Page 118 of Releasing 10
“And win stupid prizes,” Hugh finished for me, still chuckling as he entwined his fingers with mine. “Yeah, well, I reckon Brian will think twice before he takes you on again.”
“As he should,” I laughed. “Did he get you?”
“Nah.” Hugh smiled at me. “I’m too fast.”
“You mean you’re too clever to go anywhere near him.”
“That, too,” Hugh replied, sighing in amusement before his smile quickly morphed into a frown. “Oh shit.” Untangling our joined hands, Hugh turned my hand over and stared at my wrist. His eyes darkened when he trailed his finger over the recently scabbed-over jagged line. “Did Brian get you again?” His concerned, brown eyes flicked to mine. “Is that why you left the party?”
No. “Yeah.” Repressing a shiver, I slid my hand from his and pushed my sleeve down. Pulling myself into a sitting position, I clasped my hands together and shrugged. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, Liz,” he replied, turning his body to face me. He had a smile on his face, but his eyes still held the world of concern in them. “Do you want my mam to have a look at that scratch? It looks fairly deep.”
“Nah, I’ll be grand.” Anxious, I reached up and tucked my hair behind my ears. “I can’t even feel it.”
Hugh stared at me for a long time before recapturing my hand in his. “What’s wrong?”
“What do you mean?”
“You look scared.” His eyes searched mine. “You’re not telling me something.”
“I’m fine.” Smiling, I forced a laugh, but it was a weak attempt. “Honestly, I’m grand, Hugh.”
He didn’t look convinced. “Talk to me.”
I couldn’t.
Oh God, I wanted to.
But I justcouldn’t.
“Did one of the lads say something to you?” he asked then, shoulders tensing. “At the party? Was someone being a dick?”
“No.”
“Then why do you look like you’re two seconds away from crying?”
“I don’t.” Tears filled my eyes. “I’m not.”
“Liz, come on.” He gave me a disbelieving look. “It’sme.”
“I’m just…” Shaking my head, I blew out a pained breath before muttering, “It doesn’t matter.”
“If something is upsetting you, then it matters,” he replied, keeping his whiskey-brown eyes locked on mine. “It matters alotto me.”
“I…” I opened my mouth to answer him but all that came out was a shaky breath, because what could I tell him?
That I was plagued by the monsters my own imagination had conjured up to terrorize me?
That I was tormented by sickening images and horrendous thoughts that made me want to die?
Or how about telling him that I was filthy, impure, and defective?
Which one was I supposed to tell him about?
Which sin would be the one that drove him away?
“I’m just having a bad day,” I finally settled on.
