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“No, Little Dream.” He smiled a sad smile like his soul had just been ripped open, and all the pain poured out. “She didn’t give a shit about me. I was the result of either a one-night stand or a quick fuck that gave her access to something that took the edge off.”
“You never met your dad?”
“The only thing I know about him is he’s half Italian. I have no clue who he is. And I don’t want to know, either. I have my family. The boys and Jolie...you. I don’t need anyone else. My mother was enough drama.”
“Where is she now?”
“Dead.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I don’t care.” His fingers soothingly rubbed over my skin again. I’m not sure if he was soothing me from hearing about his childhood trauma or himself for reliving it. “I was pimped out for as long as I can remember. I grew up thinking people could do whatever they wanted to another person. That only your needs matter, which was why I didn’t treat you right the first time around.”
“You were sexually abused?”
“From the age of two. Around two.”
A pain shot into my heart, stabbing deep into the troubled organ. It stopped my breathing.
“Breathe, Dream.”
Fingers rubbed my back before he moved them to my hair, twirling the wet strands.
“I’m sorry.” Tears filled my eyes. “And I’m so sorry for what happened to you.”
“That’s how far Momma would go to get her fix.”
“I’m so sorry.” My fingers feathered his jaw. It wasn’t ticking. He showed no signs of distress. My fingertip trailed down his body and snagged against skin that felt different near his collarbone.
“It’s a cigarette burn. There are a few of them across my front, hidden behind the tattoos. There’s also one on the back of my neck.”
“I have them, too.” I twisted, showing him my back and the pink circles that tarnished my spine and ribs.
His fingers graced each one until I careened back to him, and my fingers started wandering, too, dropping to his thigh, stained but not by ink.
“How did you get this one?” His skin was a mess of silver and pink, blemishes and dents.
“I ran away from home when I was six. It was the second time. I ended up getting chased by one of the neighbor’s dogs. Some big fucking white thing. I jumped into the lake to escape, not realizing dogs could swim, and he jumped in after me. I think it might have been something about the smell of me. My mother had been smoking pot. But who knows. Maybe it was something else. Whatever it was, he didn’t like it. His teeth punctured my leg, and he dragged me under. I almost drowned.”
“How did you get away?”
“The neighbor caught up and didn’t want his dog to die in that pond. Eight years later, I went back to that lake in the early hours of the morning and tried to end my life there. I took some stuff and walked in. I was in there less than twenty seconds when I thought to myself, why should I be the one to die? I returned home. I let my mother take my share when she was already too fucked to stand, and she didn’t wake up again. I waited until the night and called the guys she’d invited over. The ones she’d loan me to, and I killed both of the unsuspecting fools. They were so used to me being too fucked to fight back that they never saw it coming. Then, I used their phone to text their boss, and I waited with their gun.”
“And you killed him?”
“No. I should have. I should have pulled the trigger the second I saw him step through the door, but I had questions.” Remi shrugged, seething with himself over an error he’d made close to twenty years ago. “He didn’t give me answers. He offered me a better life when I turned eighteen, and stupid me, I took it. And I put up with the shit he did to me until then. It was nothing compared to what I’d already been through. Just an hour with him every month for forty-two months. And yeah, it was shit, but when he wasn’t abusing me, he was getting me clean, paying for my education—it was all part of a bigger plan. My service was just a payment.”
“Remi, I’m sorry. You were owned, too.”
“Without an official sale, but in some way, I guess I was.”
“Didn’t anyone look for you?”
“No. The police didn’t care. She was a junkie, not too important to them. I guess it was assumed I’d run away from home a few years earlier, as no one had seen me in that time. Even if they’d looked, they wouldn’t have found anything, searching for a kid called Ellis De Havaillind. A name I was never called by because no one acknowledged me. That kid faded out that night, and he doesn’t exist anymore.”
“I’m grateful you survived…and became my Remi. Thank you for trusting me with your memories. I don’t remember many of mine. It’s been years, and I barely have weeks that replay in my head.”
“It doesn’t take away from how badly you were hurt.” He played with my hair, again twirling the strands around his fingers. Maybe he found comfort in doing that, the same way I did by playing with his ears.
