The money stops me. It’s no use pleading when that’s my competition. It always wins. It’s always louder.
My eyes glisten but I refuse to shed any tears over this. Wilbur will make it hard for me but if I have patience, if I pretend to go along with all his little games, there’ll be an opportunity. Another chance to sort this thing out permanently.
I’m not an idiot. Stefan is Caylon’s boss. He’s presumably the one who told him where he could find me.
I hate to think that way. It’s awful, but I must.
It would be nice to believe that Caylon feels exactly the way he claims to, but I’m too used to disappointment to court it by believing such a far-fetched tale.
He wanted me. He had me. Now, the only thing I’m useful for is as a way to earn Brownie points with his boss.
Even though I broke down and told him everything that Wilbur did to me, he turned me over to him, regardless. The action confirming what I’ve always believed but tried to hide from.
This is my fault.
I don’t deserve better.
My heart wants to believe Caylon isn’t behind this sudden transfer. It’s eager to cling to the fairy tale, that he loves me as he said.
I’ve held back, been too scared to claim the words aloud, aware of how misuse can cheapen them. But I feel it, despite the love being layered between my pain, my fear, my anxiety, my deep shame.
My heart wants to believe but my brain insists otherwise. It spells out in minute detail why the picture I want to be true is just another fabrication, one I dwelled in because its temporary shelter was better than anything else on offer.
“Just take a deep breath.”
I spin around, the room whirling for a second longer than it should. Stefan reaches out an arm to steady me, then keeps hold, his fingers a bangle around my upper arm.
“Try to slow down the next one. Ready? Inhale and hold, two, three.”
I follow his directions. Part of me is even pleased that he’s bothering. That he seems to care at all.
I’m pathetic.
“Right. Now we’re going inside. He won’t hurt you. I’ll stay until you’re sorted, okay? If he’s angry, I won’t leave until he’s calmed down.”
I stare at Stefan with puzzlement. He’s won. Why would winning make Wilbur angry?
The idea not only that he’s upset but that he’s feeling it deeply enough that it shows, scares me more than anything else this man could say. The images will just be the start of it. There are a hundred other punishments he can dish out, those just the ones I know from experience.
My feet refuse to move at all until Stefan tugs me and it’s either walk or be dragged inside.
Wilbur stands in the centre of the lobby. His shirt is rumpled. His eyes are bloodshot and twitching. When he sees me, his whole body sags for a moment before he strides towards me, clutching me into his arms and holding me so tightly I can barely breathe.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he asks, one hand pressing against the middle of my back, the other grasping my hip and clutching it to pin me in place. “I found your car and the—”
He breaks off, making a strangled sound in the back of his throat. Then he pushes me away to get a better look at me, shifting his grip from my hip to my upper arm, the fingers digging in until they’re buried halfway to the first knuckle.
“Your throat,” he chokes out before sucking in another gulp of air. I’ve never seen him like this, don’t know the best way to placate him. I glance to Stefan, but his face is impassive, of absolutely no help.
Wilbur raises his free hand to my neck, stroking the damaged flesh with his thumb while I suppress a shudder, biting on my lip to stop any involuntary noises escaping. Gradually he presses harder as though trying to wipe a smudge off an otherwise clean window.
Once he’s finished his assessment, he moves farther up to my hair. He pushes his hand through the short strands, brow crinkling with concern. “What happened?”
“A pair of scissors.”
I try to step back but his fingers clench. Even with the shorter length, he still finds plenty to grab hold of.
“Don’t you dare mouth off to me. I’ve been worried sick for days.”
