Damaged 2 (4 page)

Peter
smirks at me, then says to Millie, "Toss me the bag on the front seat." Millie
does it. I give her an evil stare. My eyeballs are bugging out of my head as I
shrug with my palms up. It's a
what the fuck
pose and I mean every inch
of it.

Millie
beams at me. "I think this'll be good for you. You need to go, and it seems
like you two have some issues to work out." I want to kill her, but I'm too
shocked by her betrayal to speak. I just stand there with my mouth hanging
open.

"And
you," she says to Peter and walks up to him, poking him in the chest, "if you
hurt her—if you lay a finger on her—I will get my daddy's gun and shoot you.
It's a promise, not a threat." Millie is so small and pretty that it looks like
he's being threatened by a china doll.

Peter
grins at her. "Good. I wouldn't want it any other way."

"Damn
straight." Millie looks over at me again. I'm so mad at her that I can't speak.
My arms are folded tightly against my chest. She knows how betrayed I feel.

"Sometimes
you need friends, Sidney. You can't do everything by yourself. Let someone help
you, okay?" I don't say anything to her. Millie smiles awkwardly and slips into
Peter's car, and drives away, leaving me behind.

Peter
is standing next to me. He works his jaw before saying, "We need to talk."

"There's
nothing to talk about."

CHAPTER
6

I'm
sitting in the passenger seat, staring out the window at the night sky. I feel
like an emotional train wreck. It's strange, but I thought I already grieved
and mourned my mother. As I sit, memories that were lost to time pop up
randomly in my mind. The hand of death is the only thing capable of freeing
them. I see myself on a swing and know that I can't be more than three years
old. My mother pushes me, and I try to look back at her, making my hair tangle
in the chains. I can feel the sharp tug on my scalp like it's still happening.
I remember the tears that covered my face and how afraid I was. My mother
untangled me and held me. It's not a recollection that I would normally
remember, but it surfaces now. My mother loved me then. I wonder what she'll
say when I walk in the door now.

A
chill races down my spine, making me shiver. It's late, well past dinner time.
I rub the goose bumps away with my hands while trying to avoid Peter's gaze. We
haven't spoken since the rest stop. I feel so betrayed by him. It's like
someone turned me inside out. I hate that I feel his eyes on me. It makes me
want to open up and spill my guts. I want my Peter back, but he's gone. That
Peter was never real anyway.

After
a few more exits pass, Peter pulls off the road. We're in a little town in
Tennessee. It's so hilly here, the opposite of where we were in Texas where
everything is as flat as a frying pan. I shift in my seat and look over at him.
Peter has that same look he's had all day. I can't tell if he's angry or
annoyed.

Peter
pulls into a dark parking lot and drives to the front of an old hotel located
at the back. One yellow light floods the front door.

"What
are we doing?" I don't want to stop here. The place looks like it's owned by
Norman Bates.

"We
need to stop for the night, and this is the only place showing any vacancy." He
notices the expression on my face and adds, "Don't worry. It'll be fine. I've
stayed here before." Peter cuts the engine and steps out of the car. Then he
walks around, opens my door, and extends his hand, waiting for me to get out.

I
really don't want to get out, but I do it anyway without taking his hand. Peter
shakes his head slightly and then stretches as he turns away from me. His shirt
lifts, and I can see his beautiful body, as well as the spot where it's marred
by that horrible scar. The blemish makes me wonder. Peter can fight, but he
didn't last night. I wonder if he fought back the night the knife was shoved in
his side. It feels like there's more story there, something deeper that he didn't
tell me.

Peter
shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans and looks back at me. Curiosity
spreads across his face when he sees me gawking at him, but he doesn't comment
on it. "Come on. Let's get a room and grab dinner. We haven't eaten all day and
if I have to eat another cereal bar I'll—"

"You
ate all the cereal bars four hours ago." It's the first thing I've said to him
since we left. The teasing comment is light. For a second I regret it, but then
I push past it. I have to decide what to do with him. I look at Peter from
under the curtain of hair that's been hiding my face all day. Fuck it. The
silent treatment isn't worth the effort. I reach into my pocket and twist my
hair up into a ponytail. Stray curls are probably sticking out like Satan's horns,
but I don't care.

