35. Chapter 35

35

Hope

I've always wondered how people are so good at pretending—I'm not.

My flushed cheeks and minimal eye contact give away that something is up with me. I bet anyone in Bellmare can tell I'm pretending. But they can't say the same about my dad. He's so good at acting, even I believe him.

Sitting at the table, I watch him shower Mom in sweet nothings and kisses.

The sight appalls me in every disturbing way possible. My stomach can't stop churning at the marvelous act he puts on in front of her.

I wonder if she can see what I see, or if she bluntly chooses to ignore it, just to keep him. She's missed him the entirety of those three months he was away. She got drunk frequently and sent me texts about how she wished for him to come back. She mourned his departure when she should've been relieved that he was gone.

For heaven's sake, he tried to kill her—the part she has conveniently forgotten. That's not it. He's physically and mentally abused her for years, but looking at her now, it's like she's hidden all that mess behind a beautiful painting.

"Why don't we have a nice dinner over the weekend?" Mom suggests with a twinkling smile.

Dad pauses and frowns. "Dinner?"

She hums. "Yeah. You and me, somewhere nice like the old times."

I keep my eyes on my breakfast. I wanted to leave, but Mom dragged me here from my room to sit with them and eat a meal. There's been more PDA than eating.

Dad smiles. "If that's what you want, sweet."

Not a second later kissing noises fill my ears and the one pancake I've eaten rises to my throat.

I want to be anywhere but home.

So, I slide off the stool. "I-I need to go to the library." I run up to my room and grab my bag and phone.

On my way to the door, I can feel Dad's piercing glare on me.

"Be home on time, honey," Mom hollers.

"She will be. Don't worry." Dad assures her with conviction just as I close the door.

After what he did last time, he has all the reasons to be confident. He terrorized me to the extent I can't stand human touch.

Piece by piece I'm breaking apart. Terror and fear are making a permanent home in me.

Since he's returned, he's made me his target and is giving affection to Mom. I'm not jealous, only dejected that he's hurting me. I don't even know what I've done to deserve it.

I was doing well before him. I wasn't the happiest girl in the world or anything, but I was normal—as normal as an introverted, shy girl can be. More than that; I was okay; I was safe.; I was comfortable.

Now he's ruined me for me .

My heart feels heavy from carrying this sadness. I just want to let it all out and feel light. It's strange how one emotion can be so heavy.

On the short walk to the library, I think about the good things in life. One of them being my small business. Since I've been ignoring Heath for the past few days, I haven't been able to check his phone for orders. At some point, I'll have to talk to him and see if I have any orders to fulfill.

Talking to him won't be easy. He'll ask me questions that I can't give him the answers to. It'll create tension between us which isn't something I want.

Today's Friday. I should be at school, but there are competitions happening that I'm not a part of. Marie's entered a computer science project, so Sebastian is there to support her. As for Heath, he's not the type to participate in anything—kind of like me.

We are both loners and introverts.

I mean he has two best friends, but I've seen that he also likes his alone time. Like going to that secret spot on the hill. That's his place to hide from everything.

For me, that place is the library.

I greet Anastasia, the librarian and the owner, and rush upstairs. It's not her fault what happened to me, I don't blame her. If she knew I'm sure she'd protect me, but I'm too much of a coward to tell anyone and burden them.

I'm low maintenance. I don't like to bother people. I've been this way since I was a kid. My parents have never had an issue with me. That explains why I want to be the best at everything and just not cause them to worry. It's drilled into my brain.

However, I do have high standards when it comes to fictional men. I mean, it's not like I'll ever have a real boyfriend.

Who would date a girl who loves books with her entire being? I'll always love books before him.

I know that sounds awful, but books have been my longest relationship, and nothing will ever change that.

Wait. What if I stop reading someday?

I know that won't happen. Ever. But still.

Walking down the shelves, I find my secret spot. No one comes here. It's quiet and lonely—exactly what I need.

