Damage Me (Crystal Gulf Book 2)

by Shana Vanterpool

  His dark blue eyes regarded me carefully. “Any closer, Hillary, and you’re going to be on my lap.”

  A blush, hot as fire, raced over me. I released him and stepped back. “I’m sorry.”

  He pushed upright and shuffled away from me a few feet. Facing me, he addressed me from a safe distance. “You didn’t fall apart. You’re not going to do that. You’re not going to let some evil fucker take your light.”

  Dylan and I had just met. I’ve never said a word to him before today. Never looked into his eyes. Never touched him or heard his voice. But at that moment, I understood what he was saying as if he were talking to my soul. My heart broke. It cracked, falling through my rib cage, displacing inside of my body until it was no longer whole. Because Dylan knew it. Dylan knew what Zane had done, and deep down so did I. I didn’t feel like me anymore. My skin felt different. My voice smaller. My eyes blurrier. It was a quiet shattering breaking my body. It was soundless. But inside it was deafening. My insides felt bruised, manhandled. My soul had been tampered with.

  The world went on. The sun shone. The waves probably rolled in. The only person in the entire world who knew I was damaged was Dylan.

  My legs gave out, and I fell, curling into a ball on the floor as my heart bled. When I closed my eyes, I felt him on top of me. I could smell him. See him. Hear him. The taste of beer was thick in my mouth. My face throbbed from his fist.

  I. Could. Not. Breathe.

  “Hillary.”

  “I can’t get down on the ground. Hillary, stop. Please,” Dylan begged.

  “Don’t cry. You’re breaking my damn heart, baby.”

  “Hillary.”

  I was lost in last night, stuck like a nightmare. It replayed in my head. My mistakes were magnified. Drinking a drink I left with a man I did not know. The wrong taste. The evil of him. Going upstairs with him. Letting him get me into a closed room. Drinking with him. Wearing this. I did this. Dressing up and playing with wolves.

  “Hillary!” Dylan roared. “Shit. Get up. Stop crying. I don’t know what to do. I can’t get on the floor. If I do, I won’t be able to get back up. Damn it.”

  I curled up tighter and sobbed, mad at myself at the same time I yearned for my safety. It was a crippling feeling to want to punish yourself at the same time you wanted to save yourself. I tried to pull my skirt down, tried to smell something that wasn’t Zane—I tried to just be me. But my skin was crawling.

  Just when I felt like I would snap and break, there was an arm around me. Dylan placed his palm on my stomach and pulled me, so my back was against his chest. I fit perfectly within his body, tucked inside of his arms. His arms felt like shields. Zane couldn’t get through them.

  He rested his head on mine, placing his mouth right over my ear. “You’re safe. You’re not there anymore. Tell yourself this. Do it,” he ordered.

  I found my voice. “I’m safe.” I didn’t feel safe.

  “You’re not there anymore. You’re in my house with me.”

  “I’m not there anymore.” It felt like I was still on that bed and Zane was pressing into me. “I’m with you.”

  “You still have your light. You were light, weren’t you, Hillary? You were good, huh, baby?”

  I nodded, bawling into the pain like spitting into the wind. It was covering me in filth.

  “You can’t let him take that from you.” He shook me when I sobbed. “You’re not going to let him take that from you. Promise me.”

  “I promise,” I whispered, but it felt like it was already a lie.

  Light could only take so much darkness. Too much and it got blown out, like a candle, leaving a smoke trail and the smell of burning things behind like a reminder you would never be bright again.

  He held me tighter until my sobs turned into quiet tears. “Can we get off the floor?”

  I rolled over and blinked my tears away, staring into his eyes. They were the darkest blue I’d ever seen. Almost cobalt, with darker flecks of blue around his pupil. They were stark against his pale face and warm brown hair. His chin was overrun with hair; it traced down his strong jawline and peppered his throat, as if he hadn’t shaved in a long time. “Yes.”

  Reluctantly, I let him go and pushed to my feet. Without asking, I grabbed his arm to help him up, watching the way his teeth ground together and his leg shook to carry his weight. He groaned when he was standing, balancing on his left leg. “Crutches,” he snapped, wobbling.

