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“I needed a place to escape to. I needed a place to feel safe. I wanted to go on adventures so when I found these books with characters that had such amazing quests and adventures, I connected with them. I guess you could say reading fantasy was my escape from reality.”
“Do you picture yourself in the stories?”
I nodded my head. I had always done that. Not just with the main character but with other characters that I had grown fond of.
“I liked being able to put myself in the adventures they had.”
Lucifer smiled,
“People like you are unique.”
“What do you mean?”
“People like you, who can look at a book and see more than just words on a page. You see what the author intended, a world you could have adventures In and be safe.”
“You know I used to get picked on a lot for reading when I was younger.”
“Why did you read so much as a child?” I looked up and saw just pure curiosity in his eyes as he leaned forward, resting his arms on the table between us.
“It was an escape. Books could take me far away from where I was.” And maybe that’s what I wanted all this time. To go somewhere far away. To start over.
“Why?” he asked. His voice was low and gentle as if he was afraid of what I would say.
“Why what?”
“Why did you need an escape?”
“My mother was not the nicest person in the world. There would be times when she would be yelling or screaming either at me or my father. Sometimes she would say things that were so hurtful they would plague my mind all day. Sometimes If I needed to take my mind off the way a particular beating stung, reading was a way to escape all that.”
That’s what I did. Anytime I needed to shut down and forget, I would just grab a book.
I glanced over at Lucifer, A look of restraint was dominant on his face,
What does that look mean?
“Did your mother ever leave bruises or marks on you? Besides the ones on your back?”
“Yes, but my mother unfortunately was very smart. She’d hit where clothes could hide the marks and if she happened to hit a part that clothes couldn’t cover, I’d just try my best not to be seen that day. I learned to become invisible.”
“And no one saw anything? or even said anything?”
“No. I didn’t want them to see.”
“Why?”
“Because I didn’t want people to see me as a battered abused little girl. I wanted them to see me. To see who I was.”
Plus I had my brothers to think about. As much as I wanted to tell someone what was happening, to report what was going on, I couldn’t. Mother always said if we told anyone that she hit us they would take us away, separate us all from each other and we wouldn’t be able to see each other. I couldn’t do that to them. I couldn’t break my so-called family apart. I wouldn’t be the reason our “family” was ruined.
“Gabriel saw you.”
I shook my head,
“Gabriel saw a little girl that needed saving but he never saw me.”
Lucifer leaned over and gently grabbed my hand and intertwined our fingers together. His dark tan tattooed hand was such a vast difference then my much smaller, olive-toned one. Centuries old cuts and tattoos decorated his hands and fingers yet mine were decorated with tiny little freckles. The veins in his hands were proudly on display and honestly, it was kind of hot.
Why does this feel so right?
