Falling Away (Fall Away #3)(70)
Author: Penelope Douglas

“Stop!” She brought up her hands, covering herself and crying.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” I bellowed, getting in her face and pushing her and pushing myself, falling over the edge and knowing that I was going to hit bottom sooner or later.

Fuck!

I gripped the blade in my fist. “Aren’t you finally fucking happy now?” I yelled, and reached up, punching the wall above us, sinking the blade into the plaster.

She cried out, and I nearly fell on my ass when she launched off the wall and wrapped her arms around me, stunning me silent.

I stood there, wide-eyed and not breathing. Her arms tightened around my neck, blanketing me in warmth, and I closed my eyes, my rabid heartbeat pounding in my ears.

Juliet. A tear spilled out of the corner of my eye, falling over my cheekbone. Fuck, what was I doing?

“It’s okay,” she whispered, her shaking lips wet against my chest. “It’s okay.”

I wasn’t sure if she was trying to assure herself or me, but she wasn’t running. Why wasn’t she running?

I stayed, unable to open my eyes, unable to move. The world spun around me, and I felt like I was swaying and about to fall. What the hell’s wrong with me? I might’ve hurt her. I’d never hurt a woman. Except one.

I squeezed my eyes tighter. Oh, Jesus. I wrapped an arm around her waist and put my other hand on her face, holding her to my chest.

“Shh,” I soothed, running my hand down her hair. “I’m sorry.”

Her body trembled in my arms as she tried to catch her breath, but she quieted and slowly relaxed her hold around my neck. All I felt was the heat of her lips against my skin, and I knew one thing.

I wanted her more than I wanted my secrets.

“I like knives, Juliet,” I confessed, still stroking her hair. “When you see someone getting shot on TV, they look shocked. It’s over too quickly.” I forced my raspy voice to stay steady. “A cut is different. As you know. It’s pain, followed by fear.”

She pulled back, covering her naked chest as she looked up at me and listened.

I reached up and pulled the knife out of the wall, making sure to hold it gently.

“I don’t even need to use it,” I pointed out. “People know that I have it, and that’s enough.”

Her pained green eyes looked between me and the knife.

“But there was one time when I needed to use a knife, Juliet. One time when I was tired of being hungry, tired of bleeding, tired of them touching me where they weren’t supposed to … tired of being afraid and being alone.”

Her lips trembled, but she stood strong as she whispered, “What did you do?”

I let out a small laugh. “Yeah, that’s what people want to know, isn’t it? What happened? How did they hurt you? How did they touch you? Where did they touch you? How many times did it happen? Fuck.” I laughed to myself, my eyes blurring and my jaw aching with tears I wouldn’t let go.

But I swallowed down the pain and locked eyes with her. “I need to remember how I survived. Not what I suffered,” I said. “How I fought, and not how I hurt.”

She looked up at me, trying to understand.

“I’m not the kid wearing filthy clothes to school anymore.” I sheathed the blade and stuck it in my pocket. “I stopped throwing up half of what I eat. I don’t beg for them to stop. I don’t cower in corners, hide in closets, or fear coming home.”

That was all I needed to remember. All that was important.

“I’m not cold,” I said. “I’m not hungry. I’m not helpless. I’m not scared. And I’m not always alone anymore.”

That was what I wanted her to understand about what I’d been through. About what she’d been through. The more you suffered, the more you survived. It shaped people in different ways, and what broke one person could empower another.

We were the lucky ones.

She looked at me with weary eyes and nodded, finally understanding.

Bringing her hands up, she held my face, rubbing circles with her thumbs. “What did you do, Jax?” she asked.

I closed my eyes, bowing my forehead to hers. “I made them stop.”

She nodded, accepting. “Good.”

“What are you doing?”

I sat at the kitchen table, watching Juliet walk from one end of the kitchen to the other, gathering food out of the refrigerator as well as pots and pans from the cabinets.

“Making you dinner,” she replied. “We didn’t get to go out for pizza, remember?”

I let out a sigh, rolling my eyes. “I don’t give a damn about food,” I said, watching her in her bare feet. “You’re wearing my T-shirt. You may as well be naked, for Christ’s sake. I want to touch you.”

“You can have dessert if you finish your supper.”

I dropped my head back, clutching the armrests. This was ridiculous.

Ten minutes ago we were screaming at each other, five minutes ago I had my knife out, and now she was acting all calm as if we’d both just woken from a peaceful nap.

It was insane.

After I’d told her that I’d rid the planet of two child abusers, she kissed me, sat me down, and stripped out of her ruined clothes to put on my white V-neck. All calm. As if I’d just told her that I’d stolen a candy bar instead of stabbing two people when I was thirteen. She was either losing her fucking mind or trying to distract me.

And if that was her goal, it was working. The T-shirt hung down to just below her ass, and I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

“What are you making?” I pressed, getting irritated.

“Steak.”

“I don’t want a steak.” I shot out of the chair.

Walking over to her, I held her hips from behind as she worked at the stove. “Stop acting weird. Either fuck me or yell at me. You have to have something to say about what I just told you.”

She turned around, arched a mama eyebrow, and shot out her pointed finger, directing me to my chair like a child.

“Now,” she ordered.

I groaned, raked my hand through my hair again, and plopped my ass back down in my seat.

And then my heart lodged in my throat when she leaned over to grab rubber bands off the window sill and her thong-clad ass peeked out from beneath the shirt.

I chewed the corner of my mouth as I watched her tie back her hair in two low pigtails under each ear. My dick swelled, crowding the slim fucking pants Madoc had told me to buy.

“Oh, my God,” I groaned. “Pigtails?” I blurted out. “Baby, please.” And I stood up to go to her again, but she spun around with a murderous look in her eyes.