Unraveled (8 page)

“Okay...why?”

“Did Cole
approach you?”

Ah. “Nope.
He's currently mad over the kiss you and I shared, so he's ignoring
me.”           

Noah goes
still. “Wait a minute. Is that why he went off on you here the other day? You
told him we kissed?”

“He saw the
way you looked at me the day he was here after Blake's death. He didn't like it
and got suspicious. I think it's a bad idea to admit we almost slept together,
so I told him about the kiss because he wasn't going to give up on the
subject.”

Noah's hands
drop and he rubs his bruised jaw warily. “Let's not let that information get
out. He's bad news and I'd hate to see how he would react.”

“You and me
both.”

“Why did you
begin cutting, Blayre?” Noah asks softly, switching the topic.

My entire
body stiffens up and then I sigh and force myself to relax. This was part of
the deal. I tell Noah the truth so that Tate doesn't learn all the shit I've
gotten myself into. “You know how my parents died, right?” I ask warily.

“Yes, Tate
filled me in a long time ago when he told me about his background with your
aunt and uncle.”

I nod.
“Well...” I bite my lip and look at Noah nervously. “You have to promise me
that this will stay between you and me. You
can't
tell Tate under any
kind of circumstances.”

Noah frowns.
“I can't promise that, Blayre.”

“Then this
conversation is over,” I say firmly.

“Blayre...”

“I mean it,
Noah. If Tate finds out what I tell you, it'll kill him.”

He stares
long and hard at me and then his expression tightens. “I'm trying to pick and
choose my battles with you at this point or I risk losing you completely but I
can't make blind promises.”

“Okay.” I'm
relieved in a way that I am being saved from baring my soul and sharing the
very things that have haunted my nightmares. I rise to my feet to leave.

“Sit down,”
Noah says flatly.

My eyes
widen at his tone as I freeze where I stand.

Going by his
expression, he is conflicted and finally he shakes his head. “Alright. I
promise,” he says reluctantly.

Slowly, I
sit back down and give him a look. “You break this promise Noah, and I'll never
forgive you. You are the first person I've ever had faith in or trusted and if
you go back on your word...”

It would
shatter me.

His eyes
meet mine. “I promise, Blayre.”

My eyes
search his and I find what I'm looking for because I believe him. “Okay. My
aunt and uncle are really religious, which you are aware of right?”

“Yes.”    

“According
to them, I am possessed by a demon and I deliberately set that fire with the
intent to kill my parents,” I say in a flat rush as I cross my arms over my
chest, anxious to get this conversation over with now that it's began.

Noah stares
at me for a long moment as my words finally begin to sink into his
consciousness. I swear he loses some color in his face. “They said that to
you?”

I laugh
bitterly and reach a hand up, rubbing my temple as I meet his gaze. “They said
it to me daily once Tate left. They always treated me differently than him, but
when Tate was around, they acted like they loved me as much as they loved him
but I always knew better. It started after Tate graduated and moved away.”

“What
started?” he asks softly, his eyes focused intently on my lips.

“The abuse.”

Noah's lips
part and he blinks before his eyes jerk to mine briefly. “Abuse? Physical abuse
or are you talking emotional?”

“Both.”

His eyes
shut briefly and I see that he's struggling with what I am telling him.
Finally, his eyes open and his dark eyes are grim. “Go on. Please.”

“At first it
was the emotional stuff. I wasn't worthy of God's grace and all that shit. They
told me I was a bad person and was undeserving of love and forgiveness. You
know how preteens are, they get mouthy and I was thirteen at the time when it
started. I mouthed back and instead of seeing a preteen girl, they saw a demon
possessing a girl. They started to punish me at that point to get their point
across. I wasn't allowed to do anything after school and it was my duty to do
all the chores in the house.” 

My eyes
shift from his face when I see how pale his face has become. He can still read
my lips but I can't look at him anymore. “I wasn't allowed to eat unless I was
finished with my chores and there were a lot of times I lost out on meals. If I
mouthed off or did something wrong, they would physically hurt me.”

“How?” I
hear Noah ask hoarsely.

“Steve liked
using his belt and fists. I still have a few faint scars on my back from when
he came at me too hard with the belt. Julie was a slapper or she'd grab
something and hit me with it.” I feel sick and hollow sharing all this with him
and I finally fall silent, staring down at my hands. I just want to disappear.
These are things I've never said out loud before. Voicing them and admitting my
shame to Noah is harder than I could have ever imagined it to be.

“Didn't
anyone ever figure out what they were doing?” Noah asks incredulously.

Reluctantly,
I meet his dark and brooding gaze. “No. They always hit me where it wouldn't be
seen. I tried to tell someone once...the school counselor but she didn't
believe me. My aunt and uncle were really religious and everyone considered
them freaks, but no one could evidently believe that they would deliberately
physically abuse a child.”

“Why didn't
you go to Tate? He would have gotten you out of there in a heartbeat.”

“Honestly, I
don't know. I just lived with it and then I got used to it.”

“Like you
got used to Cole abusing you,” Noah says with dawning realization. “For God's
sake, you don't have a clue what a normal relationship is like, do you? All you
know is pain, abuse and neglect.”

I flinch at
his words.

“Shit. I'm
sorry, Blayre. I'm just—things are starting to make sense now. I'm sorry if I
sound like a complete ass, but...
damn
.”

I hate that
he knows these things about me but I force myself to continue with the
conversation. “Now do you see why Tate can't know?”

