Her eyes are soft. Hopeful. I can't deny her.

It would be better that she did not know. It would be better if she did not ask these things of me. But she has seen me. Touched me. And I want her to do it again.

I want to give her the answers she seeks. The only thing I can ever really give her after the things I have done.

"What would you care to know, my sweet?"

"How did you meet?" she asks.

It is an innocent question. And because my Bella is so innocent, she could never know the depths of her father’s depravity. She could never know the injustices he served to not only me but countless others. And she could never know the deepness of the despair this memory invokes in me.

I will forever remember the day that I met Ray Rossi.

He found his way into my room at the sanitarium, and I assumed he was another doctor. Someone else sent to pry the secrets from my mind. But he was different. Both in dress and decorum.

He was powerful.

He told the nurse to go, and she listened, hesitating only briefly at the door. She informed him that I was dangerous. He met my eyes and smiled.

“He is a child.”

The nurse left, and Ray sat down with me. He wasn't like the others. He did not ask me questions. He did not ask me to talk.

Instead, he handed me a workbook. It had puzzles and math equations. Things that I liked. I wondered how he knew.

I had done some of my own, on the paper they sometimes let me have. The doctor would stare at my scribbles strangely. He tried to make sense of them, I think, but he never could.

This man, though, he understood. And this is exactly what I tell my Bella.

"He brought me puzzles."

"At the sanitarium?" she asks.

I nod.

She waits quietly. Hoping for more. I don't know what to tell her. There are so many things. Things I have waited to say.

Hateful things. Painful things. Things that tear at the very fabric of the man I am now.

I want her to know what a coward her father is. I want her to hate him as much as I do. To understand that given a choice, he would probably betray her too.

He would rather leave her here with me than risk his own life to get her back because that’s the kind of man he is. But for as long as I’ve waited to say these things, I can’t seem to tell her now. Not yet.

“He brought them to me every week.”

"So you liked the puzzles," she says. "I see you working on them sometimes, around the house."

"Yes."

"Because you're smart, Javi."

I don't reply.

My mother always said I was smart because I was good at science. Like her. But I was never good at people.

"And then what happened?" Bella asks.

I try to recall the exact order of events. The time that I was locked away, and for how long. At first, I had counted the days and weeks and months. But when Ray started coming to visit and bringing me the workbooks, the counting ceased. I spent my free time completing the books. They became more and more challenging over the course of his visits. And I always wanted more.

Sometimes, I completed them too soon, and I had to wait days for another. Until finally there was a day that Ray came back, and he wasn't alone. He had a different man with him this time. And he asked me for the workbook. The workbook that had been the most complicated one he'd ever brought me so far.

I gave it to him. He smiled like he was proud of me. He hadn't even checked it yet. But he told the other man he didn't need to.

He handed it off to the stranger who inspected it with a furrowed brow. That man looked at me, uncertain.

"This can't be right," he'd said. "He's only a boy."

Ray laughed and handed me another workbook.

"Javi, can you do me a favor?"

He opened up the book and pointed to a page.

"Can you solve this one for me?"

I took the pen he provided and solved it in ten minutes while they watched. The man beside him was smiling too when I finished.

"Well, I'll be damned."

They looked at each other, and then to me.

"So?" Ray asked. "How about it?"

"I think perhaps you are right," the man said. "I think he will make an excellent addition to the program."

Ray looked at me and nodded.

“Indeed.”

I didn't know it then, but my life was about to change. It was about to get better, for the first time in a long time. I didn’t know then that I would grow to hate Bella's father so much. I didn’t know the kind of man that he was. Because he showed me something else at first. Something I needed at the time, in a world where nobody understood me.

The man who gave me guidance and a purpose. The man who took me away from the sanitarium. He never treated me like I was dangerous. He helped me with my anger. He helped me as much as he could. He did everything he could to help me.

And now here I am, holding his most beloved daughter captive in my home.

When I think of those early days, and how much I cared for Ray- how much I respected him- it hurts to think of what has become of us.

I can't uncross the lines I have already breached. I can't undo the moments I caved beneath the weight of my darkness and gave into temptation. But what I can do is be honest with her. I can try to make her understand. At least some of it.

Until I’m ready to give her the truth.

"It was never about leaving you," I tell her. "Or choosing me."

She looks at me, eyes shining, and then hides them beneath a veil of hair.

"That isn't what it felt like. He left me to go to you. He did it all the time."

"Because he was responsible for me," I explain. "And he was teaching me. It was only part of his job."

She glances up at me, and her eyes are still wet, but it isn't for herself.

"You were never just a job to him, Javi. Surely, you must know that. He cared about you as if you were his own son."

His own son.

Those words hit me hard. Much harder than I could anticipate. I knew that he was proud of me. I knew that he felt responsible for me. But I also know why he took on the burden of helping me.

I did not live with him as a son would. I was kept separate. Alone.

He came to visit me at the program, and I kept to my routine. I did what he asked of me, and I excelled at everything he put in front of me. Because I wanted to make him proud.

At the time, I felt indebted to him. For saving me from that place. And for saving River too when I had requested it.

He had given me so much.

I never had a father. But hearing Bella say those words makes me feel as though perhaps I did. Perhaps I did see him that way, and I just never knew it until now.

And now, there is a foreign sensation inside of me when I look at my Bella. So soft and sweet and broken. Caring for me after all that I have done to her.

She is inherently good.She sees past my ugliness. My feelings for her are split.

I want to hurt her. But I want to protect her too. And I think that perhaps she was right. I think the person she most needs protection from is me.

"What are you thinking about, Javi?" she asks.

I don't like that she can see me so well. That even beneath the hood I have replaced, she can read me. It's strange, not being able to hide anymore.

It makes me feel exposed. I want to forget that she has seen all of me. That she has witnessed my scars. I wonder if they haunt her. If she cringes when she thinks of them. But I cannot tell her these things.

“I’m thinking about what your father would say,” I reply. “If he knew you were here.”

She is quiet. Lost in her own thoughts as she studies me.

"Sometimes, I don't know what my father would say," she admits. "I love him very much. But I feel like I don't know him very well. He had so many secrets. And I have wondered..."

She threads her fingers together in her lap and looks into my eyes again.

"Wondered what?" I press.

"I have wondered what he did to you, Javi."

I do not answer her.

Bella rises from her chair and moves towards me.

My pulse quickens.

She approaches me the way one would approach a wild animal. My fists are locked at my side, my muscles tense. Her arm trembles and her lip does too. She raises my hood and pushes it back away from my face.

My body is still sore. Still healing. And it looks worse than usual.

I don't like this. I don't like her seeing me like this. I move to grab her wrist. But she is fast this time. And determined.

"No, Javi," she says. "I want to see you. Let me see you."

My body goes on the offensive. Every muscle tightening and contracting. Every instinct inside of me demanding that I eliminate the threat. But one look into Bella’s eyes gives me the control I need to restrain myself.

My hand falls back to my side. And I let her see me. I cannot deny this angel.

She moves between my legs. Hesitates. Now it feels as though she is the predator. She sits on my lap, and her palm comes up to touch my face.

I close my eyes when she maps out the scars with her fingertip. I don't like it. But I don't want her to stop either.

"Bella."

My voice is hoarse. Strained. I don't know what I need from her. But my Bella knows. She leans in and kisses me. She kisses my scars, healing me in some way. As though they could disappear beneath her gentle touch.

I know that they can't. But it feels like they are. Like she is the cure to my disease. Her lips find mine. I can't be gentle with her anymore. I catch her face in my hands and kiss her violently. She whimpers but does not protest.

I am hard for her. So fucking hard. I grind my hips into her soft flesh and want so badly to feel her from the inside. I want to destroy her and fill her with my come.

I want her to cry so I can taste her tears. I want her to make me bleed. I don't know how to make it stop. I can’t cure this madness in my head.

I’m not supposed to want her this way. I’m not supposed to feel anything when I look at her.

Her hands are on me. On my skin. Beneath my shirt. Touching me. Feeling me. Burning and healing me.

"Take off your sweater," she begs. "Please, Javi."

I look into her eyes, seeking out the deception I am certain to find there. But it is absent.

"Please," she says again.

I push my hand between her legs. Cupping her through the leggings. She is wet for me. For the monster beneath her. I don't understand it. How can she want something so bad for her?

"Javi."

She's pulling up the sweater herself now.

My mind is still at war, but my body is responding to her. Lifting my arms up when she tells me. My sweater ends up on the floor, and my chest is bare for her. Hard and scarred to her soft and pure.

Her palms move over me, exploring. Her lips find the skin of my throat first. And then my collar bone. Then the scars that litter my body. I close my eyes, and my head falls back against the chair.

She is the only one I've ever allowed to touch me in this way. I would not have believed that it was possible.That it could be real.

But it is.

I am allowing her to touch me, and she is wet for me.

"You have always been mine," I tell her.

Her hand moves down to the bulge in my sweatpants, cupping the hard heat through the material.

“But what about you, Javi?” she asks. “Does that mean you are mine, too?"

I groan when she squeezes me through the material, my self-control hanging on by a thread. She leans forward in my lap and kisses my neck again. All the way up to my ear.

"Let me have you," she says. "Let me have all of you."