Completed on 24/09/2018
Tell me who hurt you?" It was a command. I could have been afraid and probably told the whole of my traumatic childhood but I shook my head. There was no way I was telling him my darkest secrets.
"I will find out..I always...
Before you can get into this week's chapter, allow me to express my gratitude for having reached more than 100k reads on this book. You're the best readers a girl could ask for. I'm looking forward to reading your comments.
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Scars have the strange power to remind us that our past is real." ~Cormac McCarthy~
Sophie
Raphael stood between my legs, his chin resting on my knees and his eyes on me, my cooking forgotten. He had told of his childhood, so much more than I expected from him and now it was my turn to do the same, except I would be saying more than he did because he would never accept anything less.
"There is nothing much to say really," I said again and he frowned, his mouth tightening at the corners, eyes shooting daggers at me. "Cara" He warned and I signed loudly, shifting a little as I tested the best position to sit on the kitchen island and making sure Raphael remained where he was because I loved feeling his arms on me.
"Where do I start?" I asked rhetorically and he brimmed with frustration.
"From the beginning is a good place to start" he drawled lazily skimming across my thighs with the palm of his hand. Funny, I had thought that escaping my father's guardianship was the end of my relationship or interaction with him, that I would never waste a single thought on him, but for the last couple of days he and my mother, whom I could barely remember filled my mind.
Raphael mumbled something I did not hear, not that I needed to hear it to understand that he was prompting me to start talking.
"Do you remember telling me you never needed your father?" I asked softly, my right hand combing through his hair as I exhaled sharply readying myself to tell him all I was feeling.
He nodded, staring intently as he waited for me to go on. I felt like a caged animal unable to flee, yet I wanted, needed to tell Raphael what I felt. I knew he would understand and not think I was daft for having craved my father's love. Though I somewhat felt ashamed of it.
"I wasn't like that. I wanted my father to love me even when he was stepping on my stomach while he beat the crap out of me. My voice squeaked, fighting tears, my throat felt full I couldn't swallow a damn even my saliva. I felt him go stiff immediately, his hands fisting against my lap, a furious gritter on his eyes. I wasn't sure whether he was angry at my father or my need for fatherly love. "Please don't be mad at me" I pleaded, my fingers trembling on his hair, losing the battle to hold the tears.
"No, no. I'm not mad at you. Why in god's name should I?" his anger boomed, I felt it as he scooped me up going round to sit on one of the dining chairs and sitting me on his lap. I shouldn't have been comfortable but I was, resting my head on his shoulder, breathing his cologne, his scent and essence.
This was my home. His arms, his house, wherever he was.
"I never understood his hatred for me, his viciousness towards me had no bounds. There was a time I thought he wasn't really my father, those nights before I met my grandmother when I contemplated running away. I never did, maybe I was a coward, but where would I have gone, Raphael? I trusted no one, I liked no one, most of my school mates hated me because our house was small and shabby and located at the end of nowhere or for my witchy hair or so they said"
