What Lies Beneath (Count on Me Series #7) (16 page)

His chair slamming back hard against the cement. His body hitting with a resounding thud as the air is completely drained from his lungs, a muffled moan the only sound heard as the vibration from the impact of the chair begins to fade away.

Reaching out quickly and grabbing a hold of her arm, I pull her back into me, but not fast enough to miss the words that come spitting out in response to what Dean said before she flipped him on his ass.

“No one is as guilty as you are!”

Moving her back, I release my hold on her long enough to grab the journal off the table and slipping it under my arm, turn my attention back to her. Motioning with a nod toward the door, the guard steps forward and opens it, gifting us our freedom.

Freedom that even though I didn’t agree with the idea at first, Belle gave me when she demanded we come here. What she secured the second she set her sights on my brother.

Isabelle Reagan not only loved me the way I never expected to be, she also freed me.

As we pass over the threshold of the door and Belle steps out into the hallway, I turn back toward my brother. Knowing deep inside this is the last time I’ll ever see him, and doing what until now I’d only deluded myself into believing I’d actually accomplished.

I let go.

“I was wrong with what I said in that letter. The person I really want to be like when I finally grow up, is me. We’re done here.”

Stalking from the room to where Belle stands waiting with Tom and sliding my fingers through hers as we make our way toward the exit, there’s only one thought I’m left with as we make our way outside.

It’s just too bad the same can’t be said for the journal.

The worst is still to come.

Chapter Sixteen

September 6, 2010

She’s here.

Nine years I’ve been going to school while she gets to sit at home and do whatever it is home schooled kids do.

Nine years I’ve been able to keep her my secret.

My dirty one if the last four years are any indication.

A dirty little secret that’s about to get blown wide open and be thrown out for the rest of the world to fuck with.

Belle is here.

So now, not only am I a freshman at another school that if the reputation I’m coming in with is any indication, I’m going to run just like the last two, but I’ve also got to deal with her being in my face.

Who the fuck did I piss off to deserve this?

What makes it even worse is that not even five minutes after I got there and was jumped by Amy, she’s thrown right in my face.

Strolling in the front doors, I’m met with Tim’s fucking laughter first. That hyena sounding shit as he guffaws like a moron and points at whatever is going on in the middle of the sea of people that have gathered around.

What I see when I get closer is Isabelle crouched in the corner, smashing her head off the side of the wall. Her pants, like every other fucking time I’ve seen here in the last four years, full of piss and probably shit considering she was never at any good at controlling it.  A moan or a groan louder than all of the people standing around pointing and laughing at her escaping as she shakes and keeps smashing her head. What quickly turns into a squeal the more people start congregating around pointing.

I could have ended it right there. Shoved all those stupid apes out of the way until I was down on my knees beside her the way I’ve done before. Rubbing her back, reaching for her hand and soothing her the way I used to. Singing to her the way I did when she had one of these freaky fucking incidents at her house when we were kids.

Singing songs that the second anyone heard, would make me an even bigger joke than she was.

Point is, I had the power to fix it. At least, I used to. Fix her.

Do I fix it, though? No. Of course not. If I went to her, all of my secrets would be exposed, and I’ll be damned if I’m gonna make the next four years hell.

Which leaves me wondering what the fuck she’s even doing there.

Fuck no. I can’t go there. I can’t care why she’s at Wexfield.

The only thing I need to care about is doing whatever it takes to make sure she doesn’t fuck things up for me.

Keep her silent.

Which, short of duct taping her mouth shut for the next four years, means I’ve got to scare her.

Make her fear me.

Something I might be able to do if I could just stop the fucking war taking place inside me.

Jesus.

It was brutal this morning and it’s only gotten worse since.

Seeing her like that on the floor and knowing I had the tools to stop it, yet standing there like a fucking jerkoff and not doing a damn thing because having Tim, Amy, Charlotte and Eve laughing at the pathetic lump on the floor was easier, has been haunting me.

Belle is haunting me.

It was easier to hate her when she wasn’t all up in my shit.

Now though, I’m haunted by the past. The memories. Every fucking one of them.

What I can easily go back right now and read because it’s all detailed out in here for me to see.

But I’m not that person anymore.

I’m not her friend.

I’m not the boy she remembers anymore.

I’m not even sure I’m fucking human.

Shoving her to the dirt at the park last year and telling her she smelt like a fucking shit hole before calling her a retard. Laughing when tears start spilling out of her eyes and she fell in the mud puddle and starting rocking back and forth. I’ve got to do better. Up my game and treat her even worse.

That’s better. My heads back on straight and I know what I have to do.

I have to make her see it. 

See the monster.

I’ve got to make her hate me.

It’s the only way to keep her safe.

“Jesus Christ.” I curse under my breath, closing the stupid book and whipping it across the room with a growl rivalling a caged lion. “A real fucking bang up job I did with that, huh?”

Hanging my head and throwing my hands into my hair, I yank on and pull it, consumed by every ounce of guilt and self-loathing I have. Following it up by angrily dragging my hand down over my face as I expel the world’s heaviest sigh. One I’m sure is coming straight from my broken heart.

Reading this shit, it’s breaking my heart the same way I did hers. I can actually feel parts of it splintering, like a piece of wood being shredded. But instead of the shards just falling bloody to the ground, they’re turning around and stabbing me.

Repeatedly.

What fucking thought process went into that choice I made the first day of freshman year? What planet was I living on where I thought treating the girl like a piece of shit was the way to keep her safe?

