Beauty in the Broken

“Why do you care what they did to me?”

“Nobody hurts what’s mine and gets away with it.”

“I wasn’t yours back then.”

“You were. You always were.”

“Damian.” She pulls her hand free. “You’re insane.”

I smile. “That makes two of us.”

Her regard is reprimanding. “That’s not funny.”

She’s got to stop giving me the schoolmistress act or I’ll forget why I’m here. “Have I ever lied to you?”

“No,” she whispers.

“Then trust me in this. They’ll never work again, not one single person who’s ever been connected to that place. Say the word and I’ll kill them all for you.”

“No,” she cries with a start. “I don’t want you to kill anyone.”

“Then start talking.”

She utters a tremulous sigh. I know the exact moment she takes the mental jump. Her hands fist and her lips part. There’s a pause, and then it all comes gushing out.

“They strapped me to a bed, injected me with drugs, and starved me.”

It’s the conclusion I already came to, minus the starving part. Hearing her say it makes my organs boil in vengeful anger. Dickenson will be exposed. I swear.

“That’s why I stole the bread. It’s compulsive.”

In case I take her food away. In case she goes hungry. I’ve suffered many wrongs, but never deliberate starvation, not even at the hands of my no-good parents. I can’t begin to imagine what she went through. The pieces that didn’t make sense come together. How she gobbled down her first meal in this house, how she always eats as if there won’t be another meal, why she dried an emergency stack of bread, the sugar she took in the restaurant, everything now makes sense.

“You didn’t steal anything. What’s mine is yours. I’ll never let you starve.” Wrapping my arms around her, I pull her close. I hold her lightly, still mindful of her sore back. “I’ll give you justice. I promise.”

She buries her face in my chest and grabs a handful of my shirt.

“Why did Dalton send you there?” I ask, worried she’ll stop talking.

“I was being difficult when he brought me home after Jack’s death.”

Clarke had her declared incompetent. Her right to make decisions had already been stripped. She wouldn’t have been able to contest a decision Dalton had made in her best interest. She was locked up against her will, but why starve her? It’s not the loving father image I had in my head. The more I hear, the more that image unravels and the ends don’t tie up.

“Dalton knew what was happening there.” I kiss the top of her head. “There’s more to it. I want to know everything.”

She stills. For a moment, I believe she’s going to tell me, but then she says, “There are things I can’t trust anyone with but myself.”

Pulling away, I offer her a smile. It’s soft. It’s meant to put her at ease. Yes, it’s manipulative, but I’ll never use any information she shares with me against her. I’ll never judge her.

“You and your things,” I say, making light of the statement.

She doesn’t take the bait. “There are secrets I can’t trust anyone with.”

“Haven’t I earned your trust?”

She scoffs and pushes me away.

“Have I ever not done something I said I would?”

“No,” she whispers, averting her eyes.

“I’ll avenge you, Lina, even if you never tell me.” I’ll find out, though. I want to know every fucking sin ever committed against her. “I don’t know what you’re hiding or why, but I’m not your enemy. I’m your husband. You’re mine, and I’ll protect you until my dying day.”

She blinks. She searches my face as she digests my words. “You forced me to marry you for your warped motivations. You’re keeping me tied to you against my will, and proclaim you’ll do it until your dying day. How can I trust you?”

I narrow my eyes at the truthful accusations. On any other day, I would’ve gladly reminded her how much she likes to be kept against her will, but not today. “Have I lied to you, ever?”

“No,” she says again.

“Trust me, angel. Try, at least. No one can carry their secrets alone forever.”

It’s true. I see the realization in her eyes as she studies the pattern of the bedspread. I see the weight of her past in her slumped posture and the temptation to unburden herself in the way she works her lip between her teeth.

After a while, she looks up at me with big, tormented eyes. “I need time.”

I accept the olive branch. “I can be patient.”

“Thank you.”

The words are barely audible, but she gave me something. She gave me gratitude.

“Now you can tell me about your addiction to jelly beans.”

She blushes redder than raspberries.

I grin. “Zane said he cleaned out two stores. How many jelly beans can one, meager woman eat?”

“I…” She wipes a strand of hair behind her ear, not meeting my eyes. “I need jelly beans when I’m upset.”