Pepper Winters - Destroyed

Narrowing my eyes, I snapped, “You’re rude, but it won’t work.”

“What won’t fucking work?”

I moved from my place at the foot of the bed, inching closer to him. He stiffened, glaring at my every step. I stopped at the side of the bed just out of touching distance. His body never unwound. If anything, his muscles bunched harder.

“You’re pushing me away because you’re a coward. You don’t want me to leave as I’m the only one strong enough to put up with your bullshit.”

His face went stark white. Eyes flashed with livid rage. “ What did you just say to me?”

“You’re a coward. You hide behind violence. You dish it out. You invoke it to happen to you, but really, you’re lost and alone and you’re drowning.” My mind collided with so many things I wanted to say. “Something’s destroying you inside. You’re looking for a way out but you can’t find it. That’s why you surround yourself with fighters. It’s a world you know. The only world you can breathe in.”

His teeth ground together; his body vibrated. “Get. Out. Get out !”

Ignoring him, I rushed on. “I think you bribed me to stay, because I’m the only one you have ever felt any connection with. I think chemistry and attraction is completely new to you and instead of asking me out on a date, you stole my knife and kidnapped me. I don’t know what’s going on in that brain of yours, but I’m beginning to understand.”

He sucked in a harsh breath, his muscles shuddering with anger. “You think you know me? You think you can wave a fucking magic wand and fix me?” He moved to get off the bed, and I backed away. His feet touched the floor, but he didn’t stand up, almost as if he forced himself to stay seated, to stay away from me. “It was a mistake to fuck you. It was a mistake to let you anywhere near me. You’re crazy with your stupid conclusions. I’m not a pet project for a girl scout to fix. Get the fuck out and stop boring me.”

“I’m boring you? Oh, my God, you’re completely backwards. If you were bored you wouldn’t care what I thought. You’re not bored, Fox, because you know I’m right. What do you want from me? What were you hoping to achieve?”

From my place in the centre of the carpet, I balled my hands. “Did you think you’d win my affection by raping me? Or how about making me swoon with your fucked-up inability to be touched? I wanted you—I’ve been honest about that right from the start—but what I don’t want is a man who’s so far off the realm of sanity that I can’t understand or predict. If you gave me the money right now, I’d leave, and I would never think about you again.”

My throat closed on the lie.

Fox clutched the edge of the mattress. “Don’t let me keep you, dobycha. Congratulations on fucking hurting me more than the injuries I’m suffering. You just proved how shallow you are. You never truly wanted me—if you did, you’d want more than just what my bank balance can give you!”

My entire body hummed with anger. “I’m the shallow one? How about you? You think you’re one-dimensional; you provide a scarred scary persona who owns an illegal fight club, but that’s not the truth. Want to hear my version of the truth and then you can see if I’m shallow enough not to care?”

I didn’t wait for his reply. “You can’t be touched. I would never be able to guess why that is but it left me wondering—why did you buy me for sex if you never undress and seem to abhor the very idea of being near anyone? You wear clothes as if they’ll protect you from something. You sculpt and work with metal because you have control over the destiny of the piece that you’re creating. You’re screwed up and confused and—”

“Shut up! Get the fuck out.” I leaped back as Fox stood upright. He roared, “Stop it. Just leave me alone!”

My ears rang from his fierceness; my heart bruised my ribs it thudded so hard, but for the first time, I sensed a crack. He wasn’t Mr. Obsidian in that moment, he was just a man with a primal temper. A man on the verge of losing it.

“No. You’re going to hear me.” I’m going to break you.

His teeth ground loudly sending shivers scattering over my back. Swallowing hard, I demanded, “Had you kissed anyone before? Before me?”

He glared daggers, piercing my skin with his hatred. “What does it matter? Have you ever been so badly abused every bone was broken in your body? Have you ever gone days without food or had so much blood on your hands you wanted to kill yourself?” His chest heaved under his sweater.

We froze.

His nostrils flared. He didn’t mean to slip—he’d said something fundamental—a huge insight into his past. I wouldn’t let him retreat now. Taking a step forward, I pushed him, kept prodding, as if he were a cornered animal.

“No, but you have.” I couldn’t handle this. It hurt to think about Fox’s past—what he kept hidden. He’d almost killed me. He’d taken me against my will. I owed him my hatred, not my pity.

But how could I fear someone in such emotional pain?

The scar on his cheek glowed bright red, looking as if it wept with fresh blood. Colour flushed his neck line, highlighting faded scars I hadn’t noticed before. He seemed to throb before my eyes—changing from a zombie, a lifeless creature still going through the motions of life, to a man craving freedom.

“I know you’re not Australian, and I know your scar was a punishment. Tell me.”

He shook his head, damp hair flying. He bared his teeth. “Let me figure this out. You think you know me? You think you can read me and figure out what shit lives inside my head? You think you have superpowers?” He threw his arms up. “What other things do you think I happen to be, dobycha? A cutthroat murderer? A drug dealer? How about a rapist?” Running a harsh fingertip down the redness of his scar, he laughed. “Hang on, I guess I am a rapist after last night. Everything you think you know about me is tainted because of this. This scar—it makes you pity me and fear me.”

His shoulders bunched as he took a step forward. “You think you can guess how I got this? What I’ve done? Stop spinning your lies and fabricating stories. You’re so far off you’re in the realm of fantasy you’re embarrassing yourself. Do us both a favour and fuck off.”

His lips snapped shut. A metre separated us, keeping me safe from his seething rage.

Not once had he moved to grab or hurt me. Not once had he dropped his guard. All the while hating me for making him face the truth, he protected me by staying away.

Fatigue hit me and I sighed heavily. “You don’t trust yourself at all do you?”

He blinked at my whisper, so quiet after yelling.

My eyes met his, and I gave him a tiny smile. “Any normal person would touch and squeeze and manhandle each other in an intense argument, but you—you keep your distance. It’s not me you don’t trust—it’s yourself.”

He didn’t say a word, trembling in the wake of his terrible anger. Despite the colour flushing his neck and rage glowing in his eyes, he withheld his strict self-control. What would happen if I touched him? What would he do if I opened my arms and hugged him?

You’d die.

I knew it. As sure as the sun would set and rise again.

Silence fell between us, and my eyes dropped to his forearms. The jumper he wore had been pushed up, revealing corded muscle and scars.

Scars. Scars. Scars.

More than I could count. Some faded and silver, others red and healing. But it was the four straight and perfect lines seeping with bright red crimson that caught my attention.

I’d seen marks like that before. On another. I’d witnessed first-hand the fractured mind of an individual who sought pain to help remove the build-up of agony inside.