Page 74 of The Destruction You Desire
But I need to remember this isn't now. This was about six years ago. Libby was young, impressionable, and as Luca put it earlier, had daddy issues. I guess I shouldn't be all that surprised really.
She remembers our dad. She was just old enough when he decided to bail on us and Mom to remember him walking away. I, however, have no clue about the sperm donor who helped make me, and quite frankly, I'm happy for it to stay that way. It hurt Libby though. Believing that she wasn't good enough to make him stick around.
Ultimately, it was what all her issues as a teenager lead back to. And it's no different here.
I read through pages and pages of her former life. She was popular and had a lot of friends and I can't help smiling as I read through a happier time in her life, that is until every time I see his name mentioned.
He happened to be at Aces. At the beach. At football practice. At the store. At our goddamn house.
It's all too much, too forced but she didn't see any of it.
"Argh," I cry out in frustration, wishing that I could go back in time and warn her, show her exactly what he was doing to her, prove that he was grooming her and that really, he only wanted one thing.
I stop, slamming the book shut before anything actually happens, knowing that I'm not going to be able to handle it today. Just knowing that he was following her around town was bad enough, let alone him… I gag at the thought.
Holding the book against my stomach, I walk back to her room.
The nurses are long gone, the sun is setting outside but most noticeable is the fact that Luca isn't back and there is no sign of him.
"Shit." Digging my cell out of my purse, I hit call.
I knew he was in a bad place when he walked out. Maybe I should have stopped him.
17
Luca
By the time I walk back into Libby's room, the sun has long set and the hallways of the hospital are deserted.
I didn't intend on disappearing for most of the afternoon and evening. But seeing that image of my father with his arm around Libby, him staring down at her like she's the most precious thing in the world made my need to run unignorable. She was something precious, a fucking child. So what if she was only a few weeks short of eighteen. He was a grown-ass married man with kids. He should have been nowhere near her, let alone in a fucking hotel room or where that photo was taken.
Despite the hours that have passed, and the fact that I thought I'd managed to somewhat calm down, my fists curl once again as I think of that photograph.
The wounds on my knuckles from earlier this afternoon split open once more but I don't bother looking down to inspect them, I already know they're fucked. But the pain felt too good, too soothing. It gave me something to focus on other than my anger.
If Coach knew how much action my hands were getting right now that didn't involve catching or throwing a ball, he'd have my fucking ass. Fucking up my hands is a surefire way to have the decision I'm battling with about my future made for me.
Ignoring the sting, I push the door open, ready for Peyton to rip me a new one for my disappearing act, only when I do step into the dark room, no one so much as moves.
I find her curled up on the chair using the hoodie I left behind as a pillow.
She looks incredibly uncomfortable, and as much as I might want her to rest, I know she can't do it like that.
Dropping to my knees before her, I place my hand on her thigh.
"Peyton," I whisper.
She startles at my voice, her eyes flying open and finding mine.
"Where have you been?" she asks, that pissed off tone I was expecting in her voice.
"Cooling off. I'm sorry I bailed for so long."
She uncurls herself and sits up, stretching out the kink in her neck.
"It's okay. I get it." Her eyes drop to my hand on her thigh. "Shit, Luc," she gasps, picking it up and inspecting the damage.
"It's nothing."
