despite all logic, had been in a prison of her own making for much longer than that. And he hadn't even offered the one thing that might serve to break it open--his forgiveness. Forgiveness, unlike just about everything else fine in life, didn't cost a dime. It was something he could afford--maybe the only thing. And still, he had withheld it.
"Liana." His tone was still sharp.
She looked up, her lower lip shaking. She was afraid still, he realized, and he curled his lip into the kind of sly smirk he knew she'd recognize from all those years ago.
"Get over here."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
She paused, sure she misinterpreted what he was asking. He beckoned toward her, a casual gesture that was nevertheless fraught with meaning – almost as if he didn't want to make too much of a commitment. It was different from the moment before, when she'd been immobilized, too much in shock to either fight back or embrace him.
Now, she edged closer, inch-by-inch, into his arms, as vulnerable as a china doll that might break. Those shoulders were so strong--and they were stronger even now than when she first felt her body pressed against his, and he told her he'd protect her from her stepfather, from the girls at school, from anyone who threatened her. And she'd believed him, because nobody had ever told her that before--not since her father, and she’d been too young to remember that.
He spoke into her ear. "How could you think I wouldn't forgive you? That would be just plain spiteful, and I'm not a monster. I just--"
"Play one on TV?" she whispered, and that was enough to break the tension a little, though he was still braced--she could feel his heart beating against his ribcage from where her fingers rested against his chest, partially hidden underneath the leather jacket.
Tense, like, even now, he was waiting to be sneaked up on, to be stabbed, to be jumped from behind. That alone was sorrowful and, once again, her fault. He didn't deserve to still have to watch his back every second.
"But you were angry. I know you were and it's okay," she whispered and, before she knew it, she reached up to touch a lock of copper hair that had fallen forward. He didn’t shy away. “It's okay to be angry. It's okay to hate me. You can hate me if you want. I don't mind." She felt herself speaking the words as if she had rehearsed them, which, in a way, she had, though not with the hopes that she would ever get the opportunity to say them other than whispering to herself when she slept at night, trying to assuage herself, to soothe her shame for the millionth time.
In fact, they were what she wished she could have whispered to him in the courtroom before they led him away. But she hadn't been there. And though he might forgive her--she hoped he might someday forgive her--she would never forgive herself.
"I don't hate you, Liana," he said.
She tipped her head up, too afraid to let the words in yet. Because this was what she had ultimately feared for all those years, more than anything – that there was someone in the world who genuinely, truly hated her. And not only that, but that the one person who hated her was the person she cared for most in the world. And now he was telling her that wasn't true, and it was as if the sun had burst from behind the wall of clouds that had been keeping it from view.
“I was angry. More than you could possibly know. Angry enough to punch things, to hurt people."
"Are you still?"
He hesitated. But they both knew it couldn’t hurt to tell the truth now. "Yes. But I don't hate you. I never did, and I never could. How could you ever even think that?"
"Because--because--"
"If anything, I hate myself."
"What? Why?"
"All I ever wanted was to protect you from Noel. And I couldn't."
She couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Wait, let me get this straight. You're feeling guilty because you weren't there to protect
"Liana." His tone was still sharp.
She looked up, her lower lip shaking. She was afraid still, he realized, and he curled his lip into the kind of sly smirk he knew she'd recognize from all those years ago.
"Get over here."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
She paused, sure she misinterpreted what he was asking. He beckoned toward her, a casual gesture that was nevertheless fraught with meaning – almost as if he didn't want to make too much of a commitment. It was different from the moment before, when she'd been immobilized, too much in shock to either fight back or embrace him.
Now, she edged closer, inch-by-inch, into his arms, as vulnerable as a china doll that might break. Those shoulders were so strong--and they were stronger even now than when she first felt her body pressed against his, and he told her he'd protect her from her stepfather, from the girls at school, from anyone who threatened her. And she'd believed him, because nobody had ever told her that before--not since her father, and she’d been too young to remember that.
He spoke into her ear. "How could you think I wouldn't forgive you? That would be just plain spiteful, and I'm not a monster. I just--"
"Play one on TV?" she whispered, and that was enough to break the tension a little, though he was still braced--she could feel his heart beating against his ribcage from where her fingers rested against his chest, partially hidden underneath the leather jacket.
Tense, like, even now, he was waiting to be sneaked up on, to be stabbed, to be jumped from behind. That alone was sorrowful and, once again, her fault. He didn't deserve to still have to watch his back every second.
"But you were angry. I know you were and it's okay," she whispered and, before she knew it, she reached up to touch a lock of copper hair that had fallen forward. He didn’t shy away. “It's okay to be angry. It's okay to hate me. You can hate me if you want. I don't mind." She felt herself speaking the words as if she had rehearsed them, which, in a way, she had, though not with the hopes that she would ever get the opportunity to say them other than whispering to herself when she slept at night, trying to assuage herself, to soothe her shame for the millionth time.
In fact, they were what she wished she could have whispered to him in the courtroom before they led him away. But she hadn't been there. And though he might forgive her--she hoped he might someday forgive her--she would never forgive herself.
"I don't hate you, Liana," he said.
She tipped her head up, too afraid to let the words in yet. Because this was what she had ultimately feared for all those years, more than anything – that there was someone in the world who genuinely, truly hated her. And not only that, but that the one person who hated her was the person she cared for most in the world. And now he was telling her that wasn't true, and it was as if the sun had burst from behind the wall of clouds that had been keeping it from view.
“I was angry. More than you could possibly know. Angry enough to punch things, to hurt people."
"Are you still?"
He hesitated. But they both knew it couldn’t hurt to tell the truth now. "Yes. But I don't hate you. I never did, and I never could. How could you ever even think that?"
"Because--because--"
"If anything, I hate myself."
"What? Why?"
"All I ever wanted was to protect you from Noel. And I couldn't."
She couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Wait, let me get this straight. You're feeling guilty because you weren't there to protect
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