Sitting down, I pull my knees up to my chest, making a makeshift table for myself. I open the last book in the series that's become one of my all-time favorites.

Taking out the bookmark, I run my fingers over the page. The feel of a book always makes me feel better. Bringing the book to my nose I sniff the addictive scent of it. It calms my senses instantly like a spell.

If someone were looking at me they'd think I'm insane. Lucky for me, no one comes here.

"I see you're on the last book."

I jostle in shock at the sound of his voice. I can recognize it anywhere.

I spot him leaning against a shelf. He's wearing a simple black T-shirt and jeans with black and white Converse—his usual attire. I'll be amazed if I see anything besides those clothes and colors in his gigantic walk-in closet.

Heath looks breathtaking. One side of his face is hidden with shadows, and the other is bright due to the sunlight that's streaming from the window, heightening his sharp features. His blue eyes look unreal—they've never looked as beautiful as they do now.

I've read about so many fictional characters, but no one comes close to Heath—even though I create them in my head from words on a page. He's the most handsome guy I've ever seen.

But that's not why I'm drawn to him. I mean, it is one of the reasons, but there are other reasons too. Like how he shows his care in little things; buying me food because I'm hungry, turning the AC fans toward me because I'm wearing a turtleneck and feeling hot, calming me down when I'm overwhelmed, and asking me about book updates because I love books.

When I sit tight-lipped, he steps away from the shelf and strides in my direction. Without breaking eye contact, he sits down beside me and leans his back against the shelf. He bends one knee and sets his forearm on it while his other leg stretches long. Sometimes I forget how tall and muscular he is. He has a great lean athletic body. No wonder he's a great fighter.

Tilting his head to one side, he says, "It's rude to stare, Rose."

I blink and quickly look away. "I… I wasn't staring."

"Sure." His voice is husky as if he's just woken up and decided to come here.

I hold the book tightly. "What are you doing here?"

"I was waiting for you." He stares deep into my eyes.

Red climbs up my cheeks and clings there with the promise of not coming down.

Excellent . Because it's so romantic to look like a tomato in front of the guy you sort of like.

"Why?" I mumble.

"You've been avoiding me."

"Not really." Okay, so maybe I was hoping that he wouldn't bother after our last confrontation.

After a long moment he says, "You're lying a lot today."

"No—"

He arches an eyebrow, and I shut up.

Putting away my book, I hug my knees and set my chin on top of them. All to make myself as small as possible. Invisible.

I stare at a random spot on the floor. "How did you know I'd be here?"

"You love reading."

"Yes. But how did you know I'd be in this spot? Not a lot of people come here."

"Precisely why you'd be here," he replies in a sure tone like he knows me from the inside out.

"How do you know me so well?"

"Because I watch you and learn everything." Then he adds, "I want to know you, so I can understand you better."

My heart jumps.

I look at him, surprised by his words.

For a minute I don't even know what to say to him.

We sit in silence for minutes like it's the most normal thing for us.

Finally, I say, "I like the quiet and loneliness here. It's peaceful to me."

"I understand."

"You do?"

He nods.

Lifting his hand, he caresses my injured cheek. His touch is gentle and feather-like, quite contrary to how rough the calluses are on his fingers.

"It isn't red anymore," he murmurs.

His entire focus is on my cheek, knuckles running back and forth over my skin, but I feel his attention on every inch of my body. "If I ask you something, would you tell me the truth?"

My breath hitches and my heart beats frantically.

Oh my God.

Is this it?

This is it.

I stare at him, begging him to not ask me what I know he's going to ask.

I want to look away from him, I really do. But something in his gaze keeps me tied to him.

You don't ask for hugs. You take them.

Moving forward, I wrap my arms around his neck and bury my face in his neck. Tears pour down from my eyes as my heart breaks into pieces in silence. The destruction makes no noise, yet it brings about pain.

I'm so scared. So helpless. I don't know what to do or where to go. I feel stuck. Like time has frozen me in place. I can't escape, I can't hide, I can't leave. I can't do anything.

