Page 117 of Crossed
Heaviness fills up my chest as I take in the marred skin on his back. This is…yearsof markings. Raised and uneven flesh that plays out like a script on his skin. I shake my head slightly, wondering what in the world happened and why so many of them look so fresh. I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes, so instead I lean in, and I press my lips to one of the scars.
He stiffens.
I don’t let it stop me, moving from one to the next, avoiding the ones that are freshly scabbed over. He doesn’t encourage the act, but he doesn’t move away either, and I take that as a win. After I’m done, I let the sheet drop from my waist and stand up from the bed, moving around until I’m staring up into his eyes.
“How?”
His nostrils flare, his eyes dark with a heavy emotion. “It’s the only way I know. I’m a bad man, Amaya. A sinner. This is my atonement.”
Breathing out slowly, I nod, trying to school my expression. Somehow, I had a feeling that was what he’d say, and it makes me so incredibly sad to think that he hurts himself to try and feel worthy of God.
I step into him and pull him into a hug, resting my head against his chest and closing my eyes, listening to every beat of his heart, letting it calm me. His arms close around my waist, gripping tightly.
“You said you’d never hurt me,” I murmur into his skin.
“Neveragain.”
“Every time you hurt yourself, you hurtmetoo,” I whisper. “Please stop hurting me.”
He doesn’t speak, but I feel him nod against the top of my head, and a single tear escapes as I press a kiss to his pec, hating that I’ll have to love him and leave.
But I don’t know how to be any other way.
The next morning, Parker calls me into his home office. I’m already awake and ready for the day because Dalia’s supposed to swing by with Quinten in the next couple of hours, and I want to try and convince her to stick around and hang for a bit since Parker said we weren’t going to Mass.
“What’s this?” I ask when I walk into the room and see him push a piece of paper across the desk.
“This”— he taps it with his finger—“is our marriage license. I’d like you to sign it, please.”
I shift on my feet, nausea tossing my stomach. “Oh, can’t we wait until right before the ceremony?”
Parker chuckles and walks around the desk, his stature aggressive and dominating. I take a step back, but he’s there before I can get away, gripping me by the front of my throat and squeezing until he cuts off my airway.
My hands fly up to his wrists, trying to dig into his skin to pry him off because I can’tfucking breathe, but he only grips tighter.
Panic makes my ears ring and my heart falter as I go from trying to scratch at his skin to holding on to his wrists, hoping he decides to let me live.
He drags me in close, his nose bumping against mine, and my head is dizzy, my lungs burning with the need for air. “You must think I’m as stupid as your little brother,” he spits.
My stomach drops to the ground, and I try to shake my head and stomp on his feet,somethingto get him off me, but he’s too strong and I’m already growing too faint from the lack of oxygen to do any lasting damage.
Genuine fear starts to creep into my system, worried he’s going to kill me.
“Do you really believe I haven’t known every step you’ve made since you and your whore mother stepped foot into my town?” he continues, a sick smile spreading across his face. “I am thegodof this city, and you should be fucking honored I decided to let you be mine. Yet you mock me. Sneak around like a filthy littleslut, and you think I wouldn’t know? I have eyes and ears everywhere, sweet girl. Even in Coddington Heights.”
My eyelids flutter as I try to stay conscious, my stomach surging into my chest and then back down, every organ in my body going haywire as it struggles to find breath.
I knew having Barney drive me to that studio was a mistake.
His hand drops and I fall to my knees, my fingers grasping at my sore throat as tears pour from my eyes and I suck in painful heaps of air.
“You’ll sign it, Amaya,” Parker says as he stands over me. “Because I don’t like to lose. Because you belong tome.” He crouches down next to me, brushing the hair from my face.
My body trembles from his touch, and I wish to God that I had the strength to do anything other than cower in the corner while he slings his hateful words.
“If you don’t, I’ll go to the church, and I’ll find that blasphemous priest and string him up in front of you while I cut off his cock and make him choke on it.”
My neck throbs so intensely I know bruises are already forming, but I nod, desperate to agree, to doanythingso he’ll leave me alone. He straightens but doesn’t back away. “Stand up,” he demands, kicking me in the thigh.
