Page 93 of Shattered Veil
“My father...” I start, then stop. Take a breath.“He wasn’t exactly the nurturing type.”
Brigid waits, patient. Her hand finds mine, fingers intertwining. The touch grounds me.
“I was six the first time he locked me in the dark room. Said I needed to learn to embrace the shadows, to become one with them.” I clench my jaw, remembering.“I screamed for hours. Begged to be let out. But he just left me there.”
“Marius,” Brigid whispers.“That’s awful.”
I shrug, aiming for nonchalance.“It worked. After a while, I stopped being afraid. The darkness became my friend, my ally.”
“How long did he keep you in there?”
“Three days that first time. Longer, as I got older.” I meet her gaze.“By the time I was ten, I could spend weeks in total darkness without losing my mind.”
Brigid’s grip on my hand tightens.“That’s messed up, Marius. No child should have to go through that.”
I shrug, uncomfortable with her sympathy.“It made me stronger. Taught me to rely on myself, and no one else.”
“Still,” she says softly.“You were just a kid.”
Something in her tone causes me physical pain. I pull away, putting distance between us.
Brigid steps closer, her eyes searching mine.“Is that why you push everyone away? Because you learned you could only count on yourself?”
“Don’t psychoanalyze me, little bird,” I tell her.“You don’t know shit about me.”
“I know more than you think,” she says quietly.“I see the pain you try to hide.”
I bare my teeth in a feral grin.“You think you’ve got me all figured out? Think again, sweetheart. I’m not some wounded puppy for you to save, like Rory.”
Brigid flinches at my harsh words, but doesn’t back down.“I’m not trying to save you, Marius. I’m just trying to understand you.”
“Yeah, well, good luck with that. I don’t even understand myself half the time.”
We stand in tense silence for a moment. I can feel Brigid’s eyes on me, but I refuse to meet her gaze.
Finally, she speaks.“Thank you for telling me about your father. I know that couldn’t have been easy.”
I shrug noncommittally.
“My adoptive parents died when I was very young,” she continues softly.“And I never knew my birth parents. I don’t really remember them. Sometimes I wonder if that’s better or worse than having shitty parents.”
Despite myself, I turn to look at her. There’s a vulnerability in her eyes that makes my heart pang.
“At least you had parents,” she says with a sad smile.“Even if they were assholes.”
I snort.“Trust me, you’re better off without mine.” It’s time to end this conversation and steer it away from the tragic fucking topic of my past. I move in until our faces are inches apart.“You want to get to know me better, Brigid? You already know what I want.”
I expect her to back away. But she surprises me, meeting my gaze without flinching.
“I know you want power,” she says softly.“Control. To never feel helpless again.”
“Is that right? And how do you know this, exactly?” My head is leaning down to hers, so close that our lips are almost touching.
“Because it’s what I want too.” She pushes herself up on her tiptoes and her mouth presses against mine.
My eyes widen in surprise.
Her lips are soft against mine, tentative at first. But as I respond, sliding my hand into her hair, she grows bolder. Her tongue traces my lower lip and I growl, deepening the kiss.
