Damaged Part 28

"Sam didn't do anything. It was Dean."

"Sam chose to help the wrong person. You don't owe him anything."

"He's my brother. Peter, please. Let me think about it. I can't decide right now. Please don't, not right now."

He watches me for a moment and nods. "Let me look you over." He takes my hands and looks at my nails. A few of them are ripped all the way into the nail bed. Peter turns my hands over and looks at my sc.r.a.ped palms. When he looks back up at me, his eyes are filled with remorse. "I shouldn't have left you alone."

"You didn't know."

"I could have..." his voice drifts off. Peter shakes his head and turns away. I sit down on the couch. Exhaustion is creeping up on me. Peter goes to the bathroom and comes back with the first aid kit and towels. He's breathing too hard. Peter doesn't look at my face. He takes my hands and turns them so the palms are up. His touch makes me feel so much better.

My vision is blurry, but I finally look at his face. The cut on his cheek is deep. It looks like a piece of metal tore the skin away. I look down. Peter's hands are roughed up, too. There are too many things to say. I want to explain why I said no before. Even if I never saw Dean again, I'd be dealing with this for the rest of my life. "Peter, about earlier..."

"There's nothing to say. I understand. It's fine." He pours peroxide over my cuts and I flinch. His voice is cold, like he doesn't want to talk about it, so I don't. I nod. I'm a coward. After a moment, he asks, "Why did they want to take you home?"

"I don't know. They didn't say anything except that Mom sent them."

He nods slowly, tending to my other hand. "Do you want to go home?"

I look down at him as if that was the stupidest thing he could have asked. "No, I don't."

"Even if it was just your brother?"

I stiffen. "My brother thinks I like rough s.e.x and that I was asking for it. He doesn't think that Dean hurt me. He doesn't believe that his friend used me." My jaw locks. I'm defensive and I don't know why. I feel like Peter is saying what Dean said. I can't handle it. "Is that what you think? You think that I liked it, that I wanted it?" My arms are so tense that they jerk out of Peter's grip. I stand up and walk down the hall, not knowing where I'm going. I want to scream.

Peter's behind me. His voice is soft, soothing "I know that isn't true, Sidney. I know. I wish I could change it. I wish I could take away some of your pain. Sometimes, family helps, that's all. I wanted to make sure you weren't throwing away your hand to spite your arm."

I glare at him. "f.u.c.k you." My entire body is shaking with rage. "You think I don't know how I feel about this? You think that I haven't laid there every night since it happened wondering if I did this to myself? If all that s.h.i.t he said was true? I thought it was. For a long time, I thought I did it, that I led him on. That's why it kept happening and every time was worse than the last. I let him rape, cut, and burn me. I let him do it over and over again. My parents loved him. They didn't defend me. My brother didn't even believe me, so don't pretend that you know a d.a.m.n thing about it because you don't. You have no f.u.c.king clue!"

I'm screaming. My hands are clenching into b.a.l.l.s at my sides and I can't stop. I want to stop. I don't want things to be like this, but my mouth keeps going. Peter's eyes fall to the floor. He can't even look at me. I try so hard to stop shaking. My muscles are so tense, so tight. I have to control this. I have to hold myself together, but I can't. I feel the patches unraveling. I feel the weight of my pain tearing me apart. My bottom lip quivers. I bite it, but it doesn't stop. A sob bubbles up my throat. I turn away from Peter. I can't stand this. I can't stand that he sees this version of me. That's why I said no. That's why I turned him away. No matter what I do, this part of me will always be there. I bury my face in my hands and push the tears away.

Peter walks up behind me. His hand touches my shoulder gently. He turns me toward him as he speaks. "I don't know what you've been through. I don't have a clue. I don't understand. I can't even pretend to..."

I stare at his chest, at his b.l.o.o.d.y shirt. My hand reaches for him before I realize what I'm doing. It laces around his waist and I lean into his chest. Peter's arms fold around me. He holds me and lets me cry. He lets me mourn everything I've lost without making offers to fix something that he can't. Peter lets me weep a river of tears and holds me close.

Eventually, I notice his heartbeat. I listen to it thumping in his chest. It stills me, steadies me. I press my lips together too many times before asking, "Can I stay here tonight?" I'm afraid he'll say no. I'm afraid I've ruined everything and that he doesn't want me here anymore.

