Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Dio. His fists clenched in impotent rage. How could a mother be so damn callous to her only son?
“I just want to know the truth,” he said stonily.
“What for?” Raquel’s tone was defensive, and it was as if she had decided to take harbor in cruelty as she went on to spit, “Isn’t it enough that I got you safely to your grandmother? Your father was thinking of killing you because he didn’t want risking you talking to another person about what happened. And I saved you from that. I saved you, and this is how—-”
“It’s not enough!” Marcus knew he was losing it, but he could no longer hold everything in. His emotions were on a rampage, and he was drowning in them. “You could have—-” He broke off as more memories rushed in, threatening to overwhelm his sanity.
It was as if the years that passed had disappeared, and he was an eight-year-old boy again, his dick out, his cum wetting his pajama bottoms, and he didn’t fucking understand why.
Why?
Why?
Why?
He looked at his mother, and she was the only one he could ask—-
The only one who knew what the stain in his soul was.
“Why?” he whispered hoarsely. “It didn’t have to happen in the first place. So why, damn you? Why did you let it happen?”
They stared at each other, the monstrous silence between them becoming more vicious with every second that passed. And the longer he stared at her, this mother of his who was both familiar and unfamiliar—-
The more he remembered.
His mother hugging him and giving him good night kisses—-
His mother reading him bedtime stories—-
Marcus squeezed his eyes shut.
If only those were the only memories he could remember—-
But they were not.
His mother naked in chains, his father holding his veined dick—-
He remembered those, too.
And now, there was no forgetting them.
“You weren’t like him,” Marcus heard himself mutter unevenly. “You started out good—-”
“Basta!” Her hand slammed against the wheel, and Marcus was ashamed to feel his body jerk at the sound of her car honking.
Dio.
It really was as if he was an eight-year-old boy again, and he so badly wanted to throw up, purge everything out of his system in hopes of getting rid of the stain in his soul.
“What do you want me to say?” his mother demanded coldly. “That he held me at gunpoint? That he threatened me and that’s why I allowed that night to happen?”
Yes, Marcus thought, and his stomach turned upside down at the realization that it was indeed what he wanted to hear. He was so goddamn weak he wanted her to lie because anything was better than-—
“Do you want to know the truth?” his mother hissed.
No. He didn’t want to. Not when she was looking at him like no other woman should be looking at her son.
“I let him do it,” Raquel cooed, “because I’m dirty. I allowed it because Federico was right about me—-”
“You let him be right,” Marcus snarled.
Raquel let out a humorless laugh. “No, tesoro. Stop fooling yourself.” She reached to pat his cheek, and Marcus couldn’t help flinching, the prospect of his mother’s touch somehow abhorrent and terrifying—-
SOMETHING FLICKERED in his mother’s eyes just before a look of cruel satisfaction fell over her face. “Oh, tesoro, don’t say you find my touch repugnant?” She tried cupping his face and laughed when he couldn’t help rearing back. “What a little hypocrite you are. I seem to recall how you masturbated at the sight of my—-”
Marcus blanched. “Shut up.”
“Does hearing the truth hurt?” Raquel taunted. “You should just accept it like I did, tesoro. Federico was right about you, too. You’re exactly like him—-”
The words slashed at Marcus’ memory.
Don’t you see you’re exactly like me?
Marcus shook his head. “No.” He reached for the door handle, saying tightly, “You’re wrong about me—-”
His mother’s gaze bored through him. “And yet that happened.”
He didn’t say a word.
“How can I be wrong when you actually came, watching your own parents fuck—-”
Marcus’ hand was up before he realized what he was doing, but then his mother stiffened, fear flashing in her eyes—-
Dio.
He had almost struck his own mother, and for what?
For saying what could only be the shameful, undeniable truth about himself?
HE TRIED TO KEEP IT together, but it was no use. On the night before his father’s burial, he went out on a run to keep the nightmares at bay.
And he found himself unable to stop.
His heart hammered in a furious, erratic rhythm that far surpassed the heavy pounding of his footsteps on the dirt road, but Marcus knew it wasn’t exhaustion making him struggle to breathe.
If only it were that simple.
He wasn’t running. Instead, he was running away.
Anneke.
He was running away from the truth. From what he must give up—-
Anneke.
The pounding became too much, and he found himself skidding to a stop as he struck his chest repeatedly and willed his heart to stop goddamn beating like it was on its last dying moments.