𝑆𝑡𝑎𝑟-𝑐𝑟𝑜𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑑

To Protect You

Abby's POV

I can't even stop the tears from falling when Rafe rolls up his sleeves. On the insides of his wrists lay dozens of shallow horizontal cuts that are scabbed over but no more than five days old. My hands move to gently touch his arms before my brain can stop them. My thumbs graze the marred skin and tears sting my eyes. "Why?" I whisper, forcing my eyes to meet his. His bloodshot eyes meet mine after I ask the question. "Because seeing your face when I lied to you killed me. This was the only thing that took away the pain."

He spends the next hour explaining everything in detail. Ward being alive, him doing this to protect me—everything. He shies away from elaborating further on what he did to himself after he broke my heart and instead, speaks more about Ward and the gold and his plan to protect me. I don't know why but him hurting me to protect me makes my heart bleed even more than it already is.

"So, you thought it would be better to break my heart?" I ask, my lip quivering. "You thought that I couldn't protect myself from your father?" I snarl, my voice raising with every word, "I've survived the Spanish fucking mafia!" Throwing a chair across the room, I sneer at him.

"I thought I was protecting you," he whispers, his voice quiet. "I tried to kill myself because of you!" I scream, tears falling down my face. "I thought I deserved it! I thought that I was doing all of you a favor by ending my life! That's how fucked up you made me!"

"I know!" he yells, standing up from his chair. He walks closer to me. "I know," he says again, this time in a hushed whisper, his eyebrows knitted together as if he were in pain.

"And I'm so sorry. I'd do anything if I meant you would forgive me. If it meant I could hold you in my arms again. If I could kiss you just one last time." His words are so quiet, they are barely audible. I can see the pain in his eyes. The regret. But I can't tell if it's real. "How do I know you aren't lying to me now?"

He swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing. "You don't. I'm just asking you to trust me. Trust me when I tell you that I am in love with you."

He takes my hand and places it on his shirt, right above his heart. "Trust me when I tell you that my heart only beats because of you. Trust me when I tell you that I have never loved anyone as much as I love you. Trust me when I say that I didn't believe in love until I met you." The look in his eyes is vulnerable. More vulnerable than I have ever seen him before, and it makes my heart twist and pull.

I want to hate him. Fucking hell, I do hate him. More than I have ever hated anyone in my life, but I am in love with this man. I am so madly in love with him that it hurts. Every time I see him or even think of him, I get this feeling in my stomach—these razor-winged butterflies that tear into my intestines, leaving them to pull apart and bleed inside me.

But he tried to kill me—tried to kill his child.

"Were you aiming for me-" I ask. He shakes his head and squeezes my hand before I can even finish my sentence. "No. I was aiming for the girl next to you and I know that is terrible and I'm sorry. I was trying to aim for the air near her so that it could look real in case my father suspected anything. I had to make it look real to keep you safe. I never imagined that I would hurt you or even her."

I feel anger boil inside of me at his words. He's saying such sweet things that make my heart twist. He's making me want to forgive him. The need to forgive him is so strong—stronger than any drug I've ever taken—stronger than any feeling I've ever felt. That twist in my heart should make me feel love for him or pity or something. Instead, I just feel anger. Rage. Fury.

I slam my fists into his chest, punching over and over again. I punch him as hard as I can, knowing that it will leave bruises on his tan skin. The thought makes me punch harder.

I want to hurt him.

He doesn't move to stop me as I slam my fists against his chest again and again. He allows me to hit him, and that fact makes me even angrier. I continue to bang my closed fists against his chest until my energy becomes spent which doesn't take long considering I was just shot. Tears begin to fall down my face and eventually, the punches slow.

I feel strong arms pull me forward and I thrash inside Rafe's strong arms. His grip remains tight, unwavering even as I thrash. I hate him. I hate the way his touch makes me feel. I hate that I crave his touch and I fight against it but after long, it becomes too hard to fight, and instead, I allow myself to fall into his chest as he sits the both of us on the floor, his arms locking around me. He keeps me in his chest as he strokes my hair. I sob quietly into his chest, hating the comfort that he brings me when he is the cause of my tears—my pain.

I hate that he is the reason for all my pain, but he is the only one that can soothe it. My baby stops me from trying to kill myself, but it doesn't give me the comfort that Rafe does when he holds me in his arms. I should hate how he makes me feel—how he does make me feel, but instead, I curl up against him, his warmth giving me the comfort that I've needed for days. He continues to stroke my hair in his rough hands as I sob quietly into his warm chest. "I'm so sorry, Absinthe. I'm so sorry." From the sound of his voice, I'm not the only one crying. When I feel a tear fall on my head, my suspicion that Rafe is crying is confirmed.

"Please forgive me," he whispers, his hands still stroking my hair. The rawness of his voice makes more tears fall from my face. "Even if I could forgive you for this, I can't forget that you kept your father from me. The fact that he is alive. You kidnapped Sarah and helped keep the gold from me and my friends. That wasn't for me," I whisper quietly.

"Except it was for you," he mumbles. "My father knew who you were when I told him why I couldn't do it. I told him no but after he left, Rose told me he would kill you if I refused. Even if I made it clear to him you weren't the reason." I feel him swallow because my forehead is pressed against his throat. "I fucked up when I told him. I thought h-he would listen and not make me do this. But I knew in the end, I had no choice. I had to protect you," he tells me, his voice growing raspy, no doubt from the shouting earlier. "Even if it meant breaking my heart in the process," he finishes in a whisper, another tear falling onto my head.

I don't know how long we lay like this—how long I spend crying into Rafe's chest while he strokes my hair with his calloused hands, whispering apologies into my ear. All I do know is that by the time he stands up with me in his arms, the sunlight is gone and the only thing illuminating his face is the pale moonlight shining through the glass windows.

He lays me down in the bed and through my blurry vision, I see him take off his shirt. He sits me up and raises my arms, putting the shirt over me because I ripped off the shirt he gave me hours ago in anger. He hovers over me after laying me back down in bed, looking down at me, his eyes trailing over my face and body. Usually, when he does that, it means he is horny, but I don't see lust in his eyes. I see longing—need. And not the sexual kind.

He continues staring at me for a few minutes before grabbing the covers and putting them over my body. Reluctantly, he slips out of the room even though I can tell that he wants to stay.

He's giving me space.

I'm glad that he left because seeing him only opens my heart and pumps blood to the fresh wound in it, but a small part of me didn't want him to go—the part of me that believes his words. And that part of me is larger than I would like to admit. I feel tears fall once again as the memories of Rafe flood my mind.

The last thing I see before darkness consumes me is Rafe telling me he is in love with me in my mind.