Page 152 of Give In

I made a frustrated growl. “I’m trying to tell you why.”

“No, you’re trying to give me bullshit, preplanned lines. Why the hell do you think this is over?”

“I’m—”

“Why?”

“Because I’m fucked-up!” I yelled, chucking the wine glass at the wall. It shattered, the tiny shards flying out like beautifully painful pieces of glitter.

His brows lowered, his concerned gaze darting from the glass to me. “Okay, angel. We’ll talk tomorrow after you sleep this off.”

“I’m not drunk. Well, a little. But I’m fucked-up. And if you’re waiting for me to not be, you’ll be waiting forever, because I’ll always be fucked-up. I accused you of being how you are for some bullshit reason, but it’s me. I’m weak!” I sobbed, whispering, “I’m weak.”

Damien tried to pull me into his arms, but I shook him off.

“What bullshit did they fill your head with?” he whispered.

He knows.

Of course he knows, he always does.

“Nothing,” I lied. “This is about me. Us.”

I tried to get down, but Damien gripped my hips, holding me in place.

When I looked up to demand he let me go, he wasn’t Damien.

He was Professor Caine.

“Tell me,” he ordered.

Opening my mouth, I wanted to lie, but instead blurted, “I was just so damn lonely.”

That time when I looked to the side, it wasn’t so he wouldn’t see my lies. It was so I didn’t have to see his reaction to my truths.

I fidgeted with the hem of his tee that I wore. “I’m being dramatic. My childhood wasn’t bad. Not compared to what a lot of people go through. We lived in a big house with help. There were always parties and dinners and all that. And every Sunday, there we sat, Noah, Ruth, and Eden in the front pew at church. It didn’t matter that my mom snuck in her own version of holy water or that my dad would close every business in town to save himself a nickel, people thought we were the perfect American family.”

Damien didn’t speak, just reached out to rub my cheek.

Leaning into his touch, I let myself soak in the warmth of physical contact while I could. “It was all an act. My dad ignored my mom and me unless he had an event to parade us around at. My mom drank and pretended she didn’t know my dad was sleeping with any woman who moved. We didn’t spend time together. No affection or emotions. They didn’t evenfight.” My shoulders bunched as I remembered the oppressive tension that’d filled the house.

I glanced up at Damien to see his eyes widen and his brows raise. The look was gone just as fast.

“What were you thinking?” I asked.

“Nothing, angel.” He massaged my shoulders, and though I knew I should move away, I couldn’t force myself to. “That sounds like hell.”

“I ran away when I was fifteen, but it was impulsive and poorly planned. It took the cops all of three hours to find me. Three hours freedom for three more years of coldness, only that time it was so much worse because my,” I raised my fingers to do quotes, “‘stunt’ cost me what little freedom I’d had. They controlled everything I did, what I said, who I spent time with. Up until recently, they were still controlling where I lived and what I did, even if it was indirectly because I was trying to stay away from them. Wanna hear something sad?”

He nodded, though he stayed silent. I could’ve kissed him for his patience and the way he let me get it all out rather than trying to fix anything, but since I was ending it, there’d be no kissing.

“When girls my age were daydreaming about boys and dances, I used to imagine beating him in an election. Then I decided I liked the behind the scenes stuff better than having to always pretend I was perfect, so I used to think about my dad being busted for corruption while I helped a new, honest governor get elected. I wanted to prove to him that I was better.”

“Youarebetter. Infinitely better than them both.”

Even I could hear the fierceness in my voice when I said, “But I wanted to prove it. So, I planned. Meticulously. Patiently. I applied for colleges I wanted to attend using my best friend’s address and my own for the ones I had no interest in. When she slipped me the large envelope with the postage mark from Boston, I knew it was where I wanted to be.”

Where I was meant to be.

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