see the scar on my stomach. It’s hideous, but more than that, I don’t want the questions that will come. I try to turn away, but his grasp on me remains firm.

“I–” but the words drift away when I see where he’s looking. A pit in my stomach forms, forcing me to look away from his piercing blue eyes. His gaze is too intense for me to bear.

Remy’s hand pauses just above my scar, his fingers trembling slightly. “Fallon,” he says softly but his voice is laced with anger. “What happened?”

I swallow hard, my throat tight with emotion. “It’s nothing,” I whisper, trying to pull away, but his grip remains firm. I can feel his control slipping.

“Who did this to you?” he demands. My body tenses as I try to pull myself from his hold, but he’s not going to let me get anywhere without answers. Tears slide down my cheeks.

“Why do you even care? Because someone hurt me other than you?” I stammer. I don’t mean the words and I can see the hurt flash in his eyes.

His hand grips my chin, forcing me to look into his eyes. They’ve turned molten with anger. I can feel it radiating off of him.

“I’ll only ask you one more time, Fallon. Who. Did. This. To. You?” His fingers press painfully into my jaw. Memories of that night haunt me already, and he’s forcing me to relive it.

“My fucking father,” I seethe. “Happy now? You got your fucking answer now leave me the fuck alone. Don’t you dare act like you care!” I cry out. The tears are falling heavy now, but not from sadness-from anger. I was wrong. I do hate Remington Frampton. I hate that we are forever connected because of our parents. But what I hate most of all, is the hate I feel towards him seems to be slipping into something else entirely. Something obscure, ominous even, yet addicting. Remy’s stormy expression moves from my stomach to my face.

“What did he do?” He presses me back into the shower wall, the cool tiles against my back send shivers through me. The words get caught in my throat.Do I even want to reveal those secrets?

His eyes bore into mine, filled with a mix of anger and concern. “Fallon,” he warns.

“He was attacking my mom. The screams are what woke me…” My mind drifts back to that scene. I remember the blood. It was everywhere. He had her on the ground, clutching her hair in his fist and the knife in the other.

Remy’s grip on my shoulders tightens, his face a mask of fury and pain. “What did he do?” he asks, his voice barely controlled.

“I tried to stop him,” I murmur, my voice shaking. “I grabbed the nearest thing I could find—a knife—and cut him with it. He turned on me, and that’s when I got this.” I gesture to the scaron my stomach, the memory of the knife slicing through my skin still vivid.

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