Behind These Scars

by Lilah Grey

  He turns to leave, and my temper boils over.

  “If you leave without telling me something I don’t already know, then I’m walking out the door.”

  “Did you know that eating too much polar bear liver can kill you?”

  My mouth hangs open. What?

  He tilts his head. “Too much Vitamin A.”

  I shake my head—abwahhh!?!

  “Something you didn’t already know.”

  A few seconds later a shit-eating grin appears on his face.

  Something I didn’t already know…

  He knows that’s not what I meant; he knows his purposeful misinterpretations annoy me. He knows that in a few seconds I’ll run off, letting him off the hook because I can’t deal with his abrasive manner.

  And he’s right.

  He knows me better than anyone else; he knows me better than I know myself.

  “You seem angry, Lippy.”

  My stomach flips as his nickname for me leaves his mouth, but I shrug off the feeling; I am angry.

  I make to stand, but as I push off the bed, Luke pounces on me. His hand wraps around my throat as he pins me against the bed. My head rushes with blood as I become dizzy and disoriented by the speed at which he moved on me.

  Luke trains his hard gaze on my face as he slides his hand up my neck, cupping my cheek.

  “Has anyone told you how sexy you are when you’re mad?”

  No. I’d never been called sexy before.

  His fingertips glide across my cheek, and the back down my neck and along my shoulder, embers trailing in the wake of his touch.

  I can hardly breathe. I should be mad, but I’m not. I want this. I want Luke.

  His eyes narrow as he fingers the strap on my dress.

  “Did Olivia pick this out?”

  My teeth scrape against my bottom lip as I nod, still breathless. I’d hoped the dress would elicit a reaction from Luke, but I didn’t expect a reaction quite like this.

  “She has excellent taste.”

  He pulls the strap off my shoulder and then kisses my neck once. His scruff scratches against my skin as he pulls back.

  Heat pools between my thighs. I can’t believe what’s happening. This has to be a dream.

  His fingers slide under the second strap, and moments later, it hangs off my shoulder, my breasts on the verge of spilling out.

  A second kiss.

  I writhe under the weight of him.

  I wet my lips as I look up at Luke. I want to taste his lips. I’m greedy for them.

  A moan escapes my mouth as Luke grabs my thigh. My body trembles as a million conflicting thoughts rush through my head.

  We shouldn’t be doing this. It’s wrong. It’s too much, too fast. We’re completely different people from completely different worlds. It would never work.

  I’m setting myself up for failure.

  But as his hand moves closer to my center, I can’t help but push the thoughts aside.

  I moan again, but this time, it’s caught in Luke’s mouth.

  His tongue swirls against mine, hungry, wanting. I weave my fingertips into his hair and pull him closer. I can hardly breathe, but I don’t care.

  His fingertips brush against my sex. I push myself against him, demanding more. Needing more.

  He breaks the kiss and pulls his hand from between my thighs.

  “What am I going to do with you?” Luke says in a tone hardly above a whisper.

  I could think of a few things, but the look in his eyes tells me that wasn’t his meaning. The lust that filled them earlier has drained, and I can’t help but think I’d done something wrong.

  “You drive me wild, Lippy. Do you know that?”

  I shake my head.

  I open my mouth to speak, but his lips are on mine again.

  I dig my nails into him as we kiss, dragging them across his taut back. It’s deep and all-consuming, like no other kiss I’ve experienced. There’s history behind this kiss. Years of sexual tension. Years of interactions that led to unsatisfying ends. Years of fantasies and dreams I never thought I’d see fulfilled.

  All of it was being released in a single, mind-melting kiss.

  “You’re so wet,” Luke growls into my mouth as his hand covers my mound, stroking it. I grind against his hand, writhing with pleasure.

  He pulls back, lust rising in his eyes once again.

  My mind reels as his fingers dive under my panties and tear them off as though they’re made of paper.

