The taste of forbidden

10. Healing a little in her. [Part 1]

10. Healing a little in her.

Becket.

What is she doing to me?

Because right now, as she looks at me with that kindness and understanding in her eyes, I feel like she’s probing into the pieces of my soul I’ve never let anyone see—sometimes not even myself… and it hurts.

It feels like she’s squeezing my heart in her small fist to draw out every bit of trauma buried inside, until it’s clean.

But it’s… too much.

I suppress the shiver that runs through my body like an electric jolt when the tip of her fingers, nails short and clean, brushes over the wound on my lip again. She’s trembling, just like her lower lip, which she bites down on to hold back what I bet is a sob.

No one’s ever cried for me before.

Have I made someone cry?

Of course.

I’m not proud of it, but yes.

Still, having people cry because of you is not the same as having someone cry for you.

For your situation, because they empathize with your pain, because they care about your suffering.

That’s Lia right now for me.

Despite how much of a son of a b***h I’ve been to her, despite the way I’ve ignored her these past few days, despite not even making her feel welcome… here she is, crying for a bastard who’s done nothing but declare war on her from day one.

I turn my face to the side, pulling away from her touch, feeling unworthy of this. But her fingers follow my skin until I’m only showing her my profile, and she still clings to me, caressing my scars like her wish is to soothe them.

I swallow hard, holding back the chaos of unfamiliar emotions swirling inside me.

"Does it hurt?" she asks in a whisper, in that soft tone she always uses when we talk, when the walls fall between us.

Does it hurt?

Yeah, but in a way I couldn’t even begin to explain to her.

I close my eyes, trying to shut myself off emotionally from everything happening inside me. But her touch keeps anchoring me, pulling me toward her, ripping my chest open in a way I’ve never felt before.

I want to lean into her touch, I want to wrap my arms around her waist, pull her close, and bury my face in her neck just to let myself feel her comfort.

Right now, I want it so damn badly.

I can’t remember ever wanting something so desperately.

But I can’t.

I can’t.

I shake my head, step back, and break our connection.

I run a hand through my beard, looking to the side to avoid looking at her, but out of the corner of my eye, I see her keep her hand in the same spot for a moment, as if she were still holding me… then finally she lowers it and rests it quietly over her stomach.

"You and I are not friends," I say, trying to make my voice firm, but it comes out softer than I meant.

"We’re not?" she asks, curious.

I look at her, trying to harden my gaze as I answer, "No."

Her face tilts with genuine concern, searching inside me like she has free access.

"Why are you suddenly shutting me out emotionally?" Her question lingers in the air when I have no answer to give her. "Why do you keep pushing me away every time I see a trace of vulnerability in you? We don’t have to be enemies, you know that, Becket?"

"Are you suggesting we be friends?" A rough laugh escapes me.

"What’s wrong with that?"

"Have you looked in a mirror?" Another laugh escapes me, my hand on my jaw as I try to find the words to end this nonsense. "You’re a kid, goddamn it, Lia. We have nothing in common, I can’t imagine what we’d share or what…" I stop, shaking my head as I add, "You’re a rich city girl trying to fill voids in a place you don’t belong."

"A rich city girl?" she repeats, nodding with tight lips on the last word.

"I bet you’ve never worked hard for anything in your life, you’ve never been through any real hardship, you have no idea about any of this," I gesture around, at the ranch. "Once the novelty wears off, you’ll go back to your protected life and forget this place even exists. And, f**k, I’m really already looking forward to that day."

The hurt in her eyes is something I’ll probably replay a thousand times in my head, but I don’t see how this could go any other way.

Friends?

Impossible.

I can’t go down that path, I just can’t.

The way she manages to crack my chest open so easily, to peer into my traumas, to make me crave things I never even wanted before… it’s too much.

And then it happens.

This time, Lia shuts down emotionally not to provoke me. This time she really shuts down, turning back into that little bird with broken wings who showed up on the first day.

I nod, clenching my jaw at what I’ve caused.

It’s fine.

She’ll be gone soon.

"Get on the horse, I’ll take you," I say.

Lia just takes a step back, looks at me one last time, and starts walking away from me, soaked as she is.