When he speaks, his voice is soft. "Of course." His hand strokes the back of my head. Peter holds me until I let go. Then, he gives me towels and turns on the shower. He lays an oversized tee shirt on the bathroom counter. "I don't really have any women's clothes, but that should be good enough for tonight."

I nod and he leaves me alone.

CHAPTER 25

The scent of Peter fills my head as I lay in his bed. The room is warm and quiet. Peter's arms are around me and he's asleep. His gentle, slow, breathing makes me feel safe. It keeps away the horrors that happened tonight. They're fighting for me to replay the memories over and over again, which is why I don't sleep. I don't want to close my eyes. I don't want to remember.

I'm on my back. Peter's arm is draped across my stomach. I'm so tired. I watch him breathe, watch his chest rise and fall. Peter came to bed with a pair of pajama pants and no shirt. My eyes trace his muscles lazily. I wonder what it must be like for him, to be down here alone, and then run into a train wreck like me.

He's too good to me, too kind. Peter gave me his love and I threw it back in his face. He stirs and turns on his side. His hand drops to the bed between us. It makes his hips turn toward me. My eyes travel over his body, and rest on a jagged white scar at his waist. It's nearly on his back, but not quite. Seeing it makes my stomach sink. Something happened to him. It's not a surgical scar. It can't be. The line looks more like a Jack-O-Lantern's smile than anything else.

As I'm staring, Peter's eyes open. His tired gaze meets mine. Peter blinks slowly. "Are you still up?"

"Yeah." Now that he's awake, I'm nervous. My life is such a mess that I feel as though there isn't any room for him in it. But...

Peter holds open his arms and says, "Come here." I do as he says. I scoot over to him and lay on his chest. Peter holds onto me. His body is so warm, so strong. I close my eyes and he strokes the back of my head. I moan without meaning too. He smiles. "You like that?"

"Mmmm," I manage to reply. My mind tries to drift. Peter's scent fills my head. My heart knows it's where it needs to be, but my mind is at war with itself. It has a million reasons why we shouldn't be together, a million more about how much I'll hurt him. I mean, I'm lying with the man in his bed and have no desire to have s.e.x. There's nothing. No tingles, no anything.

"Stop thinking. Go to sleep."

"What makes you think I'm-"

"Your only comment should be Mmmmm." He rubs my head harder and I moan again. I giggle just a little. It sounds foreign to me, but not unwelcome. "That was cute. You can do that too."

I mutter something, not thinking, and curl into him. Peter rubs my head until I drift off.

_____

When I open my eyes, I have no idea where I am. I dart upright, taking the sheet with me. Peter is next to me. He blinks himself awake. I turn and look at him. I woke him up. Again. What time is it? I glance around for a clock. "It's after nine!" I've missed my morning cla.s.s. I go to throw my legs over the side of the bed and get up, but Peter takes my hand.

"Stay with me."

Nerves lace up my neck and choke me. It's the same thing I asked him last night. I think about it, but my mind is screaming to run. I'll ruin everything. It's not fair, though. And last night meant so much to me. He took care of me, he protected me. If Peter hadn't shown up, I'd be in Tennessee by now.

I smile at him. Peter smiles back.

"Okay." I lay back down, but I feel nervous. I'm more aware of everything today, of his bed, of his cologne, of him. I try not to think about it. I try to stop the jitters that are working their way up my arms. I pull up the sheet, covering myself. "So, what do you want to do?"

Peter lifts a brow. "First, I want to tell you that I'm glad you aren't hurt and that I think you should call the cops. But since I know you don't want to, I think we should have some coffee."

My face pales. Is he joking? I manage to choke out, "What?"

Peter looks at me funny, and then laughs. "No! Not like that. I mean real coffee, in real cups, and everything." He's still smiling. Reaching for me, Peter tucks a curl behind my ear. "What do you think?"

"It sounds good, as long as we're being literal." I smile, feeling shy. When I glance up at him my eyes fall on the scar by his waist.

Peter's smile vanishes. "I forgot about that." He rolls onto his back and covers his face with his hands and rubs. "You want to know what happened, right?"

"A little bit..."

He pushes onto his side and pulls up the sheet so I can't see the marred skin. "I want to know some things about you."

The way he says it makes me worried. But I want him to say whatever he's thinking. "Go ahead and ask."