ADELINE

 

JAX COMES AND goes throughout the day since Lucien seems to have done a disappearing act after my shower.

Jax has been taking good care of me, bringing me meals, medicine, tending to me and even bringing me some books to read from the library.  So it's not like I have any reason to complain.  It's just that…I miss Lucien.

As much as I hated it here at first and hated him, the island and Lucien have grown on me.  I know he has a lot of issues he needs to work out, and I'm hoping that I can soon get him to open up to me.  I want to know about his past, what made him the way he is.  There has to be a reason behind it all.  But I fear that if he does open up and I find out the reason behind all of his madness…I may never want to leave.

I miss my father and Giovanni, but I don't miss much else of my prior life.

However, the thought of going back to my old life and starting things up again with Giovanni scares me more than anything.  Gio might not even want me now since I gave my virginity to another man.

And if I have to stay with my father, things will return to the way they were.  I don't want to be locked up anymore, and I know that sounds ridiculous since I'm being kept on this island against my will, but at least I feel like I could have a life here, a real chance at…something more.

Back home my day consisted of a rigorous and monotonous schedule of studying and music lessons and dance classes and a bunch of other things I had no interest in at all but was required to do.

Here I'm able to do things that I like now.  Lucien hasn't locked me in my room for weeks.  And now that I'm in his bed…I don't think he'll resort back to that again.  At least I'm not forced to sit down at a piano and play Bach in perfect tempo until it feels like my fingers are bleeding.

Every day at home I was expected to be perfect in every way every hour of the day.  I thought that was normal for all young, unmarried women.  I used to think my life was pretty great growing up, but now I'm starting to think that it was all just an illusion.

Since leaving home, I'm beginning to realize that my life was far from normal.  I never had any real friends or any real purpose in life except for what I was told to do.  My future was to wed and have babies to carry on the family name.  My husband, whoever my father chose, would take our last name.

But I don't want to take over the family business.  I don't want my children growing up in a house that they can't leave without a million bodyguards.  And I certainly don't want my kids having the same fate as my sisters.

A shudder runs down my spine when I think of the package I almost opened one day.  I found out later that my sister's hand had been in that box.  They were sending her back to my father piece by piece until he paid a ransom for her release.

My father never did pay the money.

He refused to back down to anyone…even for his own children.  He told me to never show weakness even in the face of severe adversity.

No.  I refuse to live in a world like that.

And even if I don't stay here with Lucien for very much longer because he doesn't want me anymore, I want to go somewhere else.  I want to be someone else.

* * * * * * *

I'M FEELING A lot better by the time night rolls around.  And I'm sitting up in bed reading when Lucien finally comes walking in.  He doesn't look at me.  Instead, he sits down on the edge of the bed and puts his face in his hands.

"Lucien?" I whisper, but he doesn't respond.  He doesn't move other than his chest heaving in panting breaths as if he ran here from somewhere. 

Closing my book and placing it on the nightstand, I timidly crawl over to him.  His elbows are on his knees, his face is buried in his hands, and his fingers are locked in a death grip in his hair.  That's when I see the cuts, bruises and blood covering his knuckles.

"What happened?" I ask him, gently placing my hand on his shoulder.  He flinches from the contact, so I pull my hand back quickly, not wanting to hurt him anymore than he's already obviously hurting.  "What happened to your hands?" I whisper, concerned.

"I can't…I can't…" he repeats over and over again, whimpering like a lost, little boy, and it makes my heart ache for him.

I can smell the alcohol permeating from his lips, and I realize he's drunk on top of whatever else is going on in that eccentric brain of his.  "What's wrong, Lucien?  Please.  Let me help you."

He's always so in control and careful with every movement and action that he performs.  I've never seen him so vulnerable before.

And it's scaring the hell out of me.

He seems withdrawn into himself, almost like blocking out the world might be some type of coping mechanism for him.  Maybe he doesn't even know I'm here right now, and I don't know how to break him of this wicked spell he has himself under.

