“Dylan, I—-”
“No. I need to...”
“I know.”
The words rendered him immobile, the meaning behind it throwing Dylan into an abyss of the darkest memories – the kind that he had spent so many years trying to bury into obscurity.
Bree forced herself to meet his gaze even if it meant that for just a few seconds, she would need to unman him, forcing him to face the truth of his past. “I know...I know that when you were young, your mother forced you and your dad to watch her...”
Her words slashed him, forcing Dylan to once more face the hideous truth of his past.
In that instant, he was no longer Dylan Charbonneau, the rock star every girl loved and the rock star who loved every girl who came his way.
In that instant, he was young Dylan, forced by dysfunctional parents to learn – to fucking experience – just how repulsive adultery could be.
A father with a borderline obsession...
A mother with schizophrenia...
It was a match made in hell and he had lived in that hell almost his entire life, with so many nights spent sleeping on couches of his friends’ homes, in night clubs – anywhere but home, where his mother would force both Dylan and his dad to watch her copulate with her lovers.
SOFT HANDS CUPPED HIS face and he gasped, his eyes dilated. He didn’t realize he hadn’t been breathing all this time.
“Dylan, it’s okay,” she whispered, her heart crying for the pain she saw in his face.
“It’s not okay,” he grated out. “I’m fucked up – I’ll always be fucked up and that’s why I can’t ever be the man—-”
“But you already are.”
Words failed him at the emotions shining in her eyes.
“I already love you, I’ve loved you since that first day, and I won’t ever stop,” Bree whispered achingly.
With a groan, he hauled her into his arms. He didn’t think he could ever let her go after those words.
She kept saying I love you, her voice soothing, comforting him like a child even though he had been a bastard to her. It made tears sting his eyes. He couldn’t remember the last time he wanted to cry like a fucking child. Even back then – the tears had stopped early.
“Stop,” he whispered, kissing her hair, inhaling its fragrance – that beautiful scent he had missed so damn much all this time she had been gone from his life. “Please, babe, stop,” he said hoarsely, knowing he didn’t deserve her love.
“I love you,” she said fiercely, tiptoeing to hug him more tightly. “And I’m going to make you realize that your past doesn’t—-”
He bit out, “Schizophrenia is genetic. Even my father’s obsessive personality has a genetic factor—-”
“But you’re not them. I’ve been with you for four years, and you haven’t hurt me until—-” She faltered.
He knew she was remembering the video and at that moment, he would have given his life up if it meant erasing the pain he had made her feel.
“I’m sorry, Bree.” He said the words with quiet and complete humility, knowing it would never be enough – nothing would ever be enough to make it up to her.
Or at least, not yet.
“Give me five minutes, babe.”
Her eyes widened in confusion. “Why?”
“I have a prom to attend.”
She got all choked up when she understood what he was saying. “We don’t have to—-”