Better yet, after everything that went down earlier between Belle and my brother, what possessed me to think diving straight into when things became even more fractured between us was the way to go?

Ugh.
I just want this nightmare over with already.

I’m ready to look forward now, I swear to god.

“Kay…” she breaks through, pausing me mid pace, but where before now, I wouldn’t have hesitated meeting her eyes, I can’t so much as turn in the direction of her voice. Can’t meet those eyes. The ones that clearly show me everything she feels because she wears everything so damn openly.

I can’t bear to see what the monster coming to life again has done to them.

It’s just too damn bad she’s not on the same page.

Calling out to me again and huffing heavily when I don’t so much as twitch in her direction, she’s across the floor in a flash. Her hands on my face. Yanking me with a force I didn’t even know she possessed, until I’ve got nowhere to look
but
at her.

“How many more?” she demands, and the cold detached sound of her normally sing song voice plunges the knife in even deeper. I’m almost afraid to look down because I don’t want to see what it actually feels like to bleed out emotionally.

“More what?” I finally manage to choke out through my internal despair.

“How many more entries after this one?”

“One.”

“Good.” She states and I roll my eyes. Hard pressed to see anything good about the situation we now find ourselves in. “Here’s what’s gonna happen. I’m going to let you go, and you’re going to sit. I’m going to get the book off the floor and we’re gonna read it together.”

No fucking way. I’m done. Walk down memory lane is finished. Over it.

“No.”

“Excuse me?” she asks, surprised.  “I was unaware I was giving you a choice.”

What the hell?

“Belle, I can’t. Please. I know this was my bright idea, but I can’t do it anymore. I can’t break you again.”

“Of course you can’t break me, Kayden. It’s because you never broke me in the first place.” She spits out, sounding more like me with every angry word muttered. Further proving my point.

Maybe she’s right and I didn’t break her, but all the shit I’ve written, especially after we stopped hanging out, sure has changed her. She’s not the same girl anymore.

I threw her right into the fire pit and stood watch as she burned.

“Sit.” She demands, pulling back and shoving her hand out toward the sofa. When I make no move to do as she’s asked, she repeats herself louder, and lowering my eyes away from the stress lines beginning to appear on her face, I see just how seriously she’s taking this.

She’s shaking.

Moving out of my grasp as my hand comes out in an attempt to steady her, she crosses the room and falls to her knees. Reaching out, I watch as she grabs the book and pulls it back into her arms before standing and turning back to face me.

“Sit down, Kayden. You want this to be over? Let’s finish it.”

Let’s finish it.

Please God, don’t let that mean what I think it does.

Tired of the back and forth, the fight between the monster I was, and the man I’m trying to be, I give up. Give in to the absolute fear and rage that her cold words have built up and unleashed in me and before I know it, I’m stalking in her direction. Obliterating the space between us, but not so much as blinking as I make my way to her, using my size as a barrier and blocking her in. Making her back up until I can actually hear the bump as her back hits the wall.

Swinging both arms out and further caging her in, I slam them down hard on the wall above and to the side of her. Moving my head in slowly, getting close enough so she can feel my breath against her face as I speak, I don’t say a word. I just glare.

Where I expect her to flinch or cower in some other way, she does the opposite. Giving back as good as she gets as she stares me down, familiar fire raging in her eyes. What happens when I push her too far.

“You promised me.” I roar, slamming my fist against the wall. Falling back and turning away before she can witness the tears that are now beginning to fall. “You fucking promised you wouldn’t let go!”

“And I’m not.” She answers calmly, her voice never wavering. “I’m not letting go, Kay. WE ARE!”

Halted by her words and attempting to wrap my mind around them, I’m not at all prepared for the barrage of fists that come flying at me. Her hands hitting my chest, one hit after another until she’s successfully put space between us. Her hands quickly falling to her side when she’s gotten it, but her eyes not leaving mine.

“Reading that last entry is so that
we
can let go of all of this! Not just you, Kayden. You weren’t the only one living that nightmare! Or in your pity party did you forget that little fact? I lived it too! So sit your ass down and let me let go!”

When her arm moves, I flinch, expecting another assault, but what greets me when I finally open one eye and look is the complete opposite. Her hand is up, her arm is definitely out, but not in anger or upset this time.

She’s trying to end this the only way she knows how.

Meeting me halfway.

Stepping toward her, I put my hand out and just like we did in our room a couple of days ago, I press it tightly to hers. Sucking in a deep breath when I make contact. Catching and releasing my breath when just like before, she slips her fingers down between the grooves in mine and holds on tight.

“You told me to take your hand, Kay. To take it and not let go. Trust me to do that. Trust me to not let go. No matter what.”

Nodding, not trusting my voice to form words, much less say them, I let her lead me over to the sofa and I finally do what she’s been trying to get me to since the last entry ended.

I sit.

But more than that, I trust her to do what she said.

End this.

Chapter Seventeen

“Get in.” Dean grunts toward the backseat after opening the passenger door, helping Isabelle in and slamming it shut behind him.

“What the fuck for?”

“Because I’ve gotta take her home and I’m not in the mood to come back for your ass.”

“So because Isabelle is too retarded to figure out how to use the washroom and pisses herself at school, you’re punishing me?”

“What did I tell you about that?” Dean steps into my face, familiar flames of rage in his eyes matching the scowl he’s now sporting on his face. “She’s not retarded, and if I hear you using that word again, the belt will be the least of your worries.”

The velvety way he talks about his fucking belt should scare me into pissing my own pants, but after facing the last eight years getting used to the feel of the leather as it hits my naked skin, it holds no weight.