“It would
kill him, you're right,” he agrees. “All this time he thought he was doing
what's best for you and if he...” His voice trails off and he draws in a deep
breath before exhaling slowly. “Someday he needs to know these things but for
now, I won't say a word to him about it.”

“Thank you.”

His eyes
search mine intently. “They are why you cut, isn't it? Is it punishment,
Blayre?”

“It's...I
don't know how to explain it,” I say softly as my wary eyes bounce away from
his probing gaze.

“Then do the
best you can. I need to know.”

“Why? Why
does it even matter?” I ask as I look at him again.

“Because you
matter.”

There it is
again, that odd feeling of excitement that he cares and then guilt mixes with
it, tainting what I feel because I know he shouldn't feel that way towards me.
I slide further back in my chair, wishing I could retreat into the house.
Instead, I lift my hands and rub my face warily as I try to ignore what he just
said.

“You don't
like that I care about you, do you? You always get this weird look in your
eyes, like you're about to panic or bolt.”

My hands
drop as my eyes lift to his. “I'm messed up, Noah. I admit it. I'm twisted up
in so many ways inside. You don't want to care about someone like me.”

A muscle ticks
in his jaw. “Is this coming from you or are these your aunt and uncle's words?”

“Mine.”

“You have a
lot going on right now, Blayre. I believe your emotions are a mess and I
believe you're confused about what you want because you've been brainwashed to
some extent when it comes to what you feel and how you see yourself. I think
with time, things will start making sense and you'll come to understand
yourself a little better.”

My eyes drop
to my hands again.

“And they
are
wrong
. No one is ever beyond forgiveness or love. You deserve it
just as much as the next person.”

I can't say
anything and my lips clamp tightly together. It's weird hearing him say these
things to me but in reality they don't really touch me emotionally like they
should. They just bounce off an imaginary brick wall because I still don't
believe I am worthy of anything he has to offer me.

“Will you
tell me why you cut yourself?” Noah asks, his tone now deliberately light.

“It's
complicating,” I say slowly and I make sure he can see my lips, but my eyes
refuse to meet his. “The only time I ever felt any real emotion with my aunt
and uncle was when they hurt me. Extreme emotion blended with pain, and when I
am overly emotional to where I can't...handle the emotions, I feel the need to
cut. It makes me feel better,” I say awkwardly and I secretly wonder if what I
do disgusts him. I've never seen an ounce of disgust or judgment on his face or
in his eyes, but that didn't mean he doesn't feel it.

“Do you see
it as a way of punishing yourself?”

For a long
minute I don't say anything as I struggle with his question. Truthfully, this
is something that I've known all along, though I've never ever come right out
and admitted it to myself. There was a part of me that felt I deserved the pain
as payment for my parents’ deaths.

“Yes,” I
whisper as I stare moodily at the table, refusing to look at him.

Noah is
silent for so long that I dare to meet his gaze and I am horrified to find that
his brown eyes are filled with unshed tears as he gazes at me.

This is what
I've feared all along. Seeing his horror and pity when he looks at me. The last
thing I want to be is the pathetic girl he feels sorry for.

I bolt from
the table and rush inside, well aware that Noah is coming after me. I take the
stairs two at a time because I can hear his heavy footsteps behind me and they
have me racing down the hall towards my bedroom. I'm just inside the door and
trying to slam it shut when Noah catches up, his broad shoulder getting in the
way as he grabs my arms, forcing me to face him.

Angry tears
fill my eyes as I look up at him accusingly. “I don't want your pity!”

“It's not
pity, Blayre. It's called caring for someone and feeling their pain as your
own,” he says, his voice raw with emotion. “You are the strongest person I
know, there is no pity when I look at you.”

I recoil in
his arms. “That's bull!”

His grip is
firm on my upper arms and he refuses to let me go. “You have been through years
of hell and here you stand, your head held high. Every day has got to be a
damned struggle for you and yet you do it. That's strength, Blayre. Strength I
admire.”

I shake my
head adamantly. “No.”

Noah
releases me but his hands quickly reach up to my face where they rest gently on
either side of my face, his eyes searching mine. “You are not the weak girl
that they wanted you to be. They didn't break you.”

“Yes, they
did!” I shout back, jerking my face out of his hands. “I'm so twisted inside
that I don't know if I'm coming or going anymore! I can't even make sense of
what I feel half the time, it's just a jumbled mess!”

“Which is
why you need help,” he says gently.

I go
completely still at his words.

“You need
help undoing everything they've done to you. These aren't things that are going
to get better on their own. You need professional help. I see the real 'you' in
there but she's trapped by all this bullshit that your aunt and uncle built.
There are professionals out there who can see you through this, Blayre, if you'll
let them.”

“You make me
sound crazy.”

“You're not
crazy!” he says fiercely. “I care about you more than anyone I've ever cared
about in my life. I want to see you get better so you can learn to enjoy what
life has to offer. What
I
have to offer you!”

My fists
clench at my sides and I can feel my nails digging into my skin. Somehow I
manage to pull myself together and I look at him calmly. “So you're suggesting
a counselor. Like what we did tonight?”

“No,” he
says as he studies me intently. “It's going to take more than that. Do you
realize that your cutting is an addiction? You've been doing it too long to
stop on your own. One counseling session a week isn't going to do any good.”

“I see, so
now you're an expert on cutting?” I ask sarcastically.

“No. I want
to help you so I've been doing a lot of research. It's not just the addiction,
it's the five years of abuse thrown in. You've been through too much.”

“You want me
locked up,” I realize with dawning horror as I stare at him accusingly.