Standing, I go to the bathroom and retrieve a first aid kit that I know is under the sink.  I set the kit on the bed and drop to my knees on the floor beside Lucien.  He's still muttering nonsensical words and rocking gently back and forth with his hands fisted in his hair.

He's having some kind of a mental breakdown, and I can't think of anything else in this moment except for the fact that I want to help him just as he helped me after I was attacked.  He took such good care of me and was so gentle.  And now I want to return the favor.

Gently, I touch his wrist, and he recoils as if I just burnt him.  "Lucien," I say softly.  "Please.  Let me clean your knuckles."  I run my fingers soothingly up and down his muscular forearm.  His muscles are corded with tension, but they slowly begin to relax as I caress him.

I gently pry his left hand away from his hair and pull it down to rest on his knee.  He keeps the right one locked with a fistful of hair and his eyes clenched shut.  As gently as I can, I clean away the blood and swab at the deep cuts with an antiseptic.  He releases shuddering breaths as I tend to him, and I can't help but think back to what he said in the shower.  He mentioned something about never having anyone take care of him.

I'm not even sure what he meant by that since I know almost nothing about Lucien's childhood…or much about his adulthood, to be honest.  I know he had a terrible past based on what little Jax has alluded to and the fact that his back is covered with scars, but I don't know who hurt him or how long ago it happened…or how long it went on for.

Did he have a family?  A mother who read him bedtime stories?  A father he played baseball in the backyard with?

Or is his past on the other end of the spectrum with no mother, no father…no one who loved him?

As I wrap his hand with gauze, I ask, "When you told me earlier that you never had anyone take care of you…what did you mean by that?"

He shakes his head; still gripping his hair with so much force I'm afraid he'll tear it out at the root.  Gently, I pry his right hand away and lower it to his knee.  When he eventually opens his eyes and meets my stare, I can almost feel the pain radiating from them.

"My mother…" he starts, but then clamps his mouth shut before shaking his head and closing his eyes.  He cringes as if he's in physical pain from the mention of his mom.

I cup his cheek with my hand and lovingly stroke his skin and stubble with my thumb.  I expect him to balk or pull away from my touch, but he doesn't.  Maybe the alcohol is dulling his aversion to my touch.  I'm not sure, but I like feeling his smooth, warm skin under my fingertips.

"Please, Luc.  Tell me about your mother.  I want to know.  I want to know everything about you," I confess.

His eyes slowly open at my words, and his brows knit together in confusion.  His dark gaze searches my face as if trying to figure out if I'm lying.  When I ask him again, he finally lets out an exasperated sigh.

He stares at me for a long time without speaking, and I'm beginning to think he won't say anything at all.  I break our connection and finish wrapping his hand.  Then I turn my attention to his right hand, which seems to be worse off than the left.  As I'm gently wiping away the blood so that I can assess the damage, Lucien finally speaks.

"My childhood was terrible.  My mother…my mother was a horrible, despicable human being.  She would lure me to her with kindness and then beat me until I could barely walk."

I gasp at his words, my hands stilling on top of his.  My eyes slowly rise to meet his, but he blinks, shakes his head and looks away.  I realize he'll only keep talking if I'm not looking at him, pitying him, feeling sorry for him.

Clearing my throat, I continue working on his hand, prying my gaze from his face.  After a while, he continues.

"She had a new man in her life every day of the week it seemed.  Some of them weren't too bad, and some of them seemed like they were the devil himself.  Getting kicked and beaten was the normal everyday life for me from the time I was born until almost a teenager.  What I wasn't prepared for was when they started touching me…"  His voice trails off suddenly, and he swallows so hard I can hear it in the deafening silence of the room.  "My mother didn't stop them, any of them.  I was just a toy for them…and her.  She pawned me off to a neighbor a lot in exchange for drug money."  I watch as his left hand clenches into a fist on his powerful thigh.  "I was just a toy to her, something to barter with.  And to them, all of them…I was a toy to beat around, to play with…to fuck."  His right hand squeezes mine suddenly as if he needs the support, and I squeeze right back, letting him know I'm here for him.  "I was just a little boy," he murmurs so sadly that it causes my eyes to well up with tears.

