The Hollows In Our Freedom | 'Hollows' Book Ⅲ

Chapter Seventeen

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T h e   H o l l o w s   I n
O U R  F R E E D O M
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I watched Jace stir the hot chocolate mixture into the second mug as I sniffed.

"Please don't laugh at me." I said, sounding so weak. I hated being weak.

He frowned at me, his eyes conveying shock. "I wasn't going to." He told me earnestly, passing me my hot chocolate. I ducked my head, letting my dark hair cover my face like a thick curtain.

We were sat on the bed opposite each other. I sat cross-legged whilst Jace maintained his therapist persona, and still appearing laid back. I probably looked relaxed from a third point of view, but inside I was trembling.

I didn't drink from the mug, instead, I held the mug close to me, as if relishing in the calm it brought me. I closed my eyes, feeling on edge.

"Whenever you're ready." He told me. I liked that he didn't give me the choice to back out. It didn't feel restraining, it just felt like I had a safe haven to fall back on.

With my eyes still shut, the warmth of the hot chocolate in my hands, and the feeling of Jace's presence in front of me, I began.

"For as long as I could remember, my parents used to fight. All the time." With my eyes shut, it was so easy to imagine. But I didn't want to relive it. So, instead, I opened my eyes and looked at Jace, who was staring at me intently.

"It was always my mum at my dad. He wasn't a bad person," I told him, "he just– he was kind of an alcoholic...and a druggie." I watched Jace keep his perfectly not judging therapist face.

"The arguing got so relentless that, when I was about eight or nine, we left. Well, my mum decided to leave, and I had to come with her. She didn't want to leave me with my dad, despite my protests." I paused to take a sip from my hot chocolate, finding comfort in it. Jace hadn't even touched his, even though it was his idea to make them.

"When I was ten or eleven, my mum's boyfriend moved in. Fred." His name even disgusted me. I took another sip of my hot chocolate, already envisioning the next part of the story.

Jace was still listening as intently as ever, no judging in his face.

"One night, I was sitting on my bed—it was around nine at night and I was almost ready for bed. I had the main lights off, and the only light I had was coming from a small plug-in night light beside my bedside table." I smiled at the idea of it. But the story wasn't so innocent.

"It was from my dad. I had never been one of those children who was scared of the dark. In fact, growing up, I wasn't scared of much at all—if anything. I didn't have the light because I was scared of the dark, I had it because it reminded me of my dad—and I missed him...so much." I started to tear up, but I hoped Jace wouldn't notice. Then again, he was quite observant.

"My mum's boyfriend was walking past my room, and came in. I hated him. He was rude and undeserving of my mum. He had no heart. But she couldn't see that." I anticipated the next part, my hands growing clammy. I brought my mug up to my lips, trying to keep a hold on it.

I took a sip. "He came in, and pulled a face of disgust when he saw the night light." I swallowed, looking into Jace's eyes. It calmed me. And it allowed me to see him and only him, and not the horrible memories.

"He asked why I had it. But I just couldn't answer him; he scared me." I spoke the last sentence quietly, admitting one of the things I was scared of. "He assumed that I was scared of the dark, and continued to mock me." I told Jace, trying to bite back the tears. I shook my head, squeezing my eyes shut to try to shut out the pain. But as before, it only made the memories more vivid.