  I gasp as he slides off the bed, grabs my legs, and repositions me at its edge.

  His mouth covers my sex as his tongue glides across my wet folds.

  I’m in heaven…

  His mouth, his tongue, his hands gripping my thighs as he holds me in place. Everything he’s doing feels so good. I guess it comes from years of experience as a man-whore. I don’t mind reaping the fruits of his labor…

  My eyes roll back into my head as my body trembles. I can feel my orgasm crescendoing, a beautiful ache that’s beginning to spread throughout my core.

  But then it stops. He stops.

  I look down and see his pale blue eyes staring back up at me.

  The expression on my face asks him what the fuck is he doing, but he doesn’t seem to care. He stands up and brushes his shirt, smoothing out its wrinkles.

  I scoot back and sit up on the bed, watching Luke. “What are you doing?”

  “Go to bed, Libby,” he says coldly, turning around and making for the door.

  What the hell?

  “Never disappear like that again.” He shuts the door behind him.

  I sit on the bed for a couple of minutes, trying to register what just happened. A laugh escapes my lips because I don't know how else to react. I'm such an idiot for thinking Luke had changed.

  Control, that’s all he wanted. He had control over me; he knew it the moment I hopped in his car and went along with him. He didn’t want me. He wanted control over me.

  He’s been toying with me this entire time.

  I fall back against my pillows, my eyes glazing over as I stare up at the ceiling. Crouton paws at the door and I let him back inside. After a few seconds of preening, he hops on the bed with me, kneading a spot next to me before he lays down, purring as he nestles against me.

  I stroke his soft fur. “You’re the only one I can trust, Crouton. I can’t even trust myself.”

  In my dream, I see Margaret.

  I’m in my bedroom, back at the house. She’s sitting on the bed next to me, dabbing my forehead with a damp washcloth.

  “I hate seeing my baby sick,” she tells me in a soothing voice.

  She’s limned in an ethereal glow, angelic, but something about her unsettles me.

  Uneasiness swells in my gut as I’m overwhelmed by an inescapable urge to flee.

  But I can’t.

  I can’t even speak.

  I open my mouth but nothing comes out.

  Every attempt to speak is caught in my throat and sounds more like a groan than words.

  “Easy, baby,” Margaret coos. “How’s that head? Does it still hurt?”

  The only part of me that can move are my eyes. They flit around the room, but there’s nothing to see. No one else is here. My gaze returns to Margaret.

  She’s wearing a white nightgown. Wisps of her light brown hair fall over her pallid skin. A ghost of a smile spreads across her thin lips.

  Or is it a sneer?

  “Mama knows what you need.”

  The mattress groans as she shifts her weight to the side and reaches for a mug on the nightstand. Metal clinks against the ceramic sides of the mug as she stirs its contents with a spoon.

  “That’s it,” she says as she removes the spoon and sets it on a napkin.

  She turns back around and offers the mug to me.

  “Drink this,” she says.

  The uneasiness spreading in my chest warns me against it. I don’t know what it is, but I know I shouldn’t drink it.


  I find the strength to turn my head and clamp my lips shut.

  “Now, Libby,” Margaret says in an icy tone. “No one likes a bratty child.”

  A chill dances along my spine as I feel her hand on my face. She pushes against it, guiding my head back to face her.

  When I try to turn away again, I can’t. My head’s frozen in place.

  Steam from the mug licks the air as she brings it to my lips.

  “Just a sip,” she coos. “I promise you’ll feel much better. It’s a special recipe made for a special girl.”

  My mouth opens wide on its own accord, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t close it again.

  She tips the mug, allowing a steady stream of bitter, vile-tasting liquid to fill my mouth.

  “That’s it. That’s Mama’s good girl.”

  It becomes thick and syrupy, like molasses, as it pools in my mouth.

  I swallow, but the liquid sticks in my throat, coating it, making it impossible for me to breathe.