I focus on cleaning his cuts, but my vision is so blurry that I can barely see.  Still, I keep my eyes down, wanting him to tell me more, to tell me everything.

"I lived in filth, complete and utter disorder, sleeping on a mattress on the floor infested with cockroaches and fleas.  I was in diapers for much longer than a normal child would be because my mother never took the time to potty train me.  Sometimes she wouldn't change my diapers for a week.  I just laid around in my own fucking filth."  His hands clench and unclench while he continues.  "And when I got a little older, she rarely fed me.  She was only worrying about pimping me out for her sacred drugs."

I can hear the anger in his voice, and I'm beginning to understand him more clearly now.  Growing up in a grimy environment while surrounded by so much chaos is the reason why he needs everything to be clean.

And the reason why he needs to be in control at all times is because he was never in control of his life growing up.

He was innocent.  He never had a choice in anything that was done to him.  The words he said to me in the shower earlier this morning make sense to me now.

"It's not your fault what happened to you, Adeline."

It's as if I was looking at a puzzle with half of the pieces missing.  But now that he filled in the blanks…I can see the whole picture much more clearly now.  I understand why he is the way he is.  And I'm heartbroken and devastated over it.

"My uncle saved me when I was twelve years old.  William came to visit my mother, who was his sister, after they had not been in touch for years.  When he walked into that trailer and saw me, he couldn't believe his eyes.  I was emaciated; looked like I was seven, eight years old tops.  I couldn't speak or make eye contact.  My uncle took me away from there…gave me a home, a real home.  He raised me, made me better, made me…normal."  He shakes his head and releases a sigh and a dark chuckle.  "Well, as normal as he could make me," he adds solemnly.  "William was rich.  And when he died, he left Jax and I a lot of money, which in turn helped me to start my own companies.  My uncle and Jax were the only true family I ever had.  William was genuinely kind and never expected anything in return."

Tears stream down my face as I finish wrapping his right hand with gauze.  Unable to stand it any longer, I meet Lucien's gaze.  The fear and trepidation I see in his eyes that I might somehow think less of him now break me, and a sob rips out of my chest.  Slowly, I stand and climb into his lap, my knees resting on either side of his thighs on the mattress.

I cradle his handsome face in my hands, and I force him to meet my stare.  "You didn't deserve that life, Lucien.  You didn't deserve to be treated that way."  When I see a look of doubt…mixed with guilt on his face, it makes me angry.  "No, Lucien.  No.  You were just a little boy.  It wasn't your fault.  You didn't deserve it.  Any of it."  A torrent of tears cascade down my face, and he watches them fall.

Suddenly, his hands come up and grip my waist.  "I'm hurting you just like they hurt me, aren't I?  You shouldn't be here.  I should have let you go.  I should have…"  His words come out hurried and anxious.

"You're not hurting me, Lucien," I tell him quickly.  When I first got plucked out of what I thought was a perfect life, yes, I hated Lucien and I hated what he had done.  But now…things are so different between us, and I wouldn't change a thing.  I stare into his eyes as I say, "I don't want to leave."  My breath hitches in the back of my throat as I whisper my biggest fear out loud, "Please don't send me away."

"I don't want you to leave," he breathes.  "But I'm afraid I'll never want to let you go, Adeline."  He studies me, waiting for my reaction.

"Then don't," I whisper.

Seemingly satisfied, he wraps his arms around me and cradles me against his chest.  We stay like that for a long time until he finally pulls back and says, "We should get some rest."

I give him a small nod.  We climb under the blankets with a few inches separating us.  Even though I'd love to be in his arms right now, I'm not willing to push him any further tonight.  He opened up to me and exposed his very soul to me.  I couldn't ask for anything more that he's not willing to give.

And as I fall asleep with his watchful gaze being the last thing I see…I know that I've fallen dangerously head over heels in love with my captor.