  I quickly ducked under his arm to support his weight, wrapping my arms around his waist. He leaned against me immediately. Our height difference and weight was undeniable. He was as tall as Bach, easily over six feet, and heavy. I barely came in at five feet four inches. The smell of body odor emanated from his arm pits, but I ignored it, preferring it over cigarettes and vodka. He balanced half his weight on his left leg and half on me. I stuck my foot out and snagged one of his crutches where they lay on the floor. After a little maneuvering, I managed to get it under his armpit. He rested on it while I got the other one.

  “What do you need?” He could barely meet my eyes.

  “I don’t know.” What I wanted wasn’t something he could give me, unless he let me wrap myself around him.

  “Do you have a phone?”

  I shook my head. “It’s at home.”

  He licked his lips and thought, appearing helpless again as he stared at me. “Are you hungry?”

  “No.”

  “Do you want anything to drink?”

  “No.”

  “Do you want to change?”

  I looked down at my clothes and bit back my tears. “Yes, please. A shower too?”

  “Of course. There’s a bathroom in the hall. I’m sure Harley has clothes here you can wear in their room. I’ll be in here. If you need anything it’s yours, baby.”

  My body temperature dropped at the prospect of being alone. I stared at him and then at the hall. It was such an open house. The kitchen and living room were connected, without a wall to block them.

  “Go on,” he urged softly. “I’ll be out here the entire time.”

  The hall was short, only a crawling distance from the bathroom and the two doors within it. The wooden floors were cold beneath my feet. Where were my shoes? I couldn’t remember exactly how I’d lost them, but it was there, in the back of my brain. I lost them while I fought off the monster.

  “You won’t leave?” I checked.

  He looked down at his leg. “Where am I going to go?”

  I thought about it and then nodded.

  While he struggled over to the couch, I left him. My body felt weightless, like I would drift off at any minute, but at the same time it felt weighed down, as if I were trudging through mud. The two opposing sides, of being empty and stuck, made me unstable. I found Bach’s room and then his dresser. Finding one full of his underwear, I tried the one beside it. Harley’s panties, these sexy lacey yellow things, littered the inside. I slammed that one shut too until I found a safe option. I picked a pair of jean shorts and a tank top. Once in the bathroom, I set Harley’s clothes on the counter and turned on the light.

  My reflection stared back at me. My hair was a mess. It was all over the place. My cheeks and eyes were red, stained from crying. My mouth was open in an “O,” as if in perpetual shock. But all of that paled to the dark purple bruise over my right eye. The sight of it sent me over the edge. I grabbed hold of the counter as a tremble rocked my body. For some reason, the sight of my bruises filled my brain with my mother’s image. How could I tell her? I fell to the floor and curled up. She would annihilate me. She would imprison me. She would go to jail because I knew in my heart she’d kill Zane. She’d get the gun my grandfather gave her she kept in her safe and end his life. I’d lose her. That sent a cold numbness over me. There was no way I could tell her what happened.

  “Hillary!” Dylan shouted through the walls. “Shower! Now!”

  His order forced me into action. I peeled my clothes off and then shoved them into the trashc
an. I’d burn them if I could. Crawling naked under the hot water, I let it mask my tears. I washed my body four times. Once to get the smell off. Two to keep it off. Thrice to make sure it was gone. And the last time to make sure I smelled like Harley’s orange and honey body wash.

  Once clean, I remained under the hot spray, staring numbly at the white tiles as water trailed down them in clear rivulets. I didn’t get out until the water cooled. I grabbed a towel from the stack in the cabinet and dried off, dressing quickly, not enjoying my body naked. I wanted to be covered up. Protected.

  I wanted to feel safe.

  I opened the bathroom door and entered into the hall, finding Dylan where I left him. He didn’t look over when I came in. He stared at the black TV, face stone and jaw clenched. I stepped around his legs and settled on the couch as close to him as I could get, peeking at him. He looked like this solid, immovable statue against me, and I wanted his sturdiness.

  He met my eyes slowly. The small shift of pity did it to me again. I crumbled, burying my face in my hands.

