Sebastian drew back, his face closing off. Emily grabbed his arm before he could turn away. “Oh no you don’t. I just told you my biggest secret. You’re not sneaking away, Sebastian.”
He groaned. “I’m not like you. I’ve done bad things. I can’t…share. It’s too…unsettling. I’m not…good.”
She held his gaze. “Yes, you are. Do you know how hard it was to tell you all that?”
He sighed. “I know, it’s just…”
“You owe me at least one secret. Right now, damn you. You can’t keep hiding if you want to heal.”
He squeezed his eyes shut.
Did he think if he closed his eyes, she would go away?
“Tell me about how you met Craig and Karen.”
He sank onto a bar stool. Leaning his arms on the countertop, he put his face in his hands. Emily sat next to him, waiting patiently.
The silence stretched.
He cleared his throat. “I’m sure you heard that six years ago I was facing multiple drug charges. Craig approached me and offered to get me a reduced sentence if I helped him go undercover and take down a bad biker guy who was involved in all types of illegal stuff. I agreed, but I had no idea what I was getting myself into. There was this compound in the forest north of Sandpoint where the biker gang hung out. It was gated and protected by guards and fierce Rottweilers. A scary place. I was hired on as the veterinarian to help take care of the fighting dogs.” He removed his hands from his face and glanced askance at her. “I witnessed some horrible things in there. I was forced to do horrible things in there. But in the end, we took the bad guys down. Was it worth the reduced sentence? Yes, definitely. But being there put my soul to a test tougher than I’d expected. I had to fight Craig at one point. Viper, the leader, ordered us to fight for Karen. It was fucking stupid, but I didn’t have a choice. Craig beat me in that fight, just barely. But I…shattered afterwards. It brought back too many painful memories of my childhood. I’d shut those memories out for so many years, and they all came back in a rush after the fight. And Scar, he saved me from Viper afterwards. If it weren’t for Scar, I would probably be dead right now. Scar’s the only thing that ever cared about me.” He heaved out a sigh. “God, I miss him.”
He was obviously telling her more than he’d intended. Emily didn’t dare speak. He was finally letting it out. Finally breaking free.
Sebastian stared down at the countertop. “My father killed my first dog. I hated him for that. I was only ten. He ran my mother off. He chased my friends away. He left me with nothing but him. He liked to beat me up. He said he was trying to make me tougher, make me into a man. He told me to hit him back, to fight, to not be a wimp.” His gaze darted back to hers. “I hated fighting. Hated hurting other things, but he made me do it anyway. He said the only way I would ever be a man was if I learned to fight back. So finally, I did.”
Oh my God. Emily’s stomach knotted. What kind of father did that to his own son?
Sebastian choked out a laugh. “All that did was piss him off even more and he beat the shit out of me. So I ran away.”
“What happened?”
“He found me at my friend’s and dragged me back. He’s one mean son-of-a-bitch. It was no wonder my mother left.”
Emily’s heart pinched. She reached over and squeezed his hand. “I lost my mother, too. She had schizophrenia. I remember always being scared of her. My dad said she killed herself a few days after I was abducted. I know what it’s like to have to live without a mother. Maybe your mother was too scared of your father to try to take you with her.”
Sebastian heaved out a sigh. His expression closed up. “Maybe. Or maybe she just didn’t give a fuck about me.” He slid off the stool and strode back into the workout room. “I’m done sharing for today.”
He bent and snatched up the boxing wraps and pulled them back on. He’d finally told her something and it had upset him. Emily wasn’t sure what to do. Should she leave him alone?
He turned the stereo back on, cranking it up. The song was darker, more intense, more…heart wrenching than the last one. Almost eerie. Emily had never heard the song before. Goosebumps prickled along her arms. She could feel the singer’s distress by the outpouring of emotion in his voice as he sang about being unwanted, unloved.
Emily’s heart twisted. Did Sebastian feel that way? Had anyone ever cared about him before? How could a mother abandon her child? And how could a father be as cruel as Sebastian’s father had been to him?
Sebastian attacked the punching bag again, completely ignoring her as the music blasted through the speakers.
Pound pound pound pound.
Pound pound pound pound.
His stress level was so high Emily could feel his agitation from clear across the room. Why was he so afraid to talk to her? Why was he so afraid to let it all out?
Emily walked to the basement door that led to her apartment. She glanced back at him, but he wasn’t paying any attention to her. He attacked the bag like he wanted to kill it.
Pound pound pound pound.
Pound pound pound pound.
She hadn’t wanted to upset him. But that was exactly what she’d done.
Oh Sebastian. I’m so sorry. Why can’t you see I only want to help?
With a last lingering glance at him, she opened the door and went into the stairwell, closing the door—and him—behind her.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Sebastian pounded his fists into the punching bag, again and again and again. The urge to get high nearly strangled him, clawing up his throat and squeezing around his esophagus. Emily had made him talk, forced him to reveal things he’d never told a living soul. Though Craig and Karen knew his father had abused him, they didn’t know any of the details he’d told Emily. She now knew some of his painful secrets. The shame of his upbringing, of his father, settled around him like a dense, suffocating fog. He gasped in air as he attacked the bag, struggling to fight off the shame, struggling to keep the memories at bay, struggling to push aside the urge to get so fucked up that he didn’t know his own name.
But revealing the truth brought the memories swirling close to the surface, waiting to break free, waiting to torment him. With a final punch at the bag, he sank to the floor.
And let the painful memories consume him…
“Why won’t you fight back, you stupid little fuck? What’s wrong with you? Are you a girl or something?”
Sebastian cringed back against the wall. “No. I just don’t like to hit things. I don’t like to fight.”
“Why not? If you want to be a man, you got to learn how to fight. Now hit me, you stupid shit. Hit me!”
Sebastian cringed away. “No. Please. I don’t want to. I don’t.”
His father let out a disgusted sigh, then slapped Sebastian across the face. Sebastian cried out and turned his face away. “No, please don’t make me.”
“Hit me!” He slapped Sebastian again, harder this time. “Come on, you little wuss. Hit me!” He hit Sebastian again, across the cheek. And once more, a hard slap to the left ear.
Sebastian whimpered. “Please don’t. I don’t want to fight.”
“Hit me!” His father punched him in the stomach.
Sebastian doubled over from the pain, gasping and sobbing.
“You worthless piece of shit. I’ll make a man out of you someday!”
His father stormed off, leaving him moaning on the floor in pain. Leaving him wondering why his father wanted to hit him. And left him wondering what was wrong with him that he didn’t want to hit back…
Sebastian opened his eyes. The treadmill loomed in front of him, urging him to run away from the pain. He hadn’t thought about his childhood in too many years. He’d successfully blocked it out. Erased those memories from his mind. But it was those memories that kept him trapped inside the nightmare that ate away at his soul now. It was ironic, really, since Travis had been tormenting him for some time now, yet Sebastian had somehow managed to keep those painful childhood m
emories locked away. He’d thought in order to fight the beast, he’d have to keep those memories in the past, or they would weaken him. Now he was beginning to realize maybe he would find strength in those memories, that maybe the memories would help him to fight.
Could Emily be right? If he wanted to be free of the pain, if he wanted to heal, then maybe he needed to let it all out. She was definitely bringing the truth out of him. But dammit, it wasn’t freeing his soul. It was making it all worse. He didn’t want to remember those years. He didn’t want to remember the nightmare he’d suffered through, the nightmare that still clung to him, trying to drag him down into the pit of despair.
What if remembering only made him weaker, not stronger?
How the hell was she so strong? How the hell did she stay so sweet and good after what she’d endured? What the fuck was wrong with him that he couldn’t be more like her? Why couldn’t he heal? Why couldn’t he be free like her?
He surged to his feet. She’d started this, damn her. She was bringing his demons out. Now she was going to help him be free of them.
He stalked across the room toward the doorway to the stairs.
The doorway to her apartment.
He reached the door. Hesitated. He shouldn’t go down there. He shouldn’t intrude on her privacy. But she had to help him now. She’d brought this about. She had to fix it.
He yanked open the door and bounded down the stairs. When he reached the bottom, he spied her sitting on the couch, painting her toenails, her wavy dark hair falling over one shoulder. He drew up short.
She eyed him warily for a moment, then patted the couch next to her. “Come sit. It’s all right. I’ll be done in a few minutes.”
His gaze darted to her beautiful toned legs, her cute pink-painted toenails. A shot of desire swept through him. Shit. This was so fucked up. His so-called plan was shot to hell. He wanted her. He’d wanted her almost since the moment he’d met her. But Goddammit, she’d been raped by some sick fuck. No wonder she’d jerked away from him last night. He’d thought it was him, that she’d been repulsed by him. He didn’t want to admit how much her rejection had hurt.
But now…after learning about what had happened to her, he believed she was the one with issues.
He had no idea how to approach her about his attraction to her. Normally if he wanted a woman, he would just kiss her and they would end up in his bed. He’d never met a girl like Emily before. He had no idea if she would even be receptive to his advances or if she’d just push him away. What if she’d been so fucked up by what had happened to her that she would never let a man touch her again? That scared him. He couldn’t fathom never touching her the way he longed to. He would die if he didn’t get his hands on her soon.
He didn’t care about what had happened to her. He still wanted her. Fuck, he couldn’t get her out of his damn head. She was sweet, she was absolutely stunning with those big, gorgeous eyes and that long, thick hair and those pouty, kissable lips that drove him insane. He wanted her in his bed. He wanted to feel her all over him. He wanted…her goodness to wear off on him. If he touched her, then maybe, just maybe, her goodness would pass over to him. And maybe then he could heal.
“How…can you be so sweet after what you endured?”
She finished painting her toenails and stuck the brush back in the nail polish jar. She glanced up at him while she tightened the lid on the jar. She patted the couch again. “It’s okay. Come sit and talk to me. I won’t bite.”
He let out a snort and paced back and forth across the carpet in front of her. “I don’t feel like sitting.”
She sighed. “Healing doesn’t happen after one sharing session. It can take weeks, months, even years. I hung on to that good part of my soul that was still with me. I admit what happened to me changed me, but I didn’t let it beat me. And I can’t say I’m completely healed, because I’m not. I don’t date. I shy away from any romantic relationships. Having a man…” She lowered her gaze. “…doing that to me again…I just…can’t contemplate it. It terrifies me.”
Fuck. Why did she have to be so damaged? Why couldn’t she be as untouched by evil as he’d imagined she was? He didn’t know how to deal with another damaged soul, not when he couldn’t even deal with his own.
“Consensual sex isn’t painful, Emily.”
“I know. I just… never got close enough to a man to want to have sex with him after that.” She paused, her gaze flickering back to his. “Until now.” Her cheeks bloomed with color.
Her confession knocked the breath from his lungs. He stared at her, his heart pounding, unable to force any words past his lips. Was she saying what he thought she was saying? That he was the first man she’d wanted to have sex with? A hot, aching desire swept through him. Would she let him touch her now? Tonight?
“But you’re not ready for that yet,” she went on softly. “You have too much healing to do first. If we were to have sex now, it would only make things worse.”
He snorted, shook his head back and forth. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. The longer we wait, the more I want you.”
She lowered her gaze, her face staining bright red. “Right now we need to focus on healing you, freeing the demons from your soul.”
“It’s not working.” He paced across the carpet again. “Sharing is only making this worse. I had another flashback just now. It hurts, Emily.” Panic gripped him. “I hate remembering painful, horrible things. You’re supposed to be helping me get better, not worse. Do you know how fucking bad I want to get high right now?” What if he never got better? What if he only got worse and worse until his soul became an empty black void?
She sighed. “I never said it would be easy. Don’t give in to your temptations. You have to be strong. You have to be patient.”
“Fuck patience!”
She flinched. She lowered her freshly painted foot to the floor.
“I can’t deal with this, Emily! I just…can’t!” He came to an abrupt halt, his chest heaving in and out with his breaths. He glared at her, angry and frustrated. Scared. And so…lost.
She rose and came toward him.
“Don’t you dare say I need a fucking hug, because I don’t.”
She halted. Plopped her hands on her hips. Her breasts jutted out along with her chin. She narrowed her eyes at him. “If you’re going to be an ass, maybe you should go now.” She motioned toward the stairs. “And make sure you lock the door after you’re gone. I don’t want you barging in on me again.”
His gaze locked on hers. Damn, she was hot. Her eyes sparkling with anger. Her beautiful breasts heaving against the tight sports bra as she breathed in and out. The small expanse of flesh between her sports bra and shorts that begged him to reach out and touch...
He imagined her skin would be soft, her stomach would quiver beneath his hands.
He wanted to kiss her. No. He wanted her naked beneath him. Right fucking now.
Something in his expression must have frightened her, for she backed warily away from him.
“Go now.” She pointed at the stairs again. “Just…go.”
He took a step toward her. “You started this, dammit. So fix me.”
Her eyes widened. “I can’t fix you. Only you can do that. But you have to want to first. Right now you don’t want to. You just want someone to blame the pain on, someone to lash out at, and I’m conveniently here.”
“You admitted you wanted to have sex with me. So let’s do it.”
Fear flickered in her eyes. She shook her head. “No, Sebastian. You might think that’s what you need right now, but you don’t. Sex is not the answer.”
“Sex has always been the answer for me. You should try it, Emily. It works like a charm.”
She made a tsking sound. “Sex may have been the way you found comfort in the past. But that’s not going to work now. Not if you truly want to heal. What is it you truly want, Sebastian? Think about it.”
He hesitated, her question taking him aback.
What did he want? That was easy. He wanted her. But she was reluctant. She was damaged.
He groaned. Maybe she was right. Maybe sex wasn’t the answer. What had it done for him in the past except provide a temporary relief from the stress and pain of his past? He’d never cared about any of the women he’d slept with. They’d only been there to fulfill a need. Scratch an itch.
He rubbed a hand over his face. She was right. And then…the truth just tumbled out. “I haven’t had sex since before I went to prison.” He stared down at the floor. “Six years, Emily. I wanted to change. I wanted to heal. So I didn’t do any of the things I did before. But it’s not working. Not having sex, not drinking alcohol, not doing drugs…it’s not working. I’m not getting any better. I’m not healing. My fucking soul is still damaged. In fact, I think it’s getting worse. Why is that? Why can’t I heal like you?”
Instead of running away from his shouted words, from the anger and frustration in his voice, she stepped toward him. She wrapped her arms around his waist and held him, burying her face against his chest. He stiffened, fighting the urge to shove her away.
“You’re fighting too hard,” she whispered. “Just let it all go. Let it out, Sebastian. It’s okay. I won’t judge you. I don’t care what you did or where you came from. You can’t heal if you don’t let it all go.”
His throat clogged with emotion. Fuck. She was turning him into an emotional wreck. A weakling. “I’m not a crier!” He was still embarrassed that she’d seen him break down the other night. He was positive he wouldn’t have done it if she wasn’t there. “It’s your fault. You’re making me weak.” You’re making me feel. His words sounded accusatory, but it was true. It was her fault. All of it was her fault. She was making him this way.
“Emotions aren’t a weakness, Sebastian. Feelings are not a weakness. That just makes you human. Learning to feel again is part of the healing process. Letting it all go is what helps you to heal.”
Scarred (Unlikely Heroes Book 5) Page 11