Crushed (Torn #7)(7)

It began when I angrily beat up my cousin Benson, who was two years older than me, with a heavy, silver hairbrush because he wouldn’t stop mocking me. Back then, my anger had been channeled into a lot of throwing and destructive things, but it was the first incident that I had hurt someone intentionally. My anger coiled and rolled off me as if I was possessed by it. I couldn’t control it; the deep-seated need to keep on going was inevitable. It gnawed at me, blinding me from what I had truly become. So? in the shroud of its darkness, I didn’t realize what had happened until Benson was shaken to his core, his eyes glassed with tears as he look at me with that big, painful gaze of his. In it, I found something—he was terrified of me. For the first time, I had found a way to make him halt his demeaning taunts, and I felt empowered by it.

His forehead was cut open, and it drew a deep crimson-colored blood trail, somehow freezing me in amazement at how easily I could actually hurt anyone even at such a young age. Benson’s mother, my mother’s sister, obviously was hysterical and didn’t waste any time before she started lecturing and shrieking at my mother’s incompetence, blaming her for my lack of respect and foul attitude.

At first, I was mortified at what I had done, but in the end, I realized that, by doing such awful things, it reflected on her and my father. In some weird way, it got a reaction from her, letting her know I had inflicted hurt the way she and my dad consistently did without remorse.

This was one of the focal points where I became accustomed to the word and lifestyle known as addiction.

“Hey there, Amberini.”

Upon hearing his warm, deep, honeyed voice, the war—the pain and all the painful things that were compressed in my chest—immediately vanished.

“Hey,” I meekly replied, barely giving him a glance.

Brody … He was here, and all would be fine.

Composing myself, I tried to look less eager than most women around there, those who didn’t even dare mask their intentions with him.

Amberini—it was a nickname he used to tease me when no one was around. I wasn’t sure why, but he never called me that when any of our friends were in hearing distance. I was simply too happy that he had a name for me. It felt like it was our secret, so I didn’t dare ask what was with the name.

He came up close, standing next to me, and I felt his hand touch the side of my hip before he leaned close to my ear. “Everything okay? You look glum.” His voice was teasing, but there was evident concern in there, as well.

“Just stuff…” Showing vulnerability wasn’t what I was about, yet hearing him ask if I was okay turned me into a puddle of goo-goo shit.

“I’m all ears if you wanna tell me,” he persisted with his calming voice, urging me to open up to him.

I shrugged, contemplating if I should or shouldn’t. “Family stuff. It’s no big deal, really.” Admitting a part of my problem was a major deal for me; however, I wasn’t prepared just yet to divulge the kind of ugliness I was sure he had never been exposed to. Hiding things and running away from them was what I was accustomed to; talking about it wasn’t.

Still holding me close, he used his strength to maneuver me out of the pool area and into the garden section of his home, somewhere quiet, somewhere he could grill me to open up to him.

“Family stuff can be the biggest deal most of the time,” he finally said as we started to walk around the green, lush haven littered with palm trees and all sorts of pretty, exotic-looking flowers.

One thing I knew was that Brody had a way to bring out my emotions. He did it better than Trista or any of my friends, maybe because I loved him. Today, I wasn’t sure why, but I felt as though I just couldn’t talk about it. I simply wanted to forget them and everything in between.

“It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.” Wanting to eagerly brush this whole thing off, I threw a brave smile at him. It was one that should tell him I was fine, that he had nothing to worry about. “Why don’t you go ahead and party? People will be looking for you soon.”

Around the pool area was already chaotic and loud, and I found myself being comforted by the noise of it—the laughter and plain, simple fun of being young and reckless.

“I don’t really care for the party.” His gaze didn’t waver, zeroing in on me as though he could see through my fa?ade of bravery. “Something tells me you’re not okay, so I’m staying and keeping you company, instead. This can take all night you know, and I just want to tell you I won’t care if it does.”

Why was he pressing on this? Was it because Lindsey wasn’t here and he was bored out of his mind? I wasn’t sure. Besides, it wasn’t like I had the guts to really ask him. Anything involving Lindsey and him … Well, I clammed up. I knew it wasn’t my right to like—love—him the way I did. That was why keeping it a secret was highly important to me, and seeing there were a lot of school people around, I didn’t deem it wise to be caught leisurely walking around the garden with him only wearing his board shorts and with me in my somewhat too skimpy bikini.

“There’s no need for that. I’m not a pity party.”

“Who said anything about pity?” He seemed offended, caught off guard by my comment. “Maybe I like being near you.”

Now he was just f*uking with me.

“Maybe you don’t, but who cares, anyway?” I was trying not to snap at him, but I failed miserably.