Total pages in book: 188
Estimated words: 179812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 899(@200wpm)___ 719(@250wpm)___ 599(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 179812 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 899(@200wpm)___ 719(@250wpm)___ 599(@300wpm)
“Until I buried that rage deep within me. Because I couldn’t bring my rage into it. I couldn’t bring my anger when we were all so fucking angry. When Ledger was throwing tantrums. When Conrad was trying to control everything. When Stellan was being his aloof self. When there was a baby in the house that needed changing and feeding. So I bandaged my ankle, iced it, elevated it, fucking did everything I could and kept playing every night until my anger passed.
“And then, I kept doing it. I kept burying things, do you understand? Because there was no space for any more dysfunction in my family. Any more rage or anger issues or grief. My mother died of cancer. She was wasting away up in that bedroom that smelled like death and Clorox, that no one could go into. Our family was breaking apart. All my siblings were grieving before she left this earth. So I went for a run. I’d run every single night. I’d run circles around this town until my urge to scream, to break something, to fucking break everything would pass, and…”
Another shudder but it doesn’t stop with that, no. He keeps shuddering now. His chest keeps shaking with choppy breaths and his arms are vibrating. It’s like there’s a dam inside of him. A big, thick, strong wall, a fortress that’s been holding everything, all these things, all these hidden secrets, and now that dam is breaking. The wall is cracking. There are deep fissures running through all his defenses and he’s coming apart.
This is what it is, isn’t it.
He’s coming apart at the seams and it feels like my arms, my body are the only thing holding him together as he keeps going, “But I don’t… I d-don’t fucking know…how to… H-how to let this go. I don’t f-fucking know how to…” His teeth chatter with his next word. “D-distract myself. I can’t… I need to… I have to fucking k-kill him for—”
“Kiss me,” I whisper, cutting him off and making him go still.
Which sounds so ridiculous when I say it like that. How can my mere whisper still the tsunami within him? How can I calm his rage down with a simple command, a request? I don’t even know what it is. All I know is that this is the only way.
The only way to distract him.
I’m supposed to be his distraction, aren’t I? I’m supposed to soothe him, help him move on, help him focus away from the pain. So this is it. And I was going to tell him that anyway, wasn’t I? I was going to tell him I was his before we got interrupted. So this is it. I’m his. I’ll find a way not to screw this up. I’ll find a way to keep Snow and her—my—new family away from this. I’ll find a way to keep the world, the stupid fucking media away from this as well. Because it has nothing to do with them. It has nothing to do with anyone but him. For him I’ll keep a hundred secrets and die under the burden of them. Because he deserves that. He deserves someone who loves him like that.
The Wrecking Thorn. My toxic asshole stepbrother.
Who’s so easy to love. Who’s so easy to get lost in, so easy to get ruined for. How can I not when every inch of his soul, every muscle of his heart is made of love? He is made of love. Love and loyalty and sacrifice for his family. He’s been sacrificing himself, his emotions, his feelings. He’s been denying them, burying them like dead bodies. He’s been shrinking himself, so his family has the space to grow. To flourish. While he’s withering away without them.
That’s his truth.
I wanted to see his truth, didn’t I? I wanted to see inside of him, and while I’ve gotten glimpses in the past, I never got the full picture, the full depths of him. This is it.
I go to move away from him and thankfully, he lets me. What I see on his face makes me flinch though. All the lines, the angles standing in stark relief. The hollows of his cheeks are deeper, the peaks higher. His eyes are harsh but somehow still lost. Full of fire that will burn down the world, but somehow still bruised themselves.
He looks vulnerable.
Naked and exposed. Like bare heart and stripped nerve endings. And God, I love him. I love him so fucking much that I’m dying with it. That I’m a wreck for his love. I’m a wreck for him.
Framing his face, I whisper, “Kiss me.”
His nostrils flare, his chest convulsing again. Not that it stopped, but still. This one is bigger, this tremor, as he whispers back, “Kiss you.”
“Yes.”
When all he does is stare at me, I dig my thumb into his cheeks and say, “Before those guys interrupted us, that’s what I was coming to tell you. I was coming to tell you that I don’t care. I don’t care anymore. I don’t care about lying or secrets or a fresh start. I don’t care about anything. I don’t know why I ever did. Because none of that matters. Nothing matters but you. I can’t stay away from you. It’s too painful. I can’t watch you be in pain. Alone, angry, standing away from everyone. Away from your twin brother.” He stiffens but I keep going, “I know you miss him. I know. But you can’t be around him. I know that too. Which is why he never shows up at the house. So yeah, I don’t care. And I don’t even care”—I press my forehead against his—“if it was all a game to you that night. If all you felt was your need for revenge, while I loved every single thing you did to me. All I want you is to come home. Come to me. Kiss me.”