Page 239 of Sins of the Hidden

The scars have puckered into lines that would forever alter her smile's shape. My mother's final cruelty. Even Oakley's joy carried pain's mark now.

I touched her mouth's corner gently, tracing the raised line with my thumb. She didn't flinch this time.

"What do you feel?" I asked, taking her left hand in mine, our matching wounds aligning.

Her eyes widened when she noticed my bandaged hand. Reality of her own mutilation hit completely—not vague awareness something was wrong, but concrete visual evidence of what was stolen. Then her gaze found my hand, the freshly cauterized stump where my ring finger had been. Understanding dawned, followed by horror that cracked her voice.

"Why?" Tears welled and spilled over, tracking paths down her bruised cheeks. "Why would you do that to yourself?"

"Because you shouldn't have to be broken alone."

"You," she whispered, voice breaking completely. "I only feel you."

Those four words carved something open inside me that I didn't know existed. Something locked away since birth, buried under years of violence and emptiness. I'd always been hollow—emptied by CIPA, by Mother’s neglect, by brutality that shaped me. But Oakley's simple statement created space where only absence lived.

With careful movements, mindful of the tubes and wires keeping her alive, I shifted us both until she fit perfectly against my chest. Her small frame curved into mine like she was designed to rest there. Like even broken, we still aligned.

"They took it," she murmured against my skin, breath warm and uneven against my throat. "They took my finger. The ring..." Fresh tears soaked through my shirt as horror settled over her. "I can't—how will I work? How will I hold things properly? How will I?—"

"You'll adapt," I said, voice rough with certainty. "You're stronger than you know. Smarter than they gave you credit for."

"But Sweet Summer's—my dream—" A sob cut her off, the sound gutting me more effectively than any blade.

I pressed my lips to her temple, tasting salt and fear. "Your dream doesn't die because they took a piece of you."

She pulled back just enough to study my hand, fresh warmth seeping through gauze. "You didn't have to do this. You didn't have to hurt yourself for me."

"Yes, I did." The words emerged harsher than intended. "If the world wants to mark you, it marks me too. If you have to learn to live with pieces missing, so do I."

She stared at our joined hands, at the symmetry of our wounds. "You're insane."

"Probably." I wiped her tears away with my thumb, careful of bruises painting her skin. "But I'm yours."

No greater truth had ever passed my lips. I was not capable of normal emotion, normal love, normal humanity. But I was hers—devoted to her with the same focus that made me deadly to everyone else. She was the only light in a world I'd painted dark.

She collapsed against me then, sobs wracking her body like physical blows. Her fingers clutched my shirt, my arms, anything within reach—reassuring herself I was real, that she was safe, that someone came for her when it mattered.

"I killed him," she confessed into the darkness, voice muffled against my chest. "I beat him until he stopped moving. Until his skull cracked open. There was so much..." A violent shudder ran through her entire body. "It got in my mouth. In my hair. Under my fingernails. I can still taste it."

Her whole body convulsed. She scratched at her scalp like she could claw it out, like memory was something she could shed if she tore hard enough.

My arms tightened around her protectively. The act contradicted everything she was, everything she believed about herself and the world.

"You protected Callista," I reminded her, stroking her hair with careful fingers. "You did what you had to do."

"I'm d-disgusting," Her voice cracked, I could barely understand her. "I'm d-dirty now.”

“You fucking surived.” For me. For us.

"I-I've never hurt a-anyone before," she said, voice small and fractured. "I n-never wanted t-to. I never thought I–"

She broke down, heavy sobs racking her body as I continued the gentle strokes through her tangled hair. "I know."

We fell into silence, our breathing gradually synchronizing as her sobs faded to occasional hiccups. Outside the window, rain began to fall, drumming against glass in steady patterns that counterpointed the quieter beeping of the monitors.

"I-I knew…." Her voice dropped to barely audible. "I-I knew you were coming for m-me."

My fingers continued their comforting trail. "I’ll always find my way back home.”

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