I hated that he wasn’t, confused at myself that I’ve stopped fighting him, that I look forward to nightfall so he can hold me, that he had me under him moments ago, and my blood heated with need.
“I want you to talk to me, Ordus.”
Ordus’ face contorts into a venomous scowl as he glares at me like I’m the reason for the reopened wound. “I took you from your home, almost killed you, cursed you to suffer on this island with me. Do not lie to me, Cindi,” he hisses. “I know what I am.”
Broken.
I don’t know why, but his words get to me. And the look of utter self-disgust? It lands on the wrong side of my brain, and it’s like everything explodes at the same time it comes into crystal clarity.
“Get over yourself,” I bite. I regret it the moment I say it, but I don’t back down. He can’t keep shutting me out if he expects me to stay.
Ordus rears back. “Excuse me?”
“Don’t get me wrong, you’re a fucking asshole for what you’ve done and how you’ve gone about it—how you’re keeping me. Isolated. Alone. I need something other than a spoiled dog forcompany—one I can’t even speak to, by the way.” My voice keeps raising in volume until it suddenly drops, and it’s like trying to pry screwdrivers out of my flesh. “Despite all of that, everything you’ve done, I don’t hate you. I’m not lying awake at night wishing you were dead. I’ve spent every fucking day wanting you to justtalk to me.”
I thought my husband was the most handsome man to ever walk this Earth, and I found out the hard way that he was the ugliest.
I swallow the lump in my throat. “Any flaws you have are over what you’ve done, not because of your appearance. So get over yourself, Ordus.”
He shakes his head. I know he’s not listening to me, not hearing what I say. “My hands, Cindi. I have claws. My hair, my fingers, my arms, my head. It’s all wrong.”
“Why? If your nails were nicer, maybe people would like you more? If your arms were a little smaller, maybe people would take you more seriously?”
Ordus paces the small path, curling and uncurling his fists. “You do not understand.”
“No, I don’t. I’m fully aware I have no idea what it was like growing up in the sea, what type of cultural and social aspects are involved, but our minds are still the same. They’ve convinced you to hate your own reflection, and you have. What are you doing to change that?”
What amIdoing to fix all the things Tommy fucked up?
It wasn’t all Tommy’s fault. Something had to be misaligned in my brain that I let myself walk into that and did nothing to get myself out.
Maybe I was desperate for the love Dad had with Mom.
Maