Does It Hurt? (54)
“You keep ’em?”
“No, never. They’re not meant to be imprisoned.”
He nods, an awkward silence descending. I pay him no mind, my attention zeroed in on the shark. Restlessness is gathered in my bones, and I’m almost stupid enough to consider swimming out of here. But despite my experience with them, it’s too dangerous, especially if this is a hunting ground for them.
“I’m uh, sorry about the little scare ya’ll had yesterday,” he apologizes. “I ain’t ever had that happen, but I imagine it made you two very uncomfortable.”
Dragging my gaze away from the water, I eye him closely. He’s staring down at the sand, watching how the rolling waves wash up to the wooden leg that’s slowly creating a hole within the grains. He’s tense, and I can’t tell if it’s because of what he’s saying or because he just doesn’t like being in my presence.
“Guess the ghosts just don’t like us. Odd, when we’re not the ones who killed them.”
He chortles, but the sound comes out forced. “Maybe they was just askin’ fer you to help them, then. Can’t say I like their company, either.”
“Why don’t you leave?” I question, turning my gaze back to the water. Though, I keep him in my peripheral, trusting him as much as I would if he claimed his wooden leg was real.
“It’s what I know best. Been out here since I was eighteen, and by the time the lighthouse shut down in 2010, I’d been here for thirty-two years. S’pose it’s a lot like getting out of prison. Don’t know how to adjust to the real world.”
“Sawyer mentioned you having a daughter,” I probe.
“Had a whole family once upon a time,” he answers, though his tone is hardening. “I’ve tried to make this place a home. Sometimes people just ain’t willin’. But doesn’t stop me from tryin’.”
I glance at him. “Must’ve been hard to let them go.”
Instead of answering, he turns to me and points over his shoulder. “There’s a storm comin’ in tonight. I’d be inside within the hour. They can come on fast, and the waves get big. But I’m sure you know that now.”
My fists clench when he slaps the back of my shoulder a couple of times before heading off. I tuck them deeper into my armpits, refraining from sending one of them flying into the back of his head.
“Hey, Sylvester?” I call, keeping my back to him. He doesn’t verbally respond, but I know he’s stopped walking, his uneven gait no longer audible. “Don’t touch me again. And don’t touch Sawyer, either.”
The silence turns murderous. It feels like having a serial killer breathing down your neck, their intent to kill you as potent as the salt is in the air.
I don’t think I’d mind him trying.
But after a moment, his gait resumes, and he walks away without a word.
“You probably just shouldn’t have said anything,” a soft voice says from behind me. This time, I do turn, finding Sawyer walking toward me, her demeanor unsure.
“Are you expecting me to let him belittle and lay hands on me just to avoid discomfort?”
She tightens her lips and nods. “Good point. I’m sorry.”
I shake my head and face the water again. How is it that my hatred for how she makes me feel is somehow shifting, and now I’m hating the way I make her feel?
“I don’t want your apologies. It’s men that made you feel and think that way. They should be apologizing to you.”
“Are you going to apologize? You're one of those men.”
“If I ever feel sorry about it,” I murmur. She’s right, I should be apologizing. But I also don’t lie, and while there is guilt needling its way into my system, I’m not ready to give in to it yet, either.
“It was wrong. Fucked up.”
“It was,” I agree. “But you're not upset because I fucked you. You're upset because I scared you.”
She's quiet for a beat. “You're right. I've been scared my entire life, and I've been touched my entire life. It'll never hurt when you touch me, but it hurt that you were no longer safe.”
Fury explodes in my chest, and I'm whipping toward her, putting my face in hers.
“So, I made you feel what you made me feel? I won't deny that I'm the villain in your story, baby, but please don't insult me by acting like you didn't hurt me first.”
She bites her bottom lip to hide the tremble. I tsk, raising my hand to her face and using my thumb to pull her lip out from between her teeth. She still smells of the ocean, and she's so fucking beautiful—that's what hurts.
“Don't hide your tears, bella. You're so pretty when you cry.”
“I'm so—”
“I said I wouldn't apologize until I meant it. I suggest you do the same,” I tell her, turning away. I thought I'd be able to breathe easier when I did, but she's still taking up too much space in my chest.
I haven’t been able to get last night off my mind, replaying it over and over in my head. I said I’d never fuck her again, but in my weakest moment, I gave in. The nightmare of my mother abandoning me on those damn steps, laughing as she drove away from me, was fresh in my mind.
I needed to escape it, and seeing the evidence of Sawyer’s unbending need for me was too good to resist. Because right before me was someone who couldn’t let me go even when she wanted nothing more than that, and all I wanted to do was make sure she couldn’t let me go.