“Then tell me.” Hunter put a finger underneath her chin to lift her face. “I want to know everything about you.”
Isobel pulled away from his grasp and walked to the center of the park where there was a white gazebo. A couple street lamps lit the path. “You say that now. But you don’t know.” She shook her head, tears pricking at her eyes.
“Don’t tell me what I want.” His voice was dark as he moved to keep stride beside her.
God, he wasn’t going to let it drop, was he? She took a deep breath. He’d revealed things about himself tonight and now it was her turn to be brave.
“My mother committed suicide when I was eight years old. She hung herself from the ceiling fan in her bedroom while my dad was at work. I was the one who found her.”
“Jesus Christ,” Hunter hissed out and then the next thing she knew, his strong arms were around her, pulling her to his chest. “When you were just eight?”
Isobel nodded into his chest. For a moment, just a moment, she let herself absorb his warmth and comfort, but then she pulled away from him. She needed to get the rest of this out. She needed him to understand.
“That’s not all.” Her voice was little above a whisper. “My whole life everyone told me how much like my mom I was. I looked like her. I was quiet and bookish like her. But only my dad knew that I was emotional and had black moods like she did. Still, everyone talked. After she…” Isobel’s voice trailed off. “Well, after that, it was like everyone was just waiting for
me to turn out the same. To turn out crazy like her.”
Hunter’s nostril’s flared. Isobel cringed, waiting for him to pull away from her. “People said that to you?”
Isobel shrugged. “It was just the way the grown-ups would look at me. But they must have talked about it behind closed doors because the kids would say it to my face.” Insane Isobel, gonna crack like crackers. Just like her mom.
“I started seeing a therapist right after Mom died. Apparently I was very at risk. That was the term they used. At risk.”
“Motherfuckers,” Hunter spat. “Your dad was okay with that?”
Isobel shrugged. She didn’t really remember a lot about Dad from that period. He worked a lot and she spent most of her time with the nanny and her therapist.
Isobel walked up the gazebo steps. Hunter hurried behind her and swiped a little dirt off the bench seat so they could sit down. It was easier, telling him all this in the dark where she didn’t have to look at his face.
“Anyway, a couple years later, he got remarried. A woman named Catrina. I didn’t get along with her very well. There were a few rough years.” She didn’t want to go into all that. It was hard enough to get this out as it was. She finally turned toward Hunter. “What I’m trying to get at with all this is that they were right. I did turn out just like my mom.”
“What are you saying?”
Isobel’s hands fidgeted in her lap. Then she took a deep breath. Now or never. “I tried to commit suicide when I was sixteen.” Isobel squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t bear to see if he cringed or pulled away from her. “It was right after I’d gotten out of a clinic for an eating disorder. I didn’t feel like being there had fixed anything and when I got home, things with my stepmom were harder than ever. So I swallowed some pills. A lot of p—”
She couldn’t even finish her sentence before one of Hunter’s arms went around her waist and the other pressed her head to his chest.
“Christ, Bel, I’m so sorry you had to go through all that.” He laid his cheek on her head.
The tears she’d been keeping back finally spilled over. She tried to pull away from Hunter but he just kept her pressed fast to his chest. Goddamn him. Didn’t he realize every second he held her meant it would hurt that much worse when he didn’t want her anymore?
“You’re not listening,” she said, pounding at him. “I’m trying to tell you how fucked up I am. My eating disorder relapsed just this summer after my dad died and—”
“Your dad just died?” Hunter finally pulled her back, only far enough so that he could look at her face.
She wiped furiously at her tears, hating that he was seeing her like this. “At the beginning of April. But Hunter, you’re missing the point. I’m—”
“You were grieving,” he said firmly. “Who wouldn’t be screwed up by that.” Then he cupped her cheeks, holding her face in a firm grip. “Do you still think about hurting yourself?”
“No.” The response was automatic. And true. “Even when it’s bad, I’ve never gone there again.”
Hunter nodded, then pulled her tight to him again. “Because you know, deep down, you deserve everything. A good, full life. You’re worthy, Isobel Bianca Snow. You’re beautiful and you deserve every good thing life has for you.”
How could he— Hadn’t he just heard what she’d—
She jerked violently away from him, shoving him back and stumbling to her feet. “I’m broken. I’m no good for someone like you. No matter how hard I try, it won’t make a difference. I’ll always end up back there.” She threw a hand behind her. “Don’t you get it? I’m terrified all the time. Why do you think I run so much?”
Isobel put her hands to her head and looked upwards at the dark gazebo ceiling. “Every day I see her there, hanging. God, it was so horrible. How could she do that?” Her voice was getting hysterical but she didn’t care. “How could she just leave me? Why didn’t she love me enough?”