Something contorted tingles in my belly, and I forget the placating motivation behind why I’m touching him. Instead, I embrace the sensations and replay Willow’s question:Do you feel uncommonly safe with him, in spite of everything?
Right now, I wonder.
“Did I go too far?” Castor murmurs while I examine his perfect flesh.
I blink myself out of my thoughts and the crawling daze consuming me in order to look at his blindfolded face.
Did he go too far when he threatened tostabWillow for a joke?
Um.
Hm.
Another thing to wonder about.
Instead of answering his very stupid question, I say, “Did it not hurt?”
He exhales a breath, the idea of a self-loathing laugh. “It hurt. Of course it hurt, love. I put a knife through my hand.”
I tense. “Right. Sorry. It was a stupid question.” I do not suggest that it now makes us even as far asstupid questions in the past two minutesare concerned.
He closes his fingers to hide his palm. “I’m sorry. I…didn’t mean for that to come off so harsh. It wasn’t a stupid question. Humans don’t have the luxury of playing so deeply with pain. They’re more fragile. There are more consequences for those who find themselves enticed by their physical limitations.”
“Playing with pain,” I echo. “You…play with it?”
“Sometimes. Physical pain is a decent enough distraction from whatever hurts inside, isn’t it?”
“I’ve never considered that pain could be a luxury before.”
He frees a breath. “Controlling it is a luxury. With your history and the consequences for having any blemishes in your line of work, I’m sure you’ve never had the opportunity to control any part of what hurts you. There is something freeing about inflicting one’s own wounds…even if it’s not entirely healthy.”
If I didn’t know better, I’d think that this powerful faerie man is telling me he’s dabbled in the realm of self-harm. At adepressive level. I don’t know what to make of that, so I just say, “I’ve never been in control of anything I do.”
“That is tragic, my love.”
It…really is. Swallowing nerves, I broach, “Castor?”
“Yes?”
“I don’t know how to explain this.” But something, right now, makes me feel like I’m safe enough to try. “I wanted to come shopping today because my birth control is about to run out.”
His lips mouth the wordsbirth control, then his face twists. “Why do you need birth control?”
My heart rate kicks up, and the nerves return, sharp.
He straightens, angles his body toward me, and takes my hand in both of his. “Shh, love. I’m sorry. I don’t mean… My tone must be wrong. It’s just that…” Progressively, his tone darkens again. “If anyone has touched you against your will, prompting the need for birth control, I will castrate them. If…anyone has touched you…with your permission…” Silence grows taut between us for many long moments, then he shakes his head. “I will still castrate them.” He clears his throat. “But that isn’t the point right now. The point is: why wouldweneed birth control? I, personally, am not ready for…anything, and I wouldn’t think that you…would be either?”
Red soars into my cheeks, heating my face to a boil. My mouth gapes, for several long moments as what he’s just said hits me in my frontal lobe.
If a person touches me? He’ll castrate them in cold blood. All the while he’s—oh so shyly—notreadyto touch me himself.
On some level, I know he’s expressed these kinds of sentiments before, but hearing them consistently and plainly brings me closer to believing that they’re true.
This man—this faerie—who has kidnapped me genuinely believes in consent and wants to protect my autonomy.
Heart stumbling over that, I say, “Um. Th-that stuff isn’t why… I’ve never… And I don’t… I’m not…” It hurts when I force a massive breath into my lungs and blurt, “There are other reasons for someone to be on birth control.”
He squeezes my hand, worry creasing lines around his mouth. “You’re taking it for a medical reason?” Anxiety spikes in his cadence. “Don’t worry. I’ll… I’ll talk to Pollux… He’ll know what to do. He always knows what to do with medical things. I just need to figure out how to talk to him.” Breath rakes through Castor’s chest, sincere apprehension rattling him to his core as he suggests correspondence with someone I’ve already deduced he has bad history with. “It will be okay. Polly can help. I’m certain of it. I’ll figure out how to get him to help. If the only solution you’ve been given for whatever human condition you have involves tampering with your natural cycle, I know he’ll find a better one, or else. Or else I’ll…I’ll kidnap his kid again, maybe.”
