Shattered (The Protectors 11)

“How old were you?” I asked.

Caleb hesitated, then answered, “Fifteen.” He paused for a moment, then said, “They were drinking and playing poker… they kept getting louder and louder, so I stayed in my tent and read.” His voice cracked when he whispered, “Harry Potter.”

“Oh God, Caleb, I’m sorry,” I bit out. I wanted to tell him he didn’t have to continue, but I also wanted him to get it out… to lance that wound so that it would…

It would what?

Heal?

Was that even possible? Could someone ever truly heal from that kind of brutality? Maybe I was making things worse by making him relive it. Before I could even consider that, Caleb continued on his own.

“My dad called for me. They were sitting around the campfire. It was this spot we used to go to all the time. Most of the time, Nick would come with, but by then he’d started to use more so he wasn’t around as much. My dad had me sit down next to him on this log and he put his hand on my thigh. I couldn’t believe he was doing it – I was afraid Mr. Jennings and Rush would figure out our secret. He started telling me how Rush really liked me and told me to go sit next to him. Rush was… he was a really big guy. He made me uncomfortable because he’d been looking at me weird all weekend. I told my dad I didn’t want to sit by Rush, but he got upset and told me to do it.”

My stomach dropped out because I knew what was coming.

“I did what he said. Rush started touching me and saying how pretty I was. He made me put my hand on his… his groin. I looked at my dad…”

Caleb’s voice broke and he sucked in a harsh sob. “I actually thought he’d stop it. When Rush forced me to my knees in front of him, I called out for my dad. He… he told me to show Rush how good I sucked cock.”

Caleb began sucking in deep breaths of air. I turned him around so he was facing me and pulled him up against my chest. “You’re safe, Caleb. They can’t hurt you anymore. I’ll never let anyone hurt you ever again, do you hear me?” My words were harsh, but I couldn’t help it. Tears blurred my vision. I felt Caleb nod against my chest.

“I thought it would just be the blow job, but then Rush made me get on my hands and knees. I thought my dad would stop it… it was… it was our thing. He used to say that to me – that it was our special secret and no one could ever know because they wouldn’t understand just how much he loved me. But when he let Rush do that to me…”

Caleb shook his head. “I cried the whole time. When Rush was finished, he just left me lying there in the dirt. I heard him and my dad talking about how Rush knew my dad was bluffing. I… I didn’t get it at first.” Caleb choked back a sob and whispered, “He lost me in a bet.”

“What?” I asked, because I was certain I’d heard him wrong.

“My dad ran out of money while they were playing poker so he bet me. And lost.”

“Fucking son of a bitch!” I snarled. I slammed my fist into the headboard. The wood held and pain radiated throughout my hand and arm. But it wasn’t enough.

I got up and began grabbing whatever I could reach and throwing it against the walls. I ripped at fabric that found its way into my hands. Books hit the floor, glass shattered.

The lights flipped on, and I found myself staring at the remnants of a broken picture frame. Glass was all over the floor.

In a million pieces.

Beyond repair.

Oh God.

Despair curled through me as I turned to face Caleb. He’d needed me to support him through this, and I’d lost my temper instead. I’d gone on a rampage when he’d needed me to just listen, to hold him.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

I expected to find him cowering in one of the far corners of the bed, but instead, he was standing next to it, one arm crossed over his chest and holding the other arm.

“I’m sorry,” I said. A bitter taste filled my mouth and I wondered if I’d actually throw up right there in front of him. God knew I was feeling sick enough for that.

“Come back to bed,” Caleb said as he held out his hand to me. “Watch the glass,” he added. There was absolutely no fear in his eyes as he waited patiently for me to take his hand.

“I’m sorry,” I repeated. My skin felt like it was on fire and the last thing I wanted to do was remain still. I needed to move – to run or hit or something. I needed… I needed… God, I needed to not feel.