I had my mouth on his collarbone, letting the tears fall silently. I could feel my body shaking. He must've been able to feel my tears soaking his skin. But he never stopped the movements of his hands. Not once. The circular motions on my back, the stroking of my hair. All of it. It never stopped. He was comforting me. And I couldn't do a damn thing to comfort him.

"She always put it out where no one could see. Her favorite spot was under my arms. She always covered my mouth with her hand so I couldn't scream. So no one could hear my cries."

I couldn't help it. I let it out—the sob that overtook me.

"Shh," he soothed.

How? How could he be so calm?

"Then she locked me in this tiny cupboard for hours. No food. No drink. Sitting there crying quietly in my own piss and shit. Those were the worst times, because I never knew how long it would be until someone came for me. I swear sometimes it was days. It felt like fucking days." His words end on a whisper.

"You can stop. You don't have to keep going. I'm sorry," I frantically shook my head. I didn’t know that I could take anymore. But he didn't stop. He just kept going. I didn’t know if it was for me, or for him. "I remember hearing his voice. It always scared me you know? Even when he wasn't angry. It was this deep fucking rumble. I remember thinking that maybe he was a monster. And not really my dad. Some nights I'd fall asleep and dream that it was true. That my real dad was out there, and that this fake dad was a monster. And one day someone would kill him. Could you imagine?" He laughed once. "A little kid hoping to hell that someone would kill his dad. What the hell was wrong with me?"

Nothing. Nothing was wrong with him. I want nothing more right now than to kill him myself.

"He opened the cupboard. The first thing I saw was his fist. It was already clenched. His face was red. For months afterwards, whenever I closed my eyes I saw his face. It was the cause of all my nightmares. This fucking monster. The first punch was to my face. The next few to my ribs. I knew it was going to be bad, because normally he spoke to me while he did it. The son of a bitch would ask if he was hurting me, while he was hurting me. He'd laugh while I screamed. But this time—he didn't say shit. Just kept with the punches, the kicks, until I was a ball on the floor. I remember being on my hands and knees. He grabbed my hair in his hands. I was spitting blood, barely conscious. Then he lifted my head and squatted to meet my eyes. He said 'Your bruises aren't for show and tell you little cunt.'"

I flinched as he repeated the words.

He continued, “And then he stood up, and kicked my head with his steel cap boots. That's when it went dark. That's all I remember."

Oh my God. "Logan," I said again. I didn't know what else to say. "Stop. Please. I can't. I'm so sorry. I just can't." I was all out crying. I tried to muffle the sound with his neck. But it didn't work.

"Shh," he said. But he was distracted. "It's okay."

"How is it okay?" I lifted my head, looking into his eyes. His green eyes so clear of any emotion.

"Because," he said, kissing me softly. "It's over. We move on, right?"

I nodded. I don't know why I did. Because it wasn't. It wasn't okay at all.

Then I felt his hands on my back stop moving. His fingers in my hair froze. I looked up at him.

"I've never told anyone that," he said, his brows drawn in.

"What?"

"Remember how I told you that I didn't speak for a while when I was kid?"

"Yeah."

"They were trying to get me to tell them what happened, but I never did. I never told anyone. Not until you."

I took in a long slow breath. My eyes dropped from his gaze. "Why me?"

"Because, Amanda," he lifted my chin with his finger. "Because you and me—we're going to be amazing."

***

There was a banging on my door.

"Dimmy! You better not be making babies in there!"

Oh my God. "Mom! We're sleeping."

Logan's eyes snapped open. He looked from me, then to the opposite side, where Mom continued to knock. "Should I leave?" he whispered.

I shook my head.

Then the door swung open. Mom stood in the doorway, her arms crossed. "It's midday, Dimmy. Get out of bed. Were you guys having sex?"

"Oh my God," I heard him mutter. He began to blush.

"Mom!" I warned. "We're not having sex, we were sleeping."

She rolled her eyes.

"We're clothed. See?" I lifted the covers so she could see for herself.

"Shit," Logan huffed, quickly covering his hard on with his hands. He rushed to grab the blanket from my grip and covered himself. "What the hell?" he whispered to me, shaking his head, his eyes huge.

I laughed.

"It's not funny," he ground out.

Mom slowly closed the door, "Your dad sure as hell never looked that good."

The second she was out, Logan was on me. "What the hell?" he said again.

I laughed. Again.

I got out of bed and stood at the edge. "Come on, Lucas. Let me make you some breakfast."

***

Logan wanted to go to his house and speak to his dad about the whole long lost sister issue. I told him I'd wait for him in his pool house.

So that's where I was, going through his clothes and pulling out all his old sports jerseys.