I snuggle against him, seeking refuge in his arms, because at the moment he seems like the only place I can unburden myself.

Heath wraps his arm around my waist and with the other, he holds the back of my head. His fingers tangle into my hair and reach my scalp. With tenderness, he kneads and squeezes me against him in a tight grip.

We're so close I can feel his strong heartbeats thumping against mine.

"You're always stealing hugs from me," he whispers against my ear.

"Do you mind?"

"Fuck no."

Heath holds me as I silently cry in his arms. He doesn't ask questions or push me away.

Last time I couldn't wait to get away from him when he cornered me in the classroom and today I'm pressed against him and feel the safest I've ever had.

It's strange that I feel like this with him. A guy like him should make me stay away from him, but I can't.

The night Dad choked Mom, I promised myself I wouldn't let myself develop feelings for a guy. I would keep my distance and never let myself fall in love or catch feelings. I promised myself over and over that night as I lay in bed shivering and crying.

I guess it's too late now.

I have feelings for Heath.

Shakily, I pull back from him and almost crumple by his intense stare.

Before I can, he wipes away my tears and cheeks, removing any trace of sadness.

"You shouldn't cry."

"Why not?"

"You look awful when you cry."

I laugh.

If there's anything I've learned about Heath, he's rough around the edges, but within that boundary lies a good heart that he doesn't let anyone see.

I see my bracelet around his wrist and butterflies soar in my stomach. It looks like he hasn't taken it off since I put it on him.

Heath follows my gaze. His expression turns serious, and he clears his throat. "I…on my birthday…we…"

I grin.

It's funny how confident and sure he acts, but now he can't seem to get the words out of him.

"What is it?"

I watch as he clenches and unclenches his hands as if tension is whirring through him and he can't seem to get rid of it.

Slowly, I lay my hand over his and he goes still. His eyes focus on where we're touching, and he takes a deep breath. "Do you want books?"

I stagger with shock. "What?"

"I want to buy you books," he says with a seriousness that leaves me bewildered.

"Books! You want to buy me books. What? Why?"

An exasperated sigh leaves him, and he rolls his eyes. "Do I have to answer all those questions?"

I gingerly nod.

Running a hand through his mess of dark strands he fixes me with an intense look. "I didn't like the way I treated you on my fucking birthday. You planned a good day, and I fucking ruined it. It won't happen again. But I feel irritated for being a fucking asshole, so let me make it up to you."

"You could just say you're sorry, which you did."

"Let me buy you books." His throat moves undeniably slow in a sexy way. "It'll make me feel better."

"I forgave you."

Heath's eyes brighten as if he's been struck with a lightning bolt idea. "Mailbox then."

Confusion clouds my mind until the meaning settles in.

I gasp. "No. Don't do that!"

"Then let me buy you books right now."

"But—"

"Stop arguing with me." He sends me a glare, but it doesn't faze me.

"Okay, but there is an issue."

"What now?"

"The books I want aren't available here."

"We'll buy them online then."

The sound of ‘we' makes another flock of birds take flight in my belly. Only this boy can make me feel like this.

I can barely hold my giddiness as he pulls out his phone.

I place orders of three books on his Amazon account, but he pushes me to make it ten. When I try to fight him, he takes matters into his own hands and orders books that are similar—book cover-wise—to the ones I read.

I can't believe he pays me this much attention. My parents have never cared about what books I read. They're always criticizing my hobby, sometimes making me believe it's stupid. But I know it's not stupid.

Reading is the only thing in the world that makes me the happiest. And nothing that makes you the happiest is very stupid.

Chocolate comes second.

"They'll be here by next week," Heath informs just as he proceeds with the checkout.

"I forgive you again for being an…"

His eyes are on the phone but his mouth twitches. "Asshole."

"Yes."

"I feel so much better now," he says in a dry tone.

I smile, and he scowls.

That's just how it'll be between us.