  I’m choking and sputtering as my body convulses, rejecting whatever Margaret gave me.

  I wake up and find Luke leaning over me, shaking me. Fear and concern streak his face.

  “It’s just a nightmare, Lippy,” he says as he strokes my cheek with the back of his hand. “You’re okay.”

  He repeats the words in a soothing voice, again and again, but I find no comfort in them.

  It might’ve been a nightmare, but its effect is all too real.

  13

  Luke

  Libby’s been moody all morning, and rightly so.

  I was an asshole last night.

  There's a thin line between confidence and arrogance, and I crossed it. I pushed when I should've pulled, but that's what I do. I keep everyone at arm's length, especially the people I love.

  And I do love Libby. It was clear the moment I found the blood on the counter. But really, it goes back even further than that.

  When I told Damian she was off-limits, he ignored me. He thought I was joking when I told him why she was forbidden, but I wasn't. I confided in him, and he stabbed me in the back with a knife of my own making.

  Damian was never one to listen, and neither was I. I think that’s why we became such fast friends. We understood each other. So when I saw that he’d set his eyes on my stepsister, I knew how it would end.

  And I was right. I’ll never forgive Damian for what he did to Libby. He broke her, and I only wish that I could fix her.

  I watch Libby as she picks at her eggs. She fingers a stray lock of hair in front of her face, guiding it behind her ear. The light filtering into the kitchen makes her skin glow golden. There’s not a more beautiful sight in the world.

  Not a more beautiful woman…

  I want to reach out and touch her, feel her silky skin under my fingertips, but I resist the urge. I shut my eyes, but all I see is the pain flashing on her face as she watched me leave last night.

  I shouldn’t have taken it as far as I did, but I couldn’t help myself. It’s a constant battle, fighting my urges when I’m around her. She sets me off in ways no one else does and ever will.

  When I saw her walk in with Olivia, wearing that dress, I knew it was game over.

  But then I fucked it all up.

  I came here to protect her, but all I’ve done is cause her more pain.

  Libby’s fork clanks against the plate. She hasn’t eaten a single thing.

  “Not good?”

  She picks up the plate, walks over to the trash, and scrapes the eggs into the bin.

  “Fantastic,” she says flatly, her eyes locked on mine.

  I can feel my jaw clench for a moment, but remind myself that she has every right to be mad. My heart palpates, and it's painful enough that I grimace.

  I walk to the cupboard and take out a pill, popping it in my mouth and swallowing it dry. I take a deep breath and close my eyes. My pulse slows, but the pounding in my head is relentless.

  When I open them again, I see Libby staring back at me, a concerned look on her face.

  “I’m fine,” I say, shaking the pill bottle in front of me.

  The concerned look on her face dissolves.

  It was nice while it lasted…

  I grab a glass out of the cabinet. I can feel Libby’s gaze carve into my skin as I fill it with water, drain it in one long gulp, and then set it back down on the counter. I glance at her over my shoulder.

  “You should probably get dressed. Our plane to New York leaves in a few hours.”

  “What makes you think I’m going with you?”

  My jaw clicks shut. I take a breath and turn around.

  Libby's arms are folded under her chest. It's hard not to stare at her breasts. She's not wearing a bra, and her nipples are poking through her thin tank.

  I could be forceful; I could drag her to New York with me, but what would be the point?

  Margaret’s gone; crisis averted.

  I shrug. “Fine. Have it your way.”

  I make to leave but Libby stops me.

  “What happened at the police station yesterday?”

  She wants answers, and I don't blame her. If I were her, I'd want them too. I've tried to feed it to her piecemeal through Henry's journal, but I guess those breadcrumbs weren't enough.

  It’s not the full story.

  I’ve been putting it off because I don’t want to believe it’s true. My own mother…

  I check my watch; there was no question I'd be late. Olivia would have to scramble to put me on a different flight. If I'm lucky, she won't find one.

