I squeeze my eyes shut, and it takes every bit of willpower I possess to not dig the key out of my pocket and jam the fucker into my forearm and yank down. The skin actually itches, as if screaming at me to do it. But when I open my eyes and they land on the unconscious girl on the bed, I know I can’t. Not right now, anyway. I’ll gauge the hell out of my flesh later when I’m alone.
A soft moan comes from the bed, and I jump up, taking a step before I force myself to stop. Stupid fucking move, asshole. Being close to her is what set her off in the first place.
I watch closely as Rella’s eyes slowly blink open and she stares up at the ceiling. Her brows scrunch together; she’s probably momentarily disoriented.
I shift my stance, purposely making a noise to alert her that she’s not alone. Her eyes widen when they fly to me. It fucking kills me when fear is the first emotion that flashes in her eyes, despite the relief taking its place only seconds later.
“I’m sorry,” she croaks, confusing me.
I cross my arms over my chest to keep from reaching in my pocket.
“What in the hell are you sorry for?”
She licks her lips and rolls to her side to face me, one hand tucking beneath her cheek. “For freaking out.”
“There’s not a damn thing you should be sorry for, Rella. I should have kept my distance. It’s no surprise you’re scared of me.”
Her eyes glisten with tears, and it makes my cold, dead heart shrivel up even more. Comfort isn’t something I’m used to offering people, I don’t even think I’m capable of it, but for the first time since I can remember, I want to offer something to Rella that will take that sad look from her eyes.
“I’m not scared of you, Aziah,” she says, so low I barely hear her. “I’m just so used to being scared when someone gets close.”
My brows dip down. “You should be.”
Her lips press together to form a straight line. “Maybe, but I’m not. I never have been.”
Her words both anger me and send a warmth through me I’ve never felt before. Rella’s being naive. She should be scared of me. She should be terrified to be alone with me. She should look at me with nothing but disgust and fear, not the innocent curiosity that’s currently on her face. I’ve done vile and repulsive things to her. I may not have wanted to do them, but I still did them. I get that some may believe my beliefs are dumb and uncalled for, to still blame myself when I had no control over what happened, but Rella’s not the only one who was affected mentally by our childhood. My head is a deep, dark hole of fucked-up.
“Come closer.”
My eyes jerk to hers at her gently spoken request. She still has one hand tucked beneath her cheek, the other resting on the edge of the pillow. Her long dark hair fans out behind her in soft waves and her green eyes watch me closely. Now that her complexion isn’t ghostly white, I notice her flawless skin. Even as a kid, she was always small for her age, and that hasn’t changed.
It’s strange to see her as an adult. She’s turned into a beautiful woman.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Rella,” I warn. “After what happened earlier, I think it’s best I stay over here.”
Her lips tip down at the corners, and her brows crinkle. I fucking hate her frown.
“Please.”
Her whisper is hoarse, and it sends spikes through my heart. I’d give anything to ensure I never hear her beg again.
I take a tentative step, watching her body and eyes for any indication she’s becoming nervous. They remain clear and focused as she watches me take another step. Once I’m only a few feet away, a shadow of apprehension clouds her eyes. I pause, about to put more distance between us again, when her hand lifts from the pillow. Her fingers reach out to me.
“Stop.” Her mouth tightens and her brows pucker. “I want to do this. Just… move slowly.”
Locking my jaw, I take two more slow steps and stop again. I’m so close that if I reach my hand out, I could touch her fingers. Instead, I curl them into fists.
Her forehead shines from sweat and her complexion isn’t as pale as it was earlier, but it’s not her natural color either.
She’s suffering, putting herself through this on purpose, and it fucking kills me. And sorta pisses me off. I’m not worth this heartache and stress. Why she’s doing this to herself is beyond me.
My own palms sweat, along with my forehead, as I look down at her hand. A desperate need to reach out and grab it, to link myself to the girl I’ve hurt in horrific ways, to beg and plead for forgiveness, almost has me staggering. But it terrifies me to think about her flinching at my touch. I still don’t understand why she would want to touch me. Even just a simple brush of the hand should be too much. Her mind recognizes it, but for some reason she’s fighting her natural instincts.
Her voice wobbles when she whispers, “Closer, Aziah. Please.”
“I can’t,” I whisper back.
Her lips form a frown and the wrinkle is back between her eyes. “Why?”