The walls don’t believe me.
The cot squeaks as I pull off the shirt I’m wearing and tug his over my head.
It’s too big.Hangs off one shoulder.Skims my thighs like a secret.
But wearing it…
God.It feels like standing in the heat of him again.Like his arms are around me even though he hasn’t looked at me in days, maybe weeks.I don’t know anymore.
I perch on the edge of the bed, fists curled into the hem, teeth sinking into my lip.Avoiding me won’t save either of us.It just makes the need heavier, the chain connecting us tighter, the want meaner.
Royal thinks distance is control.
He doesn’t know I’m learning him through absence.He doesn’t know how it makes me hungrier.He doesn’t know he left a piece of himself under this bed, and I put it on like a hug.
Or maybe he does.Royal avoids me… But his shirt?His scent?His ghost?Those stay.They haunt.
And that’s almost worse.Because now I miss him like he left fingerprints on my ribs.Miss him so bad, it about kills me.I scream out, a blood-curdling howl.Again.
And again.
Until my throat is raw.Until it tastes metallic.Taking a breath, I hear him before I see him.The heavy step, rattling chains.The pause outside the door.The drag of breath like he’s gathering whatever shards of control he’s still pretending to have.
I hear him in the hallway, outside my door like a ghost.The brothers talk loudly around him.About me.Never to me.
Asking him to shut me up.
It’s working.It shouldn’t burn, but it does.It shouldn’t make me ache, but it does harder every hour.So, I keep screaming.When he finally opens the door, I’m on him.Not physically.I don’t get the chance.
But with my words.
“I thought you got bored,” I say, voice low and breathy, not on purpose.My throat is on fire.“Thought maybe you found someone else to stare at in the dark.”
His jaw tics, just enough to make warmth pool low in my stomach.He doesn’t answer.
Good.
Silence is something I can use.
I step closer until the chain goes taut, metal biting into my wrist.“You keep avoiding me, Royal.I must scare you.”
His eyes lift.Cold.Wrong.A warning.
“You don’t scare me,” he says.
“Then come here.”
He doesn’t move.
I smile, slow and cruel, because I know he hates it.“Are you afraid you’ll lose control again?”
His body reacts before his voice does.Shoulders tight.Hands flexing like he’s remembering the feel of my throat under his palm.
“I’m done playing your games,” he says.
“No,” I whisper.“You’re done losing them.”
That snaps something.