"It’ll take you an hour to get home, it’ll be miserable walking like that!"

Of course, she ignores me.

"Lia, come on!"

I curse under my breath at her lack of response, so I go after her. Without hesitation, I hoist her over my shoulder in one easy move, and she doesn’t resist. There’s still this vulnerability in the air—mine, but also hers.

It’s like something broke, like a new layer of reality fell between us.

I swallow and, very gently, set her down, take her by the waist and…

"Your back…"

I close my eyes, aware that the way I carried her gave her a full view of the slaughterhouse my father left on my back.

"Get on, Lia, for f**k’s sake," I growl, because… "Enough, please," I beg.

She blinks, letting out a tiny sigh, but nods and lets me help her onto the horse. Carefully, I place her hands on the reins and adjust her foot by the calf. My fingers almost wrap around her leg and even though the denim is still soaked, the warmth of her skin seeps through the barrier.

I step back, standing still, not knowing what to do for a long moment.

Though the smart thing is to mount behind her and get us home quickly, the idea of wrapping around her and…

"I’ll walk for a bit to dry off, okay?"

She doesn’t respond and I take that as approval.

I lead the horse at my pace as we head toward the house in tense silence. Aside from my footsteps and the horse’s, there’s no other sound. And never has silence felt so heavy.

The way she makes me feel stripped bare in such an intimate way is too much.

Everything about her is too much.

Months ago, I thought all the trauma from my childhood was something that could no longer touch me. I had buried it so deep, locked away in a compartment with a key so it could never come back. But then Lucas’s death, the memory of our relationship, and Lia’s arrival have all brought it slowly back to the surface.

But what happened just minutes ago?

It’s like she left me raw.

Painfully raw.

And she knows it.

How does she do it?

How the f**k does she do it?

"Tell me the real reason you gave up on Lucas."

"Lia," I growl, because I don’t want to keep talking about this.

"I’m just talking."

And her words are her best weapon.

"Let it go, fuck."

"That night in the stables, you told me you gave up on Lucas, why?"

Fuck.

I stay silent, my jaw clenching so tight I fear I’ll crack a molar.

"Why did you give up on your brother, Becket?" The question comes out slow and sharp, full of resolve, making it clear she’s not going to drop it.

Goddamn f*****g hell.

Fuck it.

"Because I convinced myself he hated me!" I shout, exhausted. "Because he asked me to leave with him, to forget all the abuse we’d been through, to start over in a new place, but I didn’t! I chose to stay here! I chose this land over my own brother and it’s something I’m still trying to make peace with! So you’re wrong, Lucas didn’t love me, not after my choices, f**k! And stop… just stop, f**k!"

My outburst leaves us momentarily silent, until the damned woman goes on:

"Maybe, over time, Lucas also convinced himself that you hated him and gave up, just like you. Have you considered that possibility?"

Fuck, she…

"No," I growl, because the idea is absurd.

My brother knew I loved him, he knew, didn’t he?

The alternative is devastating.

"I’m just saying, you’re both such idiots and frankly, I’m mad. I’m furious at you, I’m furious at him, at both of you…" she growls too, her words fiery and real. "Lucas kept things from me, but I loved him, Becket, I knew him, I knew his heart. And don’t you dare tell me that the man I married hated his brother, the one who took beatings for him, because that’s just bullshit. Lucas wants his ashes here, here, because of you. So shut the f**k up and get it through your head that your brother didn’t hate you, because it’s not true. It’s not."

I bite my lower lip, almost drawing blood as I listen to this crazy, strong, and brilliant girl who refuses to give up.

No matter how cold I can be, she keeps fighting for this.

"What the f**k do you care?" I shout, pulling the horse to a stop to look her in the face. "Why the f**k do you care? Lucas is dead, everything that happened died with him and..."

"You're not dead, Becket," she says with intensity, her eyes burning with fire, "you're not, and the pain you're still carrying is as real as those scars on your body."

"And why the f**k do you care, damn it, Lia?!"

She opens her mouth, then closes it without saying a word, both of us staring at each other in the middle of the mess she herself provoked.

[1/2]