Deceiving Lies (Forgiving Lies 2)

“They’re just something I’ve brought on myself throughout the years.”

I studied his face as I replayed his tortured words

over and over again. “I don’t believe that,” I said later. “I don’t know why . . . and part of me can’t believe I’m about to say this . . . but I know you’re not a bad person.”

He scoffed, and when he spoke again, the tortured strain was gone from his voice. “If I’m not a bad person, then why are you here? Better yet, tell me why you’ve been having nightmares of me every night.”

My mouth opened, but nothing came out.

“Exactly. Don’t ever let yourself believe that I’m not as bad as your nightmares are portraying me. I assure you, I’m worse.”

I watched Taylor stand again and quickly walk over to shut off the lights. Darkness engulfed us, and all I could hear was him settling down in his spot against the door.

“I don’t have nightmares about you,” I said softly. The phantom pain of Blake’s blades was making it hard to breathe. Each labored breath seemed shallower than the last.

“What?”

“The man who haunts my dreams was evil. You . . . you’re not a bad person.”

The sound of Taylor moving back toward the mattress filled the small room. “What do you mean? Who do you dream about?”

“Just . . . not you.”

“Those scars,” he said after a few moments of silence. “Where did you get them?” When I didn’t respond, he spoke again . . . his voice strained. “I’d seen your arms, but I . . . I thought it was something different.”

“You thought I’d done this to myself,” I guessed, and took his silence as acknowledgment.

“Who did that to you?”

I sat there for a long time without answering his question. Taylor didn’t have a right to know about my life, and yet, some part of me wanted to tell him. “A man that I’d grown up with and had trusted. Something changed in him though, he became obsessed . . . he was evil. And, to put it simply, he wasn’t accepting of the fact that I refused to be his.”

“Is he who you dream about?” he asked. The darkness in his tone caused me to shrink away from him.

“Nightmares,” I corrected him. “I have nightmares about him. I dream about Kash and my life before you entered it.”

It felt like all the air was sucked from the room at my attempt to hurt Taylor. It was ridiculous, but an apology was at the tip of my tongue. I hated that I felt bad for hurting him . . . but I knew my earlier assessment was correct. Taylor may have done bad things, but he was not a bad person.

With a heavy sigh, Taylor moved back across the room. He didn’t say anything, and neither did I, but I felt his eyes on me until I eventually fell asleep.

“WHAT COLOR DO YOU THINK I SHOULD USE?”

One of Taylor’s eyebrows shot straight up, and with his dark eyes, strong features, and large arms crossed over his chest, I suddenly felt stupid for asking him. But I was bored, I needed someone to talk to, and he was the only candidate. Candice would’ve helped me pick out a color, so this beast was about to help me pick out one now.

“Well?” I prompted and gestured toward the six nail polishes sitting on the bed.

“You’re serious?” Despite his deadpan expression and tone, I didn’t give up.

“Uh, yeah.” It’d been over a week since the night Taylor had woken me up from my Blake nightmare, and in that time, something had changed between us. I don’t know if it was telling him the smallest bit about Blake, or if it had to do with Taylor mentioning his personal demons. Whatever the reason, we talked more every day. While it made the days go by faster, I was also struggling to remember why I’d ever been afraid of him. That alone should worry me and shoot up red flags; but I could see the torture he struggled with internally, and I knew this whole situation was the last thing he wanted for either of us.

He huffed and uncrossed his legs before switching which one was on top. “Isn’t it enough that I buy you those, and braved buying you tampons last week?”

My cheeks flooded with heat, but I squared my shoulders and stared him down. “Well if I was home, you wouldn’t have had to worry about that! It’s not my fault you weren’t prepared for having a woman locked up for this long.”

His face dropped and turned an odd shade of white for his normally tan skin. “I’m sorry—”

“I know you are, and I know you don’t even have to do what you’ve been doing. So thank you, but could you just humor me, and help me pick out a color? Please?”

“Sure,” he said softly, and didn’t bother standing as he crawled over to the mattress. His brow drew together as he studied the different colors, and picked them up individually, before picking up two at a time and setting one aside.