Break Me (Brayshaw High 5)

A fucking greedy grip.

As I stare at her, I’m overcome by the shit I caused, and my chin falls to my chest, but my baby, she doesn’t allow it.

She does what I do to her, using her knuckles to force my eyes to hers. “Yeah,” she whispers. “You were a complete ass to me, and in front of everyone.”

My ribs ache and I squeeze her tighter. “I can’t believe I did this to you.” My hand goes back to the bruising on her face. “I never wanted to hurt you, and the shit I said to you.” My voice cracks. “I’m so fucking sorry, baby.”

“I know,” she rasps.

“I’m a bastard.”

“And I’m going blind.”

My eyes fly to hers, my organs seizing.

“Baby...” I shake my head, everything inside me aching for the gorgeous girl in my arms.

She offers a small smile, but it does nothing.

She told me this the other night, my brother confirmed it in his words earlier, but I didn’t allow her to explain, refused to hear what she was trying to tell me, blocked her out when she was being vulnerable and sharing her best-kept secret in a room full of assholes.

I was too busy trying to run her off, like a dumbass who convinced himself that what we had wasn’t far too strong for such a fucking move.

It is.

So much stronger.

Standing here, I’ve never been so desperate or terrified to understand something before. I need to know every little thing, so I wait for her to give me more.

Her fingertips find my chest. “Slide your hand into my hair, where I do, and tell me what you feel.”

I gently spin her, placing her on the front hood in front of me, but she keeps her legs locked tight around my torso.

My grip flexes against her, but my need to know why she asked has me doing exactly what she wanted.

My fingers, though, they find the spot I marked her with first, and she tries not to flinch but fails and my heart jolts with her.

“Baby—”

“Glide your hand back farther.” She nods her encouragement.

I do, my body trembling with more than I can name when the pads of my fingers skate across slightly raised skin. I move her hair aside, and she tips her head, granting me a better look at the scar.

It’s at a slight angle and spans maybe three inches. It’s not very wide, and isn’t raised all that much, but it’s there.

“Tell me what happened,” I murmur.

“My dad tried to kill me, and I tried to let him,” she admits.

My eyes slide to hers and my body slumps into hers.

“If Bass hadn’t gotten home when he did, he would have. My brother jumped in front of me. The bullet shot across the side of my head and wedged into the muscle of his shoulder. He fell back, and my dad came forward. He hit me with the barrel, three times is all I remember, but I was told it was five.”

I clench my teeth, flexing my jaw as I stare at the most perfect fucking thing I’ve ever seen, touched. Been in the fucking presence of.

Hurt by a man she should have been able to trust.

By a man who was supposed to love her.

And by me, a man who does.

Fuck.

“He cracked my skull. I was in the hospital for a few weeks, couldn’t see at all for the first nine days,” she admits. “I have optic nerve damage and it will never go away. It causes blind spells. We learned that when my anxiety is high, or I get worried or scared or emotionally overloaded, it happens. My blood pumps too quickly, inflaming the eye, and I lose clarity... or sight completely.”

“Back at your aunt’s, when I found you sleeping outside, you freaked when you woke up...” I remember.

She nods, her eyes softening. “When I opened my eyes, all I saw was darkness, and I thought my sight was gone. I didn’t realize I fell asleep out there.” She grips my cheeks.

All the heavy blinking, the red, swollenness...

“Royce, at the school, I saw you losing control and started to panic. Your brothers tried to keep me away, they knew what might happen, but I didn’t listen. All I saw was you losing yourself. I got free and was going to try to stop you before things got worse.” She pauses, deep creasing framing her face. “I lost sight and tripped. Baby, you didn’t swing and hit me,” she whispers. “I fell forward and right when you flung your hand back. I fell into it.”

My breath comes out in a hard, panted, huff.

“You were crazed and angry, all you understood was your hand whipped around and you saw me slam to the floor, but it wasn’t your fault. I fell.” Tears fill her eyes and I want to wipe them away.