Trigger warning! 

This chapter does contain talk of emotional, physical, and sexual abuse, as well as murder. If you're uncomfortable reading it, PM me, and I'll be happy to give you a basic summary of what happened (minus any details). 

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He looks so relaxed as he speaks, but there's nothing comforting about what he's saying. It sounds like a horror story: twisted and dark. My stomach burns with hatred as he explains to me the horrifying truth of his childhood.

"I had a sister," he begins, and I'm already cringing at his use of past tense. "She was older by eight years, but we were close. Probably because we were all each other had." His elbows remain resting on his bent knees as he brings one hand up to wrap around the back of his neck. I watch him squeeze the muscles a couple of times before continuing.

"I knew my dad but he was never around. Mainly because he wasn't allowed to be. He was a decent enough guy, but my mom had a habit of jumping from one guy to the next. My dad just happened to be one guy at one moment. He was a drunk—a nice one at least—but ended up leaving my mom for someone newer. Last I heard, he was arrested a couple of years ago for drug possession."

"Anyway," he laughs on a quiet exhale, shaking his head, "those details don't matter and if I don't get down to it then we might be here until tomorrow."

He rubs at his neck again, pausing to figure out his next words. "My mom liked to have these massive raves. She'd invite the entire neighborhood and just about everyone would show up. Keep in mind, the type of neighborhood I grew up in is the type that people usually make an extra effort to avoid. It wasn't really a scary place to live. Yes, there was the occasional gunshot at four in the morning, the house at the end of the street was a brothel, and our neighbors had a marijuana shed that ended up catching fire. But until I was about six, my childhood was pretty normal. I'd play with the neighbor kids. We'd have baseball games in the backyard or kick a soccer ball around in the street." He inhales, his eyes distant as he remembers the unspoken details. "And then my mom met Jerry and any sense of normal that I'd had kinda deteriorated."

Seth twists the cap off of a Mountain Dew and takes several swigs before resuming his story.

"So, my sister and I were never allowed at the parties," he begins, mindlessly untwisting and tightening the lid of his drink over and over. "She insisted they were not for children—which they definitely weren't, but I doubt she really cared how appropriate or not they were for us. It was just her excuse to get us out of her hair so she could be as scandalous and irresponsible as possible. No rooms were off-limits in our home, so she'd throw my sister and me in the upstairs bathroom and tell us to stay in the bathtub until she came to get us. She'd rent out all the bedrooms during these parties as an extra means of income.

"Eventually, we got used to hanging out in the bathtub while the heavy bass rattled the bathroom doorknob, and shameless sounds of passion penetrated the thin walls. The occasional couple would discover the quiet space and come in while my sister and I hid behind the mold-stained shower curtain. We'd fight back laughter at the strange sounds they made even though I had no clue what exactly I was hearing—not yet anyway.

"One night—I was six at the time—" Seth clears his voice, taking another quick drink and then continuing. "One night, my sister and I realized we hadn't eaten since the night before. We were starving, so she decided she'd sneak downstairs and grab us some food. The party had already been in full swing for several hours, so the likelihood of my mom even recognizing us at that point was minimal."

"But she did...?" I hesitate to ask when he pauses the story for a moment.

"I'm not sure, really," he admits. "I just remember the screaming. I've always suspected that Haley walked in on my mom being pummeled by Jerry—who happened to be her man choice for that month—because I remember fresh blood on my mom's eyebrow and a deep bruise on her shoulder. Whatever Haley saw that night, it got Jerry dangerously pissed. I'd braved getting out of the bathtub, hoping to see what was going on through the cracked door. I watched a terrified Haley scramble up the stairs, her arms waving frantically as she silently begged me to open the door wider."

Seth stops talking. For a moment, the only sound I hear is the cawing of a nearby bird and the soft trickle of waves near our feet. Seth's eyes are vacant as he stares past the walls of our weeping willow and out into the waters. I wait, hoping he'll continue, but he's fighting something and I don't have the words to help.