  I didn’t need or want the publicity. I preferred anonymity. I wanted to be out of the public eye where I could create in peace.

  “People want to see the brainchild behind Fyrefly,” she’d told me. “They want a face to go with the company. Like Steve Jobs or Elon Musk.”

  “Can’t we hire someone for this?”

  “Not. A. Chance.”

  “What about Elliot?”

  “He’ll be there, too.”

  Olivia’s the only assistant who doesn’t back down from me. I admire it, and it’s why I decided to go. And to be honest, she’s usually right about these things. It’s a wonder she’s stuck around with me for so long.

  “There’s not much to say. Damian asked me a few questions, and then I left.” I shrug.

  She snorts. “Yeah, in a car more beat up than mine. Olivia and I saw it parked in your spot. We were going to call security once Olivia found her phone, but then we saw you there.”

  She nods to the spot where I’d been standing the previous night, wondering what the fuck happened for there to be so much blood on the counter.

  “What happened to your Benz?”

  “The cops took it.”

  She gapes at me, motioning for me to elaborate. When I don’t, she says, “Care to tell me why?”

  “Beats me. They wanted to look at it, so I obliged.”

  Libby watches me as I walk around the island and pick up my mug of coffee. It’s already cold and tastes more bitter than usual.

  “Are you actually going to tell me something without having to poke and prod you?”

  I'd tell her, but as I told her last night: she looked sexy when she's mad.

  Right now, she was fuming.

  “What happened to Margaret?”

  “She died,” I respond, flatly.

  She groans. There’s that furrowed brow. That slight twitch of her nose. I love it.

  “Tell me something I don’t already know.”

  A smile creeps on my lips. I open my mouth, but she cuts back in.

  “And it better not be another stupid fact about polar bears again.”

  “How about penguins?”

  She shakes her head.

  Alright. As much as I enjoyed riling Libby up, she deserved to hear the truth.

  “I don’t know what happened to Margaret. And if the cops know, they’re keeping it under wraps.”

  I didn't tell her what Damian told
me about the blood they'd found because it didn't make any sense to me. Margaret was fine when I left. Sure we had a scuffle, but I didn’t harm her.

  “Why’d you go to see her?

  “You read the journal, didn’t you?”

  She fingers the rubber band on her wrist. It snaps against her skin.

  I don’t know why she does that. I noticed it when I first picked her up from Buck Wild.

  “Yes,” she says.

  “Then you understand what she’s capable of. I didn’t go there to see her. I went there for you. I went there to protect you from her.”

  “You didn’t have to kill her to protect me,” she blurts out, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  I grit my teeth. Does she really believe I’d kill another person? That I’d throw my life’s work away for someone as small and pitiful as Margaret?

  “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

  I walk toward the living room and motion at Libby to follow.

  “You’re going to want to sit for this,” I tell her when she refuses to move.

  “Why?” Her eyes are red and puffy and she’s already beginning to sniffle.

  “Because I’m going to tell you a story, and you might as well be comfortable.”

  “I’m fine standing,” she fires back.

  I shrug. “Fine. Have it your way.”

  The leather couch moans as I collapse into it. I run a hand through my hair and suck in a deep breath before I begin.

  I start from the beginning.

  I start with the night I left, the night that changed everything.

  The night when everything I thought I knew about my life unraveled.

  The night I fell apart at my seams.

  The night I lost Libby.

  14

  Luke

  Five years ago…

  The front door to my house creaks as I push it open. My stomach drops as my eyes land on my mother. I’m not looking forward to explaining why I’m not with Emma.

  Thankfully, she doesn’t notice me. I make to go upstairs, but something stops me. It pulls at my insides, guiding me to the dining room where I can watch my mother as she moves around in the kitchen.

  There are bottles and vials spread across the kitchen table, some stoppered, some not. A pot bubbles and sputters on the stove as she crushes pills on the counter, transferring the powder into the pot moments later.