Taylor

I swallowed the emotion that bubbled to the surface. My parents had loved me. But then one dark night they had been taken away from me. I closed my eyes for a moment to keep myself together as a brief memory from that night passed through my mind.

The loss that I'd felt had been like a piece of me had died along with them and there was no recovering from it. All I could do was try to ignore it and carry on. The easy option would have been to allow it to crush me and take away my will to live. But I persevered because my parents had given up their lives to protect me and simply giving up was taking their sacrifice and throwing it away.

That was the thing—no matter how crushing the loss of someone close to you was, life kept moving along. Maybe it was a good thing so you couldn't just fall apart and never put yourself back together. Perhaps it was life's way of pushing you along until you started living again. I let out an emotional sigh. Some days it was hard to carry on without them and then there were days when it was impossible.

"I'm sorry," he said softly as he reached for my hand and held it in his. "I didn't mean to remind you about your parents."

He was so sweet. Little did he know it was the horrors from their death that made it harder to handle.

"It's okay."

"How old were you when they died?" he prodded further.

"I was nine."

There were times I'd wished I'd been younger so the memories of my parents' death would have been forgotten. But I'd been old enough to remember everything clearly.

"Do you still see your mom?" I asked, redirecting the conversation to him.

He was silent for a few minutes.

"Yeah, I check up on her every week. She doesn't live far from here," he said as he shifted on his side. I lay on my side, facing him.

"She never quite recovered from the rejection from my father. From then on, she tried to find solace in the form of alcohol," he revealed further. My heart tightened at the realization that his childhood had been hard. Maybe even as hard as mine. It was difficult to think that he didn't have a father and that his mother was an alcoholic who could barely look after him.

"Who took care of you?" I asked the question, already knowing the answer.

"I did," he stated as a fact.

"I'm sorry," I said, knowing it was inadequate. But what did you say to someone who'd told you that no one had loved him enough to put him first?

"Don't feel sorry for me. I had Slater and he had me," he said. I had to keep myself from letting the sadness of his words wash over me; otherwise, I would have started to cry.

I also knew they were close, but now I was getting a little insight into their deeply formed friendship. Had Slater grown up with no one to look after him either? My heart broke at the image of two young boys growing up with no one to love and care for them. It made me angry that people would have children that they didn't want. The lack of love and affection was detrimental to a child who was unwanted. I was thankful I'd been loved even if that love had been taken away from me at such a young age. At least I remembered the love that my parents had felt for me. It was the type of love that had saved my life.

"Does Slater have any siblings?" I asked as I looked at the outline of the guy who meant more to me than he should. He would walk away and it would break my heart. Walking away now was pointless; it wouldn't ease the heartache that was to come. With the lack of love from his childhood, I wasn't surprised that he was the way he was. How could you expect him to love someone when he didn't know how?

"He had a sister," he revealed softly. Had. My inquisitiveness grew.

"What happened?" I asked, unable to stop myself.

"It isn't my story to tell."

My heart broke a little more for Slater. The next time he hugged me I would hug a little tighter.

"Did you tell Jordan about all the strange stuff that had been happening?" he asked, changing the subject. I rolled onto my back and let out a sigh.

"No."

"Even after the incident with your underwear?" he asked. I could hear the shock mixed with anger in his voice.

I remained silent, knowing he was getting angry. How could I explain that I hadn't thought it would lead to me being attacked? Never once before today's attack did I think it would escalate.

"Why didn't you tell anyone?" he asked, trying to figure out why I'd kept quiet.

"Because at the time I didn't think it was a big deal." It was a weak explanation, but it was all I had.

"Did you think ignoring it would make it go away?" he asked, sitting up. I could tell by the tone of his voice that he was angry and agitated.

"Hey, I've had a rough day and I don't need you lecturing me on top of everything else," I bit back, sitting up as well. I kept the sheet against my chest with both hands to cover my nakedness as I rubbed my forehead.

"I'm sorry," he apologized. "It's just that there is a naivety about you that I've never seen in a person before."

I couldn't tell him why I was the way I was.

"So naive that I keep worrying that something really bad is going to happen to you," he said. I had mixed feelings about that statement. I should be happy with the fact that he cared about me, but the way he said it hurt. It was like he didn't want to be burdened with worrying about me.

"Like not taking drinks from strangers."

He was right. If I'd been a normal teenager growing up, I would have known that, but I hadn't.

"It's like you haven't experienced anything that most teenagers have and I can't figure out why."

He was starting to figure everything out and I could feel myself start to panic. Even though it was dark and he wouldn't be able to read my expression, I dropped my gaze in an attempt to hide my secret. The cop earlier this evening had recognized my name for a reason and I was just lucky he couldn't remember why it had seemed familiar to him.

"You're not going to tell me, are you?" he said softly. The moonlight illuminated him as he crossed his arms over his chest.

My silence answered his question. I couldn't tell him.

"You're not going to tell me anything, are you?" he asked tightly. "I bared a part of my soul to you, but that doesn't make any difference."

Guilt made my heart suddenly feel very heavy in my chest and I swallowed hard. If I told him, it would ruin everything. Was it asking too much to want to start over somewhere where no one knew what had happened? I wouldn't have to see those sympathetic looks that reminded me daily of what I'd been through. I pulled my knees to my chest as I lifted my eyes to Sin. He moved off the bed and he picked something up off the floor. He pulled his jeans up and then he turned to face me.

"I should've known better," was all he said before he walked out of his room.

I rested my forehead against my knees as I felt the sting of tears. I'd really messed things up. Just when I was getting to know him a little better, he'd pulled away from me completely. And could I blame him? No, I couldn't. He was right. He'd opened up to me and in turn I'd refused to let him in.

I felt my heart crack a little. I'd done it to myself and I wasn't sure if there was any way to fix the damage I'd done. Sin didn't strike me as the type to blab about his childhood so he'd trusted me enough to talk to me about it. I had my reasons for not wanting to tell him about my past and none of them had anything to do with trust, because I trusted him with my life.

A few quiet tears slid down my face and I wiped them away. I'd really messed things up and I was pretty sure our arrangement was over. I doubted that Sin believed in second chances so even if I revealed my secret to him, it still wouldn't fix things between us. I lay down in his bed and hugged a pillow as I buried my tear-streaked face in it. I inhaled him and held onto the precious memories he'd given me.