Nameless // h.s. au

Chapter Twenty Seven

Chapter Twenty Seven

*Hunter*

I used to love Romance novels. I remember the first one I ever read was about a boy who was dangerous and a girl who was innocent and how they fell in love. I read that book over and over again until the cover was tearing and the words were ground into my skull like a tattoo.

It was a big deal for a depressed fourteen year old girl to dream of a life with a love like that one. After the feeling of Mark's rough fingers replaced most of my dreams it was just a faint longing, but it was something I was clinging to with every fiver of my being.

But it wasn't enough.

Soon the dream of a love like that one was dead and replaced by the mockery of seeing someone else's dreams come true. As if they were steeling my dreams through the pages of a book. I no longer was smitten over classic stories of a love that conquered all. I loved the fall. When he cheated or lied or hurt the girl. That was when I was most enthralled.

My heart would beat faster and my eyes would swell with tears because I loved the pain. I loved the reminder that even the perfect love story was wrecked with it, twisted with it, aching with it. That the people mocking me with their happy ever after were finally free falling into the abyss just like I was. I loved the fall.

I loved the decline because I was so accustomed to it. The thing that always got me was the boy would do anything in his power to get her back, to right his wrong, to make her feel worthy of being loved. That is what hurt the most, because I knew in my heart that no one no matter how much they say they loved me would do the same for me.

Someone with my past doesn't and will never expect it, someone fighting for you, someone wanting to know about you. Wanting you.

I'm not used to it.

The words are hanging on the tip of my tongue. 'I was sexually abused by my stepfather' 'I was raped by my alcoholic boyfriend'. But how do you say that aloud? Especially to the man who you've only known for around six or seven months and have been dating for merely a month. The man who is notorious for having sex with employees and a lot of them. How the hell are you supposed to do that?

The more I sit there staring at the six inches of carpet between my feet, the more my brain picks apart the sanctuary I have built around me. Picks apart the man sitting next to me and the words that I so desperately want to tell him and the words I have to tell him.

My cheeks are covered in drying tears burning my skin and my hands are picking at the seam on my jeans. A large ring clad hand rests itself on my cheek, thumb wiping the tears from my skin whilst turning me to face him.

Zayn used to do that. He used to find every excuse he could think of to touch me. Not even sexually- or I liked to believe that- it was more for the affection he never got.

But we don't talk about that anymore because it's just as scratched as the album he left.

Green eyes have replaced hazel ones even though I never thought they could. I loved him too much to let go of him. Sometimes I convince myself I'm still in love with him but I'm really just in love with the memories. Memories that have long been outgrown.

And even though I'm still in love with the memories I don't want him here. I don't want him here because he hurt me and because every time I look at him, I see myself waiting for his drunk body to stumble in the front door. I see myself on the floor of the bathroom with my clothes torn up waiting for Niall or Reina to come home and help me wash him off my skin because I couldn't move. I see myself getting into that car at sixteen and never looking back no matter who I was leaving behind. I like my life how it is now, with all of my skeletons stuffed neatly in the closet and forgotten about.