Peter
walks ahead and grabs the door. He holds it for me, and I step inside. The
place seriously gives me the creeps. Peter walks past me to the front desk and
rings the bell. An elderly woman, bent with age, hobbles out of the back room.
She adjusts her glasses and smiles warmly at Peter like she knows him.

"Peter
Ferro. I didn't think I'd see you in here again." Her wrinkled lips smile
warmly at him before she glances back at me. "This fine man stayed here before.
A Ferro chose to stay at my motel and not that other place down the road."
She's beaming with pride as she tells me this.

Peter
turns up the charm and cranks his smile to full wattage. He takes her hands and
says, "Because this place is the best. I couldn't drive through here and not
stop." I swear to God, the old lady blushes. Peter pats her hand before letting
go. "How have you been?"

She
smiles shyly and shoos at him. "You don't have time to listen to an old woman
prattle. I bet you're famished. Here's your pass to get dinner in the
restaurant. Each room comes with a hot meal. And here is the room key." The old
woman turns slowly and takes a key off the board behind her. She explains as
she's handing it to him. "It's the only room I have left. I'm sorry about
that."

I
don't follow, but Peter seems to. "It'll be perfect. Thank you so much." He
hands her a credit card and she swipes it.

"Checkout
time is nine, and since this room is the honeymoon suite, it comes with
breakfast in bed. What time would you like that delivered?"

I
nearly choke. "What? We can't stay in the honeymoon suite." I'm next to Peter
at the counter now, ready to jump over the edge to look for an alternate
option. "You must have another room."

"I'm
sorry, dear, but we don't. There's a convention that has us all booked up. The
room is very lovely."

"But
it's a…"
Sex room! It's for happy couples, married couples. It's not for us!
I don't say any of it. The words bounce around in my head like bowling
balls crushing every other thought. Instinct is telling me to keep space
between Peter and me, but I can't, and this makes it worse.

Peter
is grinning at me. "It's a…what, Sidney?" He's leaning on the counter wearing
that tight T-shirt with a lazy, sexy smirk. I hate him.

"Nothing."

"No,
you definitely thought it was something. Go ahead and tell us." He's teasing
me.

My
face heats up as a blush travels from cheek to cheek. Screw it. I say the first
thing that comes into my head. "It's just that I'm sure it's a beautiful room
and I don't want it to get messed up like last time. Peter has issues
controlling himself. He makes love like a rabid monkey, and things tend to
break. I don't want to ruin your best room. That's all."

Peter's
mischievous grin widens, like the statement is true. I meant to embarrass him,
but it obviously didn't work.

The
old woman pats my hand, pulling my gaze away from Peter. She says, "I know,
dear," and looks up at Peter and winks. The girlish look on her face implies
that she intimately knows what I mean.

I
blink twice, certain that I heard her wrong. It makes Peter laugh. He grabs the
key from the woman and says, "Thank you, Betsy. I promise that I won't break
anything while I make wild monkey love to my friend."

Peter
pulls me through the door. When we step outside, the night air is thick and
warm. It smells like honeysuckle and jasmine.

My
mouth is hanging open. "Did you—"

Peter
doesn't stop walking. He heads to the car and pulls out our bags. "Did I what,
Colleli?"

"Did
you sleep with her?"

"I've
slept with a lot of people." Peter carries our bags to the room and slides the
key into the hole. It's a real brass key with a big plastic tag hanging off the
end.

"What
the hell kind of answer is that?"

"It's
the only answer you're getting, since you believe what you've read in the
tabloids instead of what I've told you." Peter steps into the dark room, turns,
and stops abruptly. I smack into his chest just as he drops the bags. His face
is so close to mine that I can feel his breath when he speaks. "I fucked half
the East Coast, remember? The women around these parts are very satisfied. I
can add you to the list later if you like."

