The panic rises still more when I remember that he doesn’t like it when I ask for his affection. My body goes rigid as I expect him to push me away entirely, but instead, his hand returns to my cheek, and he resumes stroking it, though I can tell his mind is far away. He continues to stare past me, his arm still encircling me, forcing me into a sitting position. I would give anything to be back snuggling against his neck, but I’m unable to speak anymore. The few words I’ve managed to say have depleted all my energy.
At last, he looks down at me, some sort of comprehension appearing to dawn on him, and I’m surprised to find a gentle look in his eyes.
“Is that what they told you?” he murmurs.
My body goes limp with relief.He’s not angry.I don’t understand what’s going on, but he’s not angry. I cling to that thought, and though I hear him speak again, the words float right past me, a sad little melody that lulls me to sleep. I try to resist it, but before I know it, my eyelids are shutting over my burning cheeks. Vaguely, I wonder if he’ll be gone by the time I wake up again, but I’m too tired to do anything but succumb to the exhaustion.
The next time my eyes open, the sun is streaming through thehalf-opened blinds. I have no idea how long I’ve slept. It could have been hours or days. I assume I’m alone again, and stare up at the dreary, cream-colored wall. It’s modern, and I hate modern. I wish there were moldings, or shadows, or anything that I could transform into something else in my mind. Anything to relieve the loneliness.
Then I feel a cooling touch on my forehead, and fingers thread their way through my hair in a familiar, soothing gesture. I manage to turn my head feebly and see Damien.
“Good morning, my pet,” he murmurs, and my heart swells at the nickname.
But I push it down under layers of bitterness.Don’t let him trick you,I warn myself.Don’t let him draw you in.
I’m more alert now than I was before. I remember it all. How he hunted me in the woods and beat me. He doesn’t care about me. He’s just trying to mindfuck me. Like he always has.
I turn away again, trying to keep him from reading my thoughts, because he’s always been far too good at that. But it’s too late.
“Who lied to you?” he breathes.
I keep my face resolutely turned. But this time, he doesn’t force me to meet his eyes. He merely continues to stroke my hair and my cheek, and it takes everything I have not to give in to his touch.
“Who lied to you?” he insists.
Bitter anger cleaves through the thick silence in my chest. “You did,” I hiss.
A soft chuckle reaches my ears, and my hands clench into fists. He’s laughing at me. I hate being laughed at.
I turn around again, trying to access everything I’m feeling, trying to raise my voice, to scream at him, insult him. But the look in his eyes makes my resolve deflate. The laughter hasn’t travelled to his eyes. They look unbearably sad.
Strangely, I find myself wanting to reach out, to soothe him in turn. I can’t understand myself.
“Noel,” I blurt out as confusion wraps itself around my brain. I try to convince myself again that Damien is tricking me. I fail miserably.
He lifts me in his arms and presses me to his chest. In that moment, I don’t care about anything but his warmth enfolding me. He begins to speak in that quiet, warm way of his. His explanations wash over me, incomprehensible. But his deep voice is like a balm to my heart.
“What did Noel say to convince you I wanted to kill you?” he asks at last, as he reaches the end of the explanations that fell unheeded around me. His voice cracks on the last words.
I don’t want to speak. I only want to hear his voice again. I bury my face in the warmth of his chest.
“Tell me,” he says quietly, but his words hold an order I can’t help but obey.
“Your girlfriend,” I mumble.
At that, he laughs outright. “Mygirlfriend? Who the fuck is my girlfriend?”
I clench my jaw at the sound of his amusement. He realizes it, and his fingers go back to stroking my hair.
“We’re going to have to do something about that anger of yours,” he muses as his fingers play with the coils of my hair. “Now tell me who my girlfriend is. I didn’t know I had one.”
I hate myself for being soothed so easily. All it takes is his hand stroking my hair. It’s unfair that he should have such an effect on me. I want to punch him, and instead, I find myself telling him what he wants to know.
“The blond girl, with the curves…”
My words are cut off by another bark of laughter. It’s almost like he wants to rile me up. I hate him so much.
Only I don’t. That’s the worst part. I shrink away from hischest, angry, bitter tears pricking at my eyes.
