“Why did you let them do that to me?” she whispers almost silently, her body suddenly slackening, like my hold on her is the only thing keeping her up.
I straighten, drawing back from her to see her better, focus on her, even as I sweat and pant, I want to give her my full attention.
Releasing her throat, I sweep hair behind her ear, let her head tip back on her neck so her eyes can meet mine. There’s blood on her mouth, her chin, down the side of her neck. A mixture of both hers and mine. I lick my lips, tasting iron, and cup the back of her skull in the palm of my hand. My other leaving her buttock, fisting in the torn pink silk of her dress instead.
There are so many reasons. So many meanings. But I can’t cycle through them all at once, not in this moment, not when I’m riding this adrenaline high of just having her here. With me.
“So everyone knows you’re mine,” I tell her simply, staring into her pretty brown eyes, almost black in colour they’re so deep, not warm, no red in them, just ashy, ashy dark brown, flat almost in colour, but deep too, like the night’s sky. “When I look into your eyes, I see my whole world staring back at me.” I’m not sure why I say it, this low, hushed rasp, something that deep, something that true. “I don’t want anyone or anything to hurt you, but in this life, with me, so many things will try to get you.” I look down at her chest, my cock still sheathed inside of her, where I wish it could always be. “But this,” I murmur, my thumb ghosting over her mark, feeling the heat emanate from the wound. “This is safety.” I look back up, into her eyes, my hand still cupping her head, the other coming to her cheek, cradling her jaw in my palm, thumb to her chin. “This mark is our number, Nellie. You are a part of me now, of us, The Obsidian. And with that comes protection.”
“It hurts,” she whispers, her breath shaky, her hands coming up slowly, settling on my waist, tucked inside the open part of my unbuttoned shirt.
“Physical pain is only temporary,” I repeat again, because it’s true. “It doesn’t matter what they do to us, what we have to do, to be together, to survive, to thrive, my heart will bleed like a never ending ocean of agony if we’re ever separated again.”
Chapter 7
PENELOPE
It’s endless.
The heat rolling beneath the skin of my chest, the darkness that stretches up towards the ceiling, the single ray of moonlight cutting acrossourbedroom floor.
Yet, the other side of the bed is cold, covers pushed back, wrinkled and bunched, but my arm is outstretched across the centre of the mattress anyway. Fingers reaching pointlessly towards the space Billy had lain only a few hours ago.
After applying ointment to my brand, a non-stick bandage over top, he washed us both in the shower keeping the dressings dry, and then he laid me down on this bed, in this exact spot. Soft cotton sheets beneath and over top of us, the bed much larger than any other I have been in before. The gap between us was,is,too large, and when he shut out the lights, I feared that was it for tonight. He had gotten what he wanted and cleaned up the mess. But much to my surprise, he rolled onto his side, hands clasped like a prayer beneath his cheek, his breath a welcome warmth against my cheekbone. And in the darkness, my eyes adjusted,I could see his bright blues, the slight curve to his mouth. He looked…happy.
We didn’t talk, but I could hear his heartbeat, let it soothe me until my eyes fell closed, everything still and quiet.
That’s what woke me up.
The silence.
The cotton sheets slide down as I swing my legs over the side of the mattress, my bare feet hitting the cold floorboards of my new bedroom. It sends a shiver up my spine, but it’s welcome, the iciness beneath my soles reminds me of the convent in winter. Those freezing tiles a welcome touch after sweat filled nightmares washed through me in slumber.
I don’t trust anyone here.
Anything.
And after tonight, knowing there’s more to come, further unknown things that go bump in the night, I’m not sure I ever will.
None of these people here care about anyone but themselves, they’re all just doing what they’re told by some guy who isn’t a real god, but everyone here talks about him like he is.
I’ll never understand it.
Some people find comfort in religion, I totally understand that. I respect it.
But this, whatever it is that’s happening here, this is something else.
It makes me question everything.
What are Billy’strueintentions?
What are mine?
My sight is not bad in the dark, I can see well enough for navigating an unfamiliar space. I tend to adapt well to new places, after doing it for so many years, it’s in my nature now, to blend, to meld, to be unseen. That’s why it’s with confidence that I make my way across the too-large room, through theopen double doors, out into the huge living space. The sofas and chairs are empty, no sign of Billy at the curved desk in the far corner, either.
It’s unconscious, the ways in which I am drawn to him. The way I grab my silk nightdress off the back of an armchair, slip it over my head, shimmying the cool fabric down my bare body until the hem hits my knees. My fingers curl over the door handle, my feet carrying me out into the echoey hall.
It all feels so natural.
