anything about you and I feel like I should given our unique relationship.” The light in his eyes faded and she could almost feel him withdrawing. She framed his face with her hands and pleaded softly, sweetly. “Please? I told you my deepest, most darkest moment from my childhood…can you give me something of yourself, too?”
He held her gaze and when he exhaled a deep, labored breath she half expected him to flat out refuse but he grudgingly started to speak. “I had a shit childhood, babe. My mother is a drug addict who cares more about her next fix — if she’s still alive, that is — than her own kid and I haven’t seen the bitch since I was ten years old.”
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, not that she was surprised. There’d always been a suspicion in her mind that whatever Bronx’ story was, it wasn’t pretty. “Were your foster parents nice?”
He snorted in derision. “Nice? No. I was a paycheck to most, a plaything to others.”
“A plaything?” She held her breath. Good God, surely he didn’t mean? But even as she hoped she was wrong, the way Bronx’s gaze glittered with the memory, she knew she wasn’t. “I’m sorry,” she said, bending to brush a tender kiss across his forehead. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really.” She nodded, prepared to let that one go but Bronx suddenly started talking, even surprising himself, it seemed. “It wasn’t always the guy either. There were some twisted fucks, male and female, that seemed to always want a piece of me. Sometimes I think the women were worse. At first they tricked you into thinking you were special and they wanted to love you like a mom should and then when no one was looking…they showed you what they really wanted.”
“That’s horrific,” Delainey said with distaste, hating those people from Bronx’s past even though they’d never met. “Did you tell anyone?”
“Who? I didn’t have no one who would believe me. I was just another number in an already bloated system. I figured out real quick that the best way to get help was to make enough problems that my case worker would have to move me out to another foster home. It worked until I got old enough to take care of myself.”
“That’s awful,” she said, wishing she could take away his pain. “No one should do that to a child.”
He made a sound of agreement but it was a dark, sad little sound that broke her heart. Bronx sat up and grabbed his left-over beer, finishing it in a swallow. “I was just one of many. There are more kids than you can imagine trapped in that fucked up system. One of the worst houses, God, it was so bad. It should’ve been called the House of Terrors for little kids. On the outside, it wasn’t too bad, even had a nice, white fence and a bright green lawn whereas most of the houses were kinda shitty inside and out. When I first got there, I thought, damn, maybe they finally sent me someplace where I can live like a normal person but hell no, walking through those front doors was like walking through the gates of hell.”
“How so?”
He bit down on a bitter sigh. “Fuck. That house.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe they got away with that shit. The first night seemed chill. By the third night I actually started to let down my guard. But then when the weekend came…” Bronx paused as if he wasn’t ready to tell the whole of it and she held her breath. “Yeah, so the weekend came, and you see, you almost always have a roommate in these places, and my roommate Gage — fuck, I can’t believe I remember his name — he was a year younger than me at the time, he and I were sleeping one night and then the foster dad came in and scooped Gage out of the bed. I was a real light sleeper on account of my history and my eyes popped open the minute he came into the room but I played like I was still sleeping.”
Delainey felt sick. “Where’d they take him?”
“I followed them real quiet and watched them take Gage
He held her gaze and when he exhaled a deep, labored breath she half expected him to flat out refuse but he grudgingly started to speak. “I had a shit childhood, babe. My mother is a drug addict who cares more about her next fix — if she’s still alive, that is — than her own kid and I haven’t seen the bitch since I was ten years old.”
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, not that she was surprised. There’d always been a suspicion in her mind that whatever Bronx’ story was, it wasn’t pretty. “Were your foster parents nice?”
He snorted in derision. “Nice? No. I was a paycheck to most, a plaything to others.”
“A plaything?” She held her breath. Good God, surely he didn’t mean? But even as she hoped she was wrong, the way Bronx’s gaze glittered with the memory, she knew she wasn’t. “I’m sorry,” she said, bending to brush a tender kiss across his forehead. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really.” She nodded, prepared to let that one go but Bronx suddenly started talking, even surprising himself, it seemed. “It wasn’t always the guy either. There were some twisted fucks, male and female, that seemed to always want a piece of me. Sometimes I think the women were worse. At first they tricked you into thinking you were special and they wanted to love you like a mom should and then when no one was looking…they showed you what they really wanted.”
“That’s horrific,” Delainey said with distaste, hating those people from Bronx’s past even though they’d never met. “Did you tell anyone?”
“Who? I didn’t have no one who would believe me. I was just another number in an already bloated system. I figured out real quick that the best way to get help was to make enough problems that my case worker would have to move me out to another foster home. It worked until I got old enough to take care of myself.”
“That’s awful,” she said, wishing she could take away his pain. “No one should do that to a child.”
He made a sound of agreement but it was a dark, sad little sound that broke her heart. Bronx sat up and grabbed his left-over beer, finishing it in a swallow. “I was just one of many. There are more kids than you can imagine trapped in that fucked up system. One of the worst houses, God, it was so bad. It should’ve been called the House of Terrors for little kids. On the outside, it wasn’t too bad, even had a nice, white fence and a bright green lawn whereas most of the houses were kinda shitty inside and out. When I first got there, I thought, damn, maybe they finally sent me someplace where I can live like a normal person but hell no, walking through those front doors was like walking through the gates of hell.”
“How so?”
He bit down on a bitter sigh. “Fuck. That house.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe they got away with that shit. The first night seemed chill. By the third night I actually started to let down my guard. But then when the weekend came…” Bronx paused as if he wasn’t ready to tell the whole of it and she held her breath. “Yeah, so the weekend came, and you see, you almost always have a roommate in these places, and my roommate Gage — fuck, I can’t believe I remember his name — he was a year younger than me at the time, he and I were sleeping one night and then the foster dad came in and scooped Gage out of the bed. I was a real light sleeper on account of my history and my eyes popped open the minute he came into the room but I played like I was still sleeping.”
Delainey felt sick. “Where’d they take him?”
“I followed them real quiet and watched them take Gage
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