Realisation kicks in, and I slide down the kitchen cabinet to a pool on the floor. Of course they’re using me. They have Lucy and Marie to fuck whenever they please. Why would they bother with me? The thought crossed my mind on more than one occasion, but comparing myself next to the two flawless girls, I’m a five at best.
Some deep rivalry is going on and I’m but a pawn in the middle. It’s all I need to know to stay away from them. All Kane had to say was that he’s protecting me from some big secret from their past. Whatever it is, I can trust him. Everyone in this town might think he’s some sort of monster, but I know differently. He’s kind and caring. Even though I rarely see him smile, he’s warm and safe and this is the first time I’ve ever felt at home. I don’t want to jeopardise that by disobeying him.
* * *
Kane’s been gone mostof the day. He didn’t say he was going out and took off not long after Shane’s visit. He’s still furious with me, barely giving me eye contact. I want to clear the air and maybe I should apologise. I need to trust he has my best interests at heart. He loved my mother, after all.
I mean, he still carries her picture in his wallet along with some guilt that he failed her. A picture that could easily be me, if it weren’t so discoloured and tatty. He probably hopes he can atone for his sins by keeping me safe. Whatever those sins might be.
From what I can gather, Mum was caught up in this rivalry he had with the Bennett family. So many unspoken truths. My fingers glide along the books in the boxes stacked in my room and I decide to sort them out.
Picking out a few, I find an old copy of Jane Eyre and I lose myself amongst the pages. Having read the book many times before, I know Jane’s struggles all too well. I’ve lived them. My dreams were once of having a family inheritance of my own, or my own Mr Rochester to save me. That was before I learned you have to work hard for what you want in this life. No knight on a white horse will come to save me. The only hope I have is that I won’t end up with the same fortune as my mother, facing death’s black cloak.
A car stirs me from my muse, and I lift off the bed to look out the window. Kane steps out of the car, his biceps bulge as he lifts shopping bags from the back seat. He’s been to the shopping centre. My shoulders slump. I would have liked to go. I curse myself for last night. He’s punishing me still.
His footsteps creek on the wooden staircase. I drop onto the bed on my front as the sound of his boots gets closer.
“Vi?” He knocks at my door.
“Come in.” I don’t look at him and pretend to read, but my heart rate picks up as it always does when he’s close.
The bed dips. I shoot a glance his way as he sets a box and a tub on the bed next to us. “How are you?”
He means how is my ass. “Same as I was this morning.” I’m liking this guilty attention he’s giving me.
He lifts the book to read the cover. “Jane Eyre.” A warm smile reaches his eyes. “Your mum loved this book.”
“Was it her that made all these comments?” I point to the sentences underlined.
‘I am not an angel,’ I asserted; ‘and I will not be one till I die: I will be myself. Mr Rochester, you must neither expect nor exact anything celestial of me–for you will not get it, any more than I shall get it of you: which I do not at all anticipate.’
He reads the passage with a wistful smile. “She was right not to expect anything celestial from me. I was the demon that took an angel.”
“How was she so angelic?”
“She was innocent in all things.”
“And you corrupted her?” I squish my eyebrows.
“I loved her.” He brushes the hair back from my face, grazing my cheek with his knuckles. His eyes convey some of the love he had for my mum when he gazes upon me. I feel it tingle from his touch and I hear it with each word he speaks.
“I got you something.” He holds a tub of cream in his hand. “It’ll soothe the sting.” His head nods to my backside, guilt creeping in his eyes as they turn from a warm blue to a dull steel.
I glance between the open pot of cream and him before going back to my book. “Am I supposed to be grateful?”
“I said I was sorry.” He sighs. Rough fingers lift my chin, tilting my head towards him. “Let me make it up to you.”
Seeing the sadness in his eyes stings deep in my chest. I do believe he’s sorry.
His hand gently rests at the bottom of my back, sending tingles up my spine. “Can I see?”
“So you can gloat at your handy work?” I shoot a death stare.
“I want to make it better. Let me rub the cream on. It will take the sting away while it heals.”
My mouth parts and tingles cascade through my limbs. “Fine.” I barely manage the word. It’s more of a breathy whisper. My eyes fix on the book before me, but the words on the page jumble together.
His rough fingers pull down the elastic of my leggings, taking my knickers with them. I lift slightly, allowing them to come down my belly, exposing my cheeks fully.