Anger
surges through me. I hate the way he's talking to me. When he says the last
part, my temper gets the better of me. My hand flies and my palm slaps him
across his face. Peter doesn't even flinch. He catches my hand and presses his
on top of it before I have time to pull away. He holds it there, and that lost
look surfaces in his blue eyes.

Panic
races through me. I still feel everything I felt for him yesterday and the day
before. I still want to touch, kiss, and taste him. My heart beats faster as
Peter leans in, closing the space between us. His lips linger so close to mine.
If I move the slightest amount, we'll kiss. I don't breathe as my body tenses
up. His hand, that slightest bit of touch, is shooting a current through my
entire body. The way he looks at me makes my stomach flip. I hate the way he
makes me feel, and I love it at the same time. I'm trapped, unable to move. The
moment lasts forever. I think about closing the distance; I think about
pressing my mouth to his and holding him again. My gaze is locked on his lips,
and just as I lean in, Peter pulls away. He drops my hand and steps back.

"I'm
not like my father—not anymore. A kiss means something to me, and I don't share
them with women like you."

If
he slapped me, it would have hurt less. "A woman like me?" He nods. "What the
hell does that mean?"

Peter
steps closer again, and lowers his face to mine. He speaks swiftly and
passionately. "A woman who's blinded by my name, a woman who can't see me as
anything but a Ferro."

I
fight with him. I argue because I need it. I want to scream and slam my hands
into his chest, so I do it. Peter doesn't move. His eyes are narrowed into
slits like he hates me. "You fucking lied to me!"

"I'm
still the man I was yesterday, and the same man as a week ago. "

"No,
you're not! You hid the biggest part of your past and never told me a damn
thing! You're a liar, just like him!" Just like Dean. He was all smiles and
flattery until he turned on me. The scope of Dean's betrayal reaches out and
chokes me, years later, and this feels like the same goddamn thing. I slam my
hands into his chest again. This time Peter grabs my wrists and throws them
aside.

He
presses his forehead to mine and hisses, "I am nothing like him. How could you
say that? After all the time we spent together, how could you—"

Tears
are stinging my eyes, but they don't fall. "After all the time we spent
together, how could you not tell me who you really are?"

Frustrated,
Peter releases me and screams, "Because shit like this happens when people find
out who I am!" He breathes hard and runs his hands through his hair, tugging
hard. The saddest expression I've ever seen plays across his eyes when he sits
down on a chair by the door and holds his head between his hands. "Damn it,
Sidney, this wasn't about you. I just wanted to start over. It wasn't about
you."

I
watch him for a moment. I see the way he grasps his dark hair and then runs his
hands over the back of his neck. I know he's hurting, and I hate that I'm the
one who's causing it, but I can't leave things like this. "Tell me why you
didn't fight last night. Dean deserved to be beat to a pulp, but you didn't.
Why?"

Peter
looks up at me. His eyes are the darkest shade of blue, nearly black. They pin
me in place and strip me. I feel vulnerable and I hate it, but I don't move.
The light from the open door spills into the room. It paints shadows across
Peter's beautiful face, making him look harder than he is. "Why should I answer
that? You're just going to use it against me."

I
resist the urge to pull my hair and scream at him. Taking a deep breath, I
manage to keep a steady tone. "There are two different versions of you that
don't fit together. I'm wondering if I was with a lie for the past few months.
I know you can fight. I know you used to fight all the time, but last night you
didn't. It was intentional, and I want to know why."

Peter
laughs so sadly that it breaks my heart. He stands up and steps over to me.
Looking down into my face, he says, "I gave you the chance to know me like that
and you threw it away. I don't give second chances, Colleli. You have no right
to ask me anything like that anymore. Grab your wallet. We're going to dinner
and you're buying whatever that voucher doesn't cover."

It
feels like he reached into my chest and crushed my heart, but I don't show it.
My face is utterly still, relaxed like I don't care. I nod and say, "Fair
enough. You paid for gas all day."