"I was only six." He repeats this small piece of information. His hands have found a piece of grass to fiddle with, and with his arms resting on his knees, he twirls it between his fingers before dropping his eyes to the ground between his legs. "I could see Jerry barreling up the stairs behind her, and rather than help her, I bolted for the bathtub and hid."

Self-loathing exudes from his defeated posture and I ache to slide up beside him and wrap my arms around him. But I don't. This moment is too fragile and he's too invested in the memory. I don't know much about trauma—my childhood was any kids' dream—but I've always heard that talking about things is a great step toward moving forward. As much as my chest hurts to tell Seth to stop, I can't. Maybe I'm wrong, and I really hope I'm not, but maybe he needs this.

"Jerry beat the crap out of my sister that night while I hid." He sits up straighter. "The shower curtain got ripped off at some point and it landed on me. It was like a shield and I waited beneath that safety until it was quiet. I should have just stayed there. I should never have moved, but I did... because I was hungry and tired and... curious." He shakes his head in disgust at his younger self.

"She was the first thing I saw," he says. "She was so much older than me, but in that moment, she looked so tiny. I barely recognized her. She was covered. Just blood, everywhere."

"Seth." My voice is a whisper of desperate comfort. I'm seconds from pushing myself up and encircling him with my arms, but then he continues.

"I hadn't even realized what had happened." His head dips, shaking back in forth in regret. "She'd barely made a sound the entire time. She just took the brutal blows quietly—accepting it. I still don't know why she didn't scream. There had to have been one person there who'd have helped. One person." His words trail off as he tips his head to the side and I catch a glimpse of his forest eyes. They're darker inside the canvas of the tree's shadowy limbs, but the emotions swimming in them only darken them further.

A breeze drifts through the branches causing the leaves to flutter around us. Strands of hair kiss my face and I brush them away, hugging my knees to my chest. A sliver of sunshine filters in through the leaves and splashes across Seth's forearm, as if hoping to soothe him with its warmth.

Then everything goes still... waiting. Even the wind seems to be waiting, holding its breath.

"The other night, our canoe trip," he begins, and if not for the somber tone of his voice I'd have thought he was changing the subject. "It happened all over again. I was sitting in that bathtub, hearing the whimpers and the hard thuds of a man's fists against a child's body and I froze up. In that moment, that canoe became my worst nightmare all over again. I could practically see my sister's lifeless arm draped over the side of the canoe and I couldn't bear to even pull my eyes away from the sky to see if my memories had really turned into reality again. I was terrified that I'd look down and find myself in that same crumby tub, the faucet dripping and the rickety doorknob rattling the same rhythm as the bass. I was terrified I'd look down and see her, empty and cold and still. That canoe had become her crime scene."

My hands are over my mouth, the need for justice the only thing keeping me from stopping Seth from uttering another word. I have to know if Haley's death ever found justice. So I sit, barely breathing as I listen.

"There was no freedom after that," Seth tells me. "That bathroom became my home. Only twice did I ever venture downstairs and it was only to search the trashcan for food. I knew that if my mom noticed I'd taken anything from the cupboards or fridge that she'd send Jerry after me. I mean, she did feed me, just not regularly. My grandparents would come to visit on rare occasions, and my mom would always let me out then, but the moment they left, I had to return to the bathroom.

"After my sister died, things only got worse." Seth stretches one leg out in front of him, his left arm still draped over his other knee. "My mom's addictions became more demanding and money became a problem. So she started—I'm not even sure what to call this." He pauses, ruffling his hair. He's not looking at me as he speaks and I get a sense that he's nervous. "She, um... she started renting me out to her friends."

Not nerves... shame. Seth is fighting back years of shame.

"Whatever your mind comes up with," he says, "if it has something to do with abuse, I can assure you, it happened." He tugs at a patch of grass sticking up along the edge of our blanket, unaware of his actions as he tosses the pieces. "Clients could, uh... there were no rules."

