His hand wrapped around my leg, longer fingers almost closing around a thigh much smaller than it used to be. He wiped again, taking more of the mess, but lots lingered inside me.
The proof of the dirty sex I just had with the man I hated. . .and loved.
He leaned in, beneath the frills of my dress, to the frills between my legs. He placed a gentle kiss there, against mywell-fucked pussy, gentle and tenderly. Loving.
He stood, disposing of the tissues in his hand into the little bin near the toilet.
My mask was hanging off when his gaze landed upon my face, gentle hands following, cupping my cheeks. I reached for his wrists, circling them, pulse racing beneath my fingertips as his thumb brushed my scars.
He lowered, placing a kiss just off my mouth, just over my scars.
His eyes—pretty and twinkling and almost blue under these bright lights—said words he didn’t voice, maybe a message from another part of him. . . from Woody.I’m sorry for this. . . for the scars that hurt us both.
Chapter 14
Jolie—aged eighteen
I'd avoided leaving my room for days, too confused by my changing emotions to face the people that caused their vacillating switches.
I’d avoided reality for as long as I could, slipping into dreams of a different present, one where my dad hadn’t been killed, and where I wasn’t here, living as a regulator for a boy who couldn’t be controlled.
But I couldn’t escape into my mind this morning, my rumbling stomach and Nessie’s nightmare fueled wriggling was too much of a distraction.
My mood was lower than ever. The diary under my pillow called me to use it as an outlet. But I didn’t. I couldn’t word these feelings.
I lay in the top bunk, surrounded by a dozen stuffed bears, with sheets up to my chest, though I wasn't cold. Nessie slept at my side, wedging me to the purple railings of the over-occupied bed. The song I'd sang her to sleep played in the background of my busy mind.
I stared at the ceiling, at the tiny spider with bandy legs bungee jumping from its silver web. . .
A web, that was what I was caught in—an invisible yarn. Its beauty only seen in the illuminations of burning daylight, or when it captured tears from the clouds. Something not noticeable in the darkness. . . not until you walked into one. That was what I did. And now I was trapped in this web. Forever.
I stayed silent as I thought of Woodrow, who I needed and avoided. Thought of how I hated what he did, but of how I couldn't get through the aftermath of it without him.
A tear fell, joining the hundreds of others that had moved home to Nessie's pillows overnight.
I thought of how all men hurt you. And damn, that was the truth.
Going forward, I knew Woodrow would hurt me constantly as Hell—a monster inside him he couldn’t control. Ville would hurt me more by watching him do it while he sat comfortably with a drink in his hand and a cigar between his lips. Even my dad hurt me . . .by dying.
Another thought hit me—was it really so bad to love someone who caused you pain? Especially when they did everything they could to make it go away afterwards.
That thought never got an answer, interrupted by the bedroom door creaking open and then closing behind a guest I didn't bother to glance at.
I heeded the sound of a plate setting on the dresser. My nostrils welcomed the warm scent of breakfast, and my tummy rumbled in greeting. Buttermilk pancakes. I'd know the scent anywhere.
My head turned to see Woodrow blocking my view of the food. He stood in his regular attire, sweat pants and a tee harboring a band that Wynter wouldn’t allow him to listen to in this house.
“I thought you'd be hungry,” he said, eyes sweeping over the toy-cluttered floor.
I simply nodded in agreement. I was hungry. I hadn't eaten for the last two days.
Wynter was still in bed, living off coffee and chocolate. . . and that thing she was married to, well, he hadn't attempted to cook. He’d popped out the day he brought her home from the hospital, a little while after settling her in bed, and he returned about an hour later with some fast food. . . three children's meals.One for each of us brats,he'd snorted. I didn't eat mine. And I doubted Woodrow did, either, given he was vegetarian, and these meals certainly weren't. Nessie had enjoyed hers, and half of my cold fries later that night. . . but she enjoyed the small toys that accompanied them more and had quietly played with them for most of the night after her tears subsided.She was sad after being kicked out of her parents’ room with a scolding for being too clingy, causing further discomfort to her mother's leg.
Yesterday, no one had cooked, at all, as far as I was aware, at least. This poor child at my side had survived off half a packet of damp cookies.
“I made enough for you and Ness.” Woodrow stepped aside, moving to the scattered toys. He began clearing them away, giving me the space I needed to step down from the bunk.
“Should we wake her?” I wondered, creeping from the bed, leaving Nessie behind as I picked up one set of shiny silver cutlery.
