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Old habits die hard, I guess.
I’ve spent so long guarding the darker parts of my past, keeping people at a careful distance.
But this is Zoe. If I can’t open up to her, then what are we even doing here?
I chuckle, shaking my head. “What, like you don’t already know everything about me from that file of yours? I bet it reads like a CIA dossier.”
Zoe’s lips quirk. “Some of it was actually blacked out, believe it or not. Redacted information.”
“No shit?” I raise an eyebrow, oddly amused by the idea. “Guess I’m just a man of mystery.”
“Something like that.” She bumps her shoulder against mine playfully. “Seriously though, what was your life like before the MC? I feel like there’s so much I still don’t know about you.”
Zoe waits patiently, not pushing, just making space for me to share. Or not.
“It wasn’t always great,” I say finally. “I was in foster care from the time I was five until I ran away at fifteen. Bounced around a lot of different homes. Some were okay...others, not so much.”
“I’m sorry,” Zoe murmurs. “That must have been really tough.”
I shrug. “You either survive or you don’t. I did what I had to do.”
“What made you run away?” she asks tentatively. “If you don’t mind me asking.”
My jaw clenches reflexively before I force myself to relax. “There was a fire. At my last foster home.”
Zoe frowns. “I didn’t see anything about a fire in your file.”
“That’s because I started it.” The words hang heavy between us.
I risk a glance at Zoe’s face, bracing myself for judgment or disgust.
But there’s only concern and compassion in her green brown eyes.
“What happened?” she asks gently.
I take a deep breath, steeling myself.
I’ve never told anyone this story before.
But something about Zoe makes me want to crack myself open, to let her see all the dark, broken pieces inside.
“My foster father was a piece of shit. He was...violating the little girls in the house.” Bile rises in my throat at the memory. “I tried telling my social worker, but she didn’t believe me. So I did the only thing I could think of to make it stop. To free them.”
Zoe covers her mouth, tears shimmering in her eyes. “Oh Spark...”
“He died in the fire,” I say flatly. “Good fucking riddance. The girls all got out safe, moved to a new home. I took off and never looked back.”
Zoe reaches out tentatively, her delicate fingers resting lightly on my arm.
Her touch soothes me, easing some of the tension coiled in my muscles.
“I’m so sorry you and those girls went through that,” she murmurs, her voice thick with emotion. “I can’t even imagine how traumatic that must have been. You were just a kid yourself.”
Her compassion undoes me.
I blink rapidly, fighting back the sting of tears. “I did what I had to do. No one else was going to save them.”
I learned at a young age how fucked up the world is.