He doesn't say anymore and I know he's searching for some way to tell me his childhood without actually having to relive it. But the truth is, I've heard enough. The heaviness of his admission is hard to wrap my head around. It doesn't seem real. It doesn't seem plausible that such evil lives and breathes in our world.

"I've never told anyone that before." His brows are pinched together in confusion as he turns his head toward me. "I mean, they know there was some abuse, but they probably just think I got slapped around a little bit. They know my mom was a nut-job—like psycho level—so verbal abuse is probably assumed too. But the things that happened to me were absolutely disgusting and I never thought I'd expose that to anyone. I vowed to keep that part of my past locked away forever. I have no clue why I told you, but..."

"Stop." My hand is on his arm before I can restrain it, and Seth's eyes jump to where my skin meets his. "You never have to worry about telling me your story. No one else will ever hear about this—not from me at least. Yes, I feel horrified and my heart physically hurts to think about you as a child, but that doesn't change how I view you now. If anything, I only respect you more."

Seth laughs, baffled. "How?"

"Because," I say, passionate about what I want to say but stalling as I figure out how to say it, "Because you went through hell and somehow managed to come out better for it. Seth," my voice is a murmur as I slide my fingers up to his shoulder, his muscles tightening beneath my touch, "You're the most incredible person I've ever met, and I mean that completely."

He turns his head toward me and only then do I realize how close I am to him. I don't want to let my eyes have their way, but my control is weakening. I can feel his breath, a feathery light brush of warmth against my lips, and it breaks my resolve. As his attention oscillates between my eyes, mine drops to his mouth.

A swell of icy heat builds in my chest knowing that he's watching me. He knows what I'm looking at and it's making me jittery with fear and excitement. I long to taste those lips again, to find out if it'll feel different this time. How would it feel to have him want it too? Have his feelings changed? The magnetic pull I'm feeling can't only be one-sided. I refuse to believe that.

Letting my focus shift back to the pearly greens of his, I find him still watching me. His expression is blank but intent. He's searching for something. Answers? The truth? Or maybe he's waiting for me to take the first step. Maybe he doubts that a person could feel affection for someone with such a messed-up past. Maybe he needs me to prove to him that he is desirable.

But I can't.

He's too vulnerable. Even if he let me kiss him—even if he kissed me back—it wouldn't be right. I would find no joy in taking advantage of him. So, instead, with nerves trembling and blood flooding my brain with furious want, I slip my arms around him and hold him close.

He's rigid for several seconds, and then all at once, he melts into my embrace. Strong arms circle my waist, drawing me closer as he buries his face into my shoulder. I feel him exhale against my collarbone, a shiver coursing through his body. He chuckles against me, not breaking away as he mumbles, "that was torture," into my neck.

Pushing himself away, he grabs his abandoned sandwich and takes a large bite. "That took way more energy than I expected," he mutters, cheek bulging with food. "I'm exhausted and starving!"

I laugh, watching as a relaxed Seth slowly emerges from the darkness of his past. We both eat for a few minutes, though my appetite is gone. I can't let on just how disturbed I feel. Maybe it's the tornado of emotions in the pit of my stomach: shock, pity, desire, grief. It's too much to stomach and I find myself growing nauseous. On the contrary, Seth seems relieved as he munches away on chips and raisins. If this feeling is the price for accepting the weight of Seth's burdens though, I'll take it. To see that smile, the warmth in his laugh... it's worth it.

"Wanna go for a swim?" I ask, needing to escape. Too many dark secrets have been uncovered in this little hideaway and I need to breathe.

Seth nods, mouth still full as he pushes himself up into standing. "Absolutely."

His shirt is off before I can even set my half-eaten sandwich down, but I'm grateful for his eagerness. Tossing his clothes to the side, he wades into the water with nothing but his black briefs on. I don't join him as I absorb the stillness. I just need a moment. While I'm beyond grateful for his openness, it's also a lot to take in.

He lost his childhood.

