“Are you cold?”
No.Well, yes, but that’s not why I’m shivering. I can’t bear to tell him the truth, though.
Instead, I blurt out, “With everything you do to me, you feel bad that I’mcold?”
He gives me a little smirk, then whips the leather jacket off my shoulders, ignoring my yelp of protest, before surrounding me with the thick comforter from his bed. I whimper in regret at the loss of his jacket, but the comforterisnice. Especially as he wraps it tightly around me before lifting me off my feet and carrying me to his bed.
I snuggle against his chest in silence for a bit, my heart full with everything I want to tell him.
I’m so sorry. I wish I could share your pain. I’m so very sorry, Quill.
But the words can’t seem to leave my mouth. It’s rare for me to be silent, and Quill must notice something’s wrong, though he doesn’t say a word, only stroking my hair and kissing me, just as silent as me.
He’s not giving any sign of being in pain, though his eye and cheek are shiny and red, and I can tell bruises are forming there.
He’s the first to break the silence. “I want you to stay.”
I wish I could. I really wish I could.
But the words I say instead are, “Dad will be worried about me if I don’t come home soon. He’s probably already nervous. I bet he’s out searching for me or something. I bet–”
Thankfully, Quill kisses me again, stopping the word vomit that’s about to leave my lips.
I hate myself for talking so much, and for sounding so overprotected, so unlike the wild boy whose arms are still firmly clasped around me. Also because I’m suddenly aware thathisdad clearly does not give a crap about him, or about what he does. Just as long as he’s present for his soldier training.
Abruptly, Quill lets me go and climbs back down the window.
I sit up, chewing nervously on my lip, wondering if I’ve annoyed him. But he’s back up a few seconds later with my jeans.
So I can get dressed? So I can leave?
I know I reallyshouldleave, but I wish Quill hadn’t given in to me so easily. Still, I love Dad so much, and I would feel so guilty if I worried him.
But instead, Quill rummages in the jeans’ pockets till he finds my phone.
He puts in my code, and I just have time to wonder how the hell he knows it when he starts typing out a message.
“What are you doing?” I hiss.
“Telling your dad you’re staying at a friend’s house.”
“Quill!” I sputter. “He’ll know I’m lying. He knows I don’t have friends!”
He merely shrugs, completely unbothered, and clambers back onto the bed.
“Give me the phone. I need to at least tell him a better lie,” I groan.
Instead, he tosses the phone straight out of the window, and I hear a soft sound as it lands in the shrubbery below.
“Quill!” I gasp out yet again. “My parents paid a lot of money for that! If it’s broken, I won’t be able to get another one!”
He pins me down to the bed. “It’s a cheap model. Can’t have cost you more than two hundred, can it?”
“That’s two hundred more than they can afford.” I twist my hands nervously, wondering if my phone really is dead. I don’t use it for anything other than to call my parents, but I know they won’t want me to be without a phone. Well, Mom wouldn’t care. But Dad would get nervous if we had no way to reach each other. He’d buy me a new one, even though he really can’t afford it.
Quill pauses, his face inches from mine, looking like he’s suddenly deep in thought. “You know I’ll take care of you, cricket,” he says at last. “That’s my job from now on, not yourparents’. I won’t let you worry about silly things like money. I’ll take care of you.”
I let out a shuddering sigh as I cross his gaze, which is more tender than any look he’s given me before. It’s like suddenly, he’s not seeing me as a possession that he fully believes is his right to punish whenever he feels like, no matter howIfeel about it–though luckily, it just so happens I feel pretty good about it.
