Page 73 of Significant
He can’t reach me. This is my closure. It was never me. It was never my fault. Stephan can’t bear to see me happy while he is miserable and lonely. He has put me down—not because of me, but because he never believed in himself, so he exercised his control to tame me. To make him look bigger. Stronger. Happier. But alone, he can’t stand himself. He suffers from an inferiority complex. I was too good for him, all along.
“You can’t live with yourself,” I mumble under my breath, before shoving him away. “You’ll never have me, Stephan.”
He frowns his eyebrows, clearly unsatisfied with my freedom. I start walking away from him and from the past when he shoves me against the shelf. This time, brutally—and not caring if he hurts me. “I’ll have what you gave him, whore.” I feel his breath of alcohol next to my cheek as his eyes squint with deep hatred.
I try to kick him in his little manhood, but he turns my wrist violently, making me howl in pain as he shuts me off with his hand on my mouth. I hear only my heartbeat when Stephan forces my hand to stroke him on top of his pants. I’d never have believed he would do that publicly, and now I’m scared. I push him, try to kick him, to move away, but he tightens his grip on me, hurting me to bend to his desire. Flashbacks come back to my mind, and my blood runs of fear. I feel my head spinning. I feel so stupid. His strong hold on my wrist stops the circulation of my blood. I keep moving, but yet he stills controls me. Please. No. He tightens his other grip on my throat, making me gasp for air. Taking pleasure in choking me. I would never forgive myself. And Aaron? I would lose him, he’ll hate me. I can’t lose Aaron.
I see a blurry shadow grabbing Stephan’s shoulder and throwing him on the floor. I catch my breath, my vision is getting better, and I notice Louis standing over Stephan on the ground. He must have followed us here.
“Are you okay, Elle?” he asks concerned, his fist ready to hits Stephan. I nod a yes, I can’t let Aaron know what almost happened. Louis’ gaze shifts to Stephan before grabbing him by his collar. “If I see you near us again, me and my men will kick the shit out of you until you have no teeth. Understood, asshole?” He pushes him toward the door, and Stephan runs like a coward into the hallway. Hurting a woman—that he could do, but having the balls to hurt a man was out of question.
I sit on the desk behind me, trying to regain my spirit, my heartbeat slowing, my nerves still wrecking. I was stupid facing Stephan alone. And now, I’m terrified. I’m terrified to see him again and to never be able to speak the truth about him. I feel ashamed. Vulnerable. What would have happened if Louis didn’t arrive? Today, Stephan took a step he never did, and now I’m not feeling safe anymore. My body is trembling when I feel Louis’ hand on my knee as he sits next to me.
“Elle? What happened?” His eyes glance over me with worry.
“Nothing. Don’t tell Aaron, please,” I plead, trying to ignore the tears of my weakness devouring me inside. If Aaron knew, he would cause damages that I’m not ready to face. A truth I’m not ready to reveal after what happened.
Louis nods. “I won’t. But if he learns what this jerk was about to do, you know that he won’t forgive you for keeping this secret from him?”
“I know, but I don’t want him to get into trouble. Stephan isn’t worth Aaron’s future.” I don’t know if I can trust Louis, but I have no other choice. “Why did you help me? You hate me.” I readjust my dress and pull my hair free.
“I don’t hate you.” I arch my eyebrow, as he sighs. “I told you, I’m not a jerk.”
“Not a jerk to help me out with a dickhead, but a jerk to publish compromising pictures of Monica,” I murmur, not daring to meet his eyes.
“Would you believe me if I told you I never published those pictures?”
I stare at him, my eyes wildly open. His emerald gaze is dark, his face serious. “Why should I trust you?”
“You shouldn’t, but I’m telling the truth,” he adds dolefully. “Since I’m holding one of your secrets, you’ll hold one of mine. You can never tell Monica, promise?”
I nod, the seriousness of his tone almost frightening me. He takes a long breath before speaking like a patient does with a therapist. “I was hammered on the track. Monica had lost her fiancé, and we already fucked. I saw her and Aaron, who was my best friend at that time, looking quite close, hugging each other.”
He snorts before staring at the wall in front of him, as if he were reliving an event. “I got freaking jealous. And then, Monica said she loved Aaron. I lost it and broke up with her. I now know they love each other as brother and sister, but back then, I was already tense because of my rivalry with him. That was too much for me.”
For some reason, I believe Louis’ words. I understand how destructive jealousy can be.
“Anyway, I was at a bar that night, and I got drunk watching her pictures. I passed out and lost my phone.” He swallows. “When I woke up, I was back at my parent’s place, and my mother had found my phone.” He gives me a repulsive smile, glancing at me for a few seconds—just long enough for me to notice the broken expression on his face and his wet eyes. He drifts away immediately, and my heart starts to feel for him, replacing the pieces together.
“Did your mother share the pictures?”
“Yeah, she did. My parents didn’t appreciate I was losing my time over a girl while I should focus on racing. They hated Aaron, and the fact he stole my spot.” He smolders with resentment as his fingers clutch the edge of the desk.
“But she’s your mother. She knew you’d be in trouble for that?” A dazed look on my face, I wonder how we could all have fucked up parents.
“If it’d mean that I finished first, she didn’t care.” He struggles to continue. “Anyway, when I knew what she had done, I erased the pictures from the group, but it was too late. All the drivers had seen it, saved it, and Monica’s reputation was already destroyed. The same day, Aaron’s fist hit my face.” He shakes his head. “The worst in that, is that in our world, fucking and recording the women we’ve fucked, or even sharing them, are a recurring thing,” he says, staring at the floor as an expression of disgust appears on my face.
“Why didn’t you say the truth then? It doesn’t make sense.”
His stare meets mine, his mouth shaking, hesitating to tell me something. “For the same reason you don’t want to tell Aaron about that jerk.”
Shame. Guilt. Afraid to hurt the person you—
“I fell in love with Monica. I still am.” He tries to hold a smile, his lips close, before playing nervously with the end of his suit. “I knew she would hate me at some point. I never deserved her, so it was easier for her to hate me than breaking her heart later on.”
My mouth hangs open, witnessing cocky Louis Harmil tearing himself apart, capable of loving another human being more than himself. His story is the truth. I remember his jealousy when I first met Monica in the lobby with Aaron. The way he stared at her like a ghost later that day. At the Prize Giving Ceremony, the fight he had with his mother.
“Why did you tell me the truth?”
