Remember This Part

22. Return of the Churros

Alex.

She's in my bed—wearing my t-shirt that hangs to her knees—and she's curled onto her side while my arm is fastened around her waist. She's sleeping. I'm not.

I can't.

Every part of me is burning. She didn't describe anything in detail, but I still feel like I can see her as this small girl, hurt and betrayed by the very people who should have protected her. Shit.

Hearing her tell that story broke my heart in two pieces.

One half just wants to do what I'm doing now—hold her, listen to the sound of her breathe, feel the warmth of her skin. I meant it when I said I didn't want to let her go. I don't even think I can. The idea of Thea leaving my side makes my chest physically ache. If I can't see her smile, then how can I know she's alright? 

The other half of my heart is fixed on a feeling I'm very familiar with—anger. Except this is an anger unlike any I've ever experienced.

I'm going to kill him. And trust me, I don't mean that flippantly. I'll beat him to death with my own hands after I beat down the walls of his prison cell. I don't know what he looks like, but it doesn't really matter. His face will be grossly disfigured when I'm done with him.

I already did the math in my head. She was twelve when he got his ten-year sentence. That means he has less than two years left until release.

When his time comes, they might as well keep his jail cell open. It's where I'll end up after I shatter each and every one of his bones.

He hurt her.

I can hardly breathe past the gorge rising in my throat, but I manage to inhale and exhale at somewhat regular intervals. I don't want to wake her.

She fell asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow, exhausted from reliving those moments in her past. That was almost three hours ago. I can't stop thinking about everything she went through. A child, beaten in her own home. Of course, I've always known it happens. When I was young, I knew a lot of kids who were taken away from their parents for that very reason.

But now I know it happened to her, to Thea Sommer. To the girl who has come to mean so much to me. Before, it left me angry, frustrated, confused.

Now it leaves me tormented.

I'm snapped out of the array of dark thoughts when Thea shudders in my arms. Her breath starts coming out fast and shallow.

"It's alright, preciosa," I whisper, brushing her stomach gently with my thumb and kissing the back of her head. "You're alright."

This has happened to her a few times already, which is another reason I don't want to fall asleep. She's having nightmares, a residual impact of recounting trauma. Usually, the tremors subside within a few minutes. But I still feel like I'm being gutted as she shivers.

When Thea relaxes into my hold again, I take a deep breath to steady myself.

She's safe now, I tell my aching chest.

But even knowing that, I can't close my eyes.

- - -

"How do I look? Honest opinions only."

I turn from the stove with a grin on my face and happily take in the sight of Thea. She's wearing one of my shirts like a dress, along with a backwards baseball hat and a pair of socks bunched around her ankles.

"Worthy of the red carpet," I say. My response must satisfy her, because she smiles and steps toward the stove, where strips of bacon are sizzling in a pan.