It explains why he's usually so serious. The kid in him was drowned out by tragedy and violence and evil. My greatest concern at the age of six was being forced to eat the onions in my spaghetti. And yet, I feel so drawn to him, like we share something tangible. How can two people with such vastly different lives find any common ground? What is the foundation of our friendship that's helping it grow?

"You coming?" Seth hollers, his head visible above the water as I peer through the willow's leaves.

"Yep," I shout in response. "Give me a sec!"

I hurry to remove my pants, and then step into the water, still shielded by the hanging branches of our cave. Parting the strands, I slide deeper into the water just as I break through the barrier and out into the sunlight. Seth is watching me, a smile dancing across his face as I swim toward him.

"You were eating all the food, weren't you?" he teases, running his hands over his face to remove the droplets of water.

Laughing, I duck beneath the surface, the chill of the water slithering through my hair. I stay under for several seconds, feet hovering over the bottom of the lake before pushing off the ground. I feel like a torpedo slicing through the water and launching myself into the air. This is probably the sensation whales get when they breach the open seas: freeing.

Until I land on Seth.

I hear the air leave his lungs as my body slams into his. I don't carry much force, but my surprise attack must stun him because he stumbles, my body weight on top of his dragging him beneath the water. Arms and legs scatter, tangling together as we fight our way to the surface.

We're both coughing when we make it out of the water, and when I wipe the moisture from my eyes, I find Seth glaring at me from a couple of feet away. Water droplets are slipping from his hair and down the contours of his jaw where I see the muscles clenching and unclenching.

"Oh, girl," he growls, "you are so dead!"

And then he's diving toward me, hauling me up over his shoulders and launching me into the air. I hit the surface with a painful sting, and immediately push myself up for a breath. But I barely get to inhale before a wave of water is blasted into my face. I shield myself with one arm as I try to retaliate.

Seth manages to get a grip on my slippery skin once again, throwing me into the air, but this time when the lake engulfs me, I remain under. The water is only five or so feet deep, but it's murky enough that I know he can't see me. Hoping my sense of direction doesn't let me down for once, I position myself to face Seth and then carefully glide through the water, arm stretched out in front of me.

The moment my hand makes contact with his ankle, I dig my feet into the mud and yank with as much strength as I possibly can. I feel his body give way as he's pulled under. Pushing myself to the surface, I tilt my head toward the sky and cry out in victory. But my celebration ends before I manage to exert all my breath.

He yanks my feet out from under me and I slam face-first into the water. My nose is like a canal, welcoming the water in as my lungs choke on the foreign contents. I scramble to the top, gagging and trying to suck in air at the same time. Once again, Seth gets the pleasure of watching me vomit up a lungful of water.

"Geez, Merc!" Seth is beside me, his fist pounding my back in an effort to help. I never understood how hitting someone's back helped at all though; it just makes the struggle to breathe that much more challenging.

"I'm so sorry," he mutters. "I really thought you'd be prepared for that."

"I'm not—" Cough, "so proud that I can't admit defeat." I clear my throat, shaking my head as I pucker my lips and inhale deeply. "Well played."

Seth laughs, the hand he'd once been pounding my back with now rubbing circles into my T-shirt. At his soothing touch, my breathing becomes a challenge all over again. I'm going to have to start avoiding his nearness or being his friend is going to destroy my poor erratic heart.

Our water war ends after my near-drowning and we soak up the sunshine for several more minutes before getting out to dry off. We settle on the grass, in the open, the picnic blanket wrapped around my shoulders as we let the rays penetrate our skin. Seth is dressed now, not too concerned about his jeans getting damp, as we stare into the quiet.

The sun will be setting soon and I wonder what our relationship will be like once we return to reality. It's easy to pretend we're hidden in some enchanted world of secrets and intimate conversations, but Seth's going to suddenly realize just how much information he shared with me.

And I'm terrified to know how things will change when he does. 

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Their chat isn't over. The next chapter will continue where this one left off.

How'd you feel learning about Seth's childhood? It's scary how twisted some people are. I hope none of you reading this story have ever had to experience what he did. :/