  His arm snaked around my waist, bringing me to him. I wrapped mine around his shoulders and shoved my face against him. I wanted him to encircle me, shield me, but I didn’t know how to ask for that. Dylan didn’t look like the type of guy who hugged girls. His right arm was decorated with tattoos, and he had a pucker on the edge of his left eyebrow, as if he’d had a piercing there at one point. It was probably a task for him to even hold me this way. But I was too selfish to ask he let me go. If he let me go, I would be … alone.

  “I’m so confused. Yesterday I didn’t even know Bach had a sister.”

  The stab of pain from his comment was sharp and acute. “That’s because Bach doesn’t want me around. I embarrass him.”

  He surprised me by snorting. “Who told you that? You’re too damn sweet to have come up with that on your own.”

  I raised my head to meet his eyes. “If Bach wanted to know me, then why didn’t you know who I was?”

  “Because Bach and I aren’t on the same page these days. Plus, I have a good idea why he’d keep you hidden. And I think you do now too.”

  Last night was a terrible occurrence, but it wasn’t one to be predicted. “What do you mean? That he’s ignoring me to … protect me?” He raised one eyebrow in answer, agreeing. “Protecting me from what?”

  “Us,” he answered, looking away. “This lifestyle. We’re not like you, Hillary. You don’t belong at a place like Jona’s. You shouldn’t have been there. What were you doing there?”

  “I was trying to protect my friend Piper.”

  “Where is she? This friend? Where was she last night?” His tone had hardened.

  “I don’t know,” I admitted miserably. “She was with Jona and then Justine—”

  “Stay away from Justine,” he growled.

  “Gave me a beer,” I continued, ignoring his tone. “And then Zane was there … and … I went to the bathroom. When I came out, he had my drink.” My lips trembled around my memory. “I’d never had beer before, Dylan. I didn’t know it tasted funny. I wanted Jona, and Zane got me into his bedroom.” I slid even closer to him, holding on to his arm so tightly his muscles constricted. A shiver slid down my spine. “He drugged me. I was so scared. I’d never been so scared in my life. But I refused to let him. I refused,” I growled. “I fought him, but he hit me.” Once again I was bawling. I dug my fingers into his arm, causing him to hiss. “I’m sorry.” I pushed away from him and scurried to the other end of the couch, pulling my legs to my chest. “I won’t touch you again.”

  I could feel him watching me. If I looked at him, I’d crave the shield of his arms. All I had to do was last until Bach got back. And if he didn’t want me then I didn’t know what I was going to do. Because I wasn’t going home. I wasn’t facing my mother with the horrors of last night. Her reaction would be destruction at its most basic level. I recalled that time in second grade when Eli Hunt spit on me and pulled my hair. Mom had walked on the playground, found him, and made him pee his pants. Or Terry Underwood in freshman year of high school. She’d tripped me in the hall, causing me to dislocate my shoulder. Mom had gone to their trailer and gave her mom a good licking. Terry avoided me until we graduated. But this was different. This wasn’t an accident. This was a theft. A robbery of my insides. Zane had tried to ruin me, to steal parts of me that made me whole. A slap on the hand would not do it justice. As I thought about what he had done to me, fury began to bloom. I wanted him to suffer. To burn. Because if he’d done this to me—

  “Piper. He did it to Piper.”

  She’d been drunk, and it was over too soon, she’d said, but she hadn’t clarified the details, and she’d been unresponsive about it, moving on from the conversation too quickly. At the time, I’d wanted to move on too. I hadn’t stressed her for further details. Sick, hot horror settled in my belly.

  “Shit,” Dylan mumbled.

  As soon as he opened his mouth to keep going, we both looked over at a sound. There was pounding on the stairs, voices, and then the door handle turned.

  “Drop it, Harley,” Bach snapped.

  “Don’t tell me what to do, Bachmen. You promised.” Harley’s familiar voice broke.

  “Babe,” he groaned, pushing the door open.

  Beside me, Dylan’s head snapped up, and horror painted his face. He paled, and a strange emotion filled his eyes.

  That’s when I remembered. Harley was Dylan’s ex. And by the look on his face, he was breaking inside. I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to comfort him, but Bach was here. He was tall and muscled, big and strong. He was protective. I pushed off the couch and ran to him, jumping up high enough to wrap my arms around his neck. Just like last night the moment I was in his arms I was safe. I was engulfed in comfort … in my dad.

  “Sweets,” Bach whispered, wrapping his arms around me so tightly it hurt. He scooped up my legs and cradled me to his chest, walking me over to the couch. Sitting, he folded me on his lap and tucked me in the crook of his arm, rocking me back and forth as I broke apart once more.

  He smelled odd. In the middle of my memories, he almost smelled like rubbing alcohol. Like the soaked gauze during our lab work. I wiped my eyes off on the back of my hand and looked him over. He had a puffy lip and a scratch on his jaw. There was blood on his white shirt and jeans. And when he released his hold on me his knuckles on his right hand were wrapped in gauze. When I looked up and met his eyes, jade like my own, there wasn’t an ounce of regret in them.

  “I’d do it again,” he promised darkly. “He’s lucky that’s all he got.”

  “What did you do?”

  “What were you doing at a party, at Jona’s place, with Justine, inside of Jona’s room, with a fucking guy like Zane Eastwood, in those clothes, drinking beer!” As he spoke, his voice deepened until he was screaming into my face. I flinched, but he continued. “What were you doing there?”

  “Bach,” Harley mumbled.

  “Answer me.” He grabbed my shoulders and gave me a shake. “I told you to stay away from that place. You’re too good to be there. You’re too damn good to even be within five miles of that place.”

  His eyes were wild. Crazed. Fury burned in them. “I’m sorry,” I insisted.

  “You’re sorry?”

  “Back off,” Dylan demanded.

  Bach wasn’t listening. He moved me so fast I couldn’t discern the moment. I was on the coffee table suddenly in front of him, and he was grasping my face. “You will not go back there. Do you hear me? Do you have any idea how fucking scared I was? What if, Hillary? What if!”

  I took his screams because they meant Justine was wrong. He did want me. “Justine said you kept me a secret from everyone because you were ashamed of me. Because I’m boring and lame.” For some reason, this was the last straw. I fell forward, freeing myself from his grasp, and gasped for breath.

  “Sweets,” Bach moaned, agonized. “I wasn’t keeping you away from anyone but me. I’m not good for you. This
shit, this is my world. You don’t want that, do you? You deserve a better brother. One not like me.”

  He was keeping me away because he thought he was bad for me? The thought was ridiculous. I met his eyes and tried to convey how I felt. “How can you be bad? How can someone who saved me and defended me be bad? You’re the only brother I want,” I added defiantly. “Please stop pushing me away.”

  He looked torn, clearly fighting what he thought was best between what he wanted. “No more parties?”

  “I won’t go to another party if you promise I can have you.”

  “Fine, Hillary. I’ve fought a battle like this before, and it didn’t end well.” He glanced sharply at Harley and then returned his gaze to me. “How do you feel?” He focused on my bruises and then his eyes roamed over me. “Does anything else hurt?”

  “I’ll be okay,” I assured him, even if inside I wasn’t as convinced as my tone.

  “Tell me what happened. Everything,” he stressed, showing me he wasn’t afraid of the truth.

  I spilled my guts. From the moment Piper suggested a party to the moment I heard Justine call my name before Zane hit me. While I spoke, Harley sat on the arm of the couch beside Bach, not looking at Dylan once. Dylan stared straight, pulse in his temple throbbing. His fist was bound on his lap, and I noticed when I got to the end that he closed his eyes and didn’t open them until I’d finished. When the last word left my mouth, I was numb with Bach’s question.

  What if?

  Chapter Five

  Dylan

  My heart hammered, sending emotions through me at an alarming speed.

  Hillary was falling apart.

  Harley was in the room.

  I could finally see her.

  Smell her.

  She smelled fucking mouthwatering. Or it could’ve all been in my head. Hillary had used her soap, and the smell was all over me anyway. Oranges and honey, this sweet intoxicating smell that reminded me of a time when I thought I could finally escape my life. Harley made me want a different now. She thought it was possible. Without her, I was back to me, a man who was going nowhere so fast he could see the emptiness in the horizon.