RUIN: Psychological Enemies-to-Lovers Thriller

I searched his face. “But. . .did you like it?”

“I didn’t. I wanted to play piano or violin.”

I smiled. “Maybe all would be solved with a violin.”

“Maybe.”

“You sounded like a good son.”

“I tried to be.” He frowned. “There, I lived in the seminary—this community of men that did everything together. Pray. Work. Eat. Study. It was an odd fraternity. A brotherhood based in faith.”

Intrigued, I asked, “Did you only study the Bible?”

He chuckled. “Thankfully, our focus was four areas—human, spiritual, pastoral, and intellectual. We were expected to be theologists and philosophers. To know many things.”

“Many things spoken by dead men?”

“Especially dead men.”

“That’s why you know so much about opera and classical music?”

“Perhaps.”

I looked at the renovated chapel. “You were a priest here?”

Rage covered his face. “I tried.”

I inched back.

He fisted his hands at his sides. “Back to you.”

“No.” I waved my hands. “Not back to me.”

“Why do you think your stepfather kept saying we?”

“I don’t know.” Pressure built in my chest.

“Did you ever question him about that during the day?”

“I tried not to be alone around him. But. . .once when I was changing my brother, Tate’s diaper, I asked, but he said that I must have been confused.”

“What do you think he meant when he said we?”

“I don’t know.” I hugged myself tighter. “Maybe I was confused. Maybe he never said that at all. I mean. . .sometimes, I don’t even. . .”

“Tell me.”

“After I ran away. And I was alone and cold and hungry and. . .” My bottom lip quivered. “And I missed. . .”

“Your mother?”

“And brother. Sometimes, when I let myself miss them. . .let myself think of them. . .I wondered if I’d made it all up in my head.”

“You didn’t, Phoenix. Why would you make up such a thing? Why would your gut give you those feelings if it wasn’t true?”

“Maybe something is wrong with me.”

“And what if there is absolutely nothing wrong with you at all. What if something is wrong with them?”

I shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does.”

“It doesn’t.” My eyes watered more. “I’m an adult now. That was long ago.”

“Yet, it still matters.”

Anger rose within me. “Yeah. . .but that was. . .over ten years ago, so—”

“It’s still important.”

I gritted my teeth. “It’s not.”

“It still matters, Phoenix.”

I glared at him. “It doesn’t.”

“It does.”

“I’m not there anymore!” I screamed. Tears left my eyes. My body shook. I lowered my voice. “I’m not fucking there.”

He studied me.

I felt like I was under a judging microscope that picked at the bits of my soul. I calmed myself and scowled. “It doesn’t fucking matter what happened.”

He took a step my way.

I backed up.

“While I was in seminary, my mother had a heart attack.” Cain stayed where he was. “My father committed suicide a month later. . .right in front of me.”

Pain hit my chest.

“That left my younger siblings without a true adult. My brother, Griffin, was nineteen. West was about to turn eighteen. There was no question that I had to leave seminary and take care of them.”

Sadness took over my anger. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry for you too.”

“I’m fine.” My voice cracked. “I don’t need an apology.”

“Or you don’t think you deserve one.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?”

“Try and psychoanalyze me.”

“That’s a big word for someone who dropped out of school.”

“I didn’t stop learning just because I didn’t go to a stupid building.”

“How did you learn?”

“When you’re homeless, you have the whole day to yourself. To wander. To walk. To sit. When you’re older and homeless, you tend to look for work. . .that is, if you can get out of the depression of being homeless in the first place.”

“And for a homeless teen?”

“You go to the library and read. You walk into the mall and watch the tv in electronic stores until they kick you out. You panhandle, begging people for quarters, here and there.” I sighed. “You look for shelter for the night. You look for drugs. I’d been. . .searching for drugs one night. I’d been ready to. . .”

“What?”

I gave him a sad smile. “I’d been looking for something strong the night I met Quin. You don’t understand. . .when street people see a young girl on the street, they’re always offering her anything. They’re always trying to get her fucked up, so they could do anything to her. I could get drugs all for free.”

“Free for now, but you’ll pay later.”

“With my body.” I frowned. “But I didn’t care that day.”

He smiled. “And Quin arrived?”

Fuck. Now he knows her name. Who cares? Nothing matters anymore.

He frowned. “Did Quin show you where to get drugs?”

“She told me I was stupid to even think about it.” I chuckled. “She said if I was going to be stupid, then I should shake my ass in the strip club instead. At least that way I could get better drugs and some money.”