“You’re really beautiful, you know?” I said, dabbing a cotton ball on her foot.
“Ouch,” she hissed, trying to bat my hand away. “That really hurt.”
“It’s supposed to, it’s rubbing alcohol.”
“Well, do you need to use so much of it?” She winced. “I knew you hated me but not this much.”
I knew she was joking, but her words made my broken heart ache.
“I don’t hate you, Maddy, the opposite actually.” The words came rushing out of me as if on autopilot. That was the thing about Maddy, she made me feel and say things that were completely against my nature. I wasn’t sure if she had set me free or imprisoned me.
I never believed in love. Love was just an illusion, a facade, a dream. Whatever it was, it wasn’t rooted in reality. Humans were selfish beings, and love required selflessness. Hence, it being a complete fabrication. We, as humans, want to believe that we are capable of more, but in reality, we are nothing more than predators looking for our next kill. If that kill comes in the form of a young, sweet girl, so be it.
I knew from a young age that I would never fall victim to the illusion, but then she came into my life. Young, vibrant and so fucking sweet. At first, I thought if I fucked her it would drain her from my system. How idiotic of me, to assume one taste would have been enough. Because that one taste was so intoxicating, so consuming, that I became a slave to it. I hated her for making me want her, and I hated myself for hating her. There started a vicious cycle that made me both her tormentor and her prisoner. Maddy Evans was now intertwined with the very fabric of my being.
“You’re kind of good at this. You, ever think about being a doctor?” Her sweet voice took me out of my thoughts. I mustered up a smile for her; I wanted only to smile for her. I hated that any of my shit touched her life. I hated that I managed to wrangle her up in mine. I wanted to tell her to run, but I was too fucking selfish. I wanted to breathe and Maddy was the oxygen. I needed her. I couldn’t live without her. I didn’t want to.
I worked the gauze around her foot, making sure to wrap all the exposed flesh that had been marred by my door.
“You know it’s just a scrape right? It doesn’t need to be treated like a war wound.” She grabbed my hand, distracting me from what I was doing. Her one simple touch had my head swimming in a vast ocean, desperate for that one lifeline. Her. “It just needs a Band-Aid and time.”
I focused on her foot, keeping my eyes on her hand, not being able to look her in the eyes. I couldn't ever really look into her eyes again.
“If only a Band-Aid and time could heal everything,” I mumbled. “Listen, Maddy, my life, it’s a fucking mess. It’s a fucking pot of pure filth and garbage. I’m garbage, used goods. You were right to run away from me. You’re right to be disgusted with me. Someone like you could never want someone like me. Not really.”
Soft whimpers rose from her lips. I glanced up to see a river of tears flood her face.
“Don’t cry,” I said, still avoiding her eyes. I felt the sofa shift as she tore her foot away from my hands.
“Damn it Kyler. You aren’t worthless. You are so much more than you give yourself credit for.” She shouted, her frame shaking with the rage she seemed to be feeling. “Why can’t you see yourself the way I see you?” she demanded.
“Can you please sit down? You’re going to hurt yourself,” I shouted back at her, worrying that she might do more damage to her foot.
“I need to say what I came here to say. This is hard, much harder than I thought it would be. So sit down.”
I sat down, she was fidgeting and bouncing on her injured foot and I was scared she would hurt herself. “There, I sat down. Now stop moving like that,” I said, my voice a little louder than I intended.
“Pierce Black is my biological father,” she blurted, tears streaming violently down her face, before she accidentally caught her foot on an empty liquor bottle littering on the floor, and tripped.
Chapter 32
“Moral wounds have this peculiarity - they may be hidden, but they never close; always painful, always ready to bleed when touched, they remain fresh and open in the heart.” ― Alexandre Dumas, The Count of Monte Cristo
Madison
“Why can’t you ever listen?” Kyler shouted as he rushed towards me. His touch was gentle but his shoulders had tensed up and he was sucking on his lip ring, something he only did when he was agitated. “I told you to sit down.”
“Kyler, did you hear what I said?”
He let out a sigh, ignoring me, and gently turned my foot around in his hands. I couldn't believe that he was worried about a stubbed toe right now, after what I just told him. He was silent, using his fingers to taunt me with a torturous touch. I felt trapped by him, wanting him so bad, but knowing that the truth was going to be the end of us, forever. In that moment, I knew that there was no one else I would ever love. No one else I would ever want, other than Kyler Sinclair.
“Fuck, Kyler, can you stop touching my damn foot and answer me?” I demanded.
“I’m not sure if I’ve ever heard you swear before,” he said, his eyes finally meeting my own. “I’m not sure if I like it. My little mouse might not be so little after all.”
“I don’t fucking care. Just fuckin’ answer my question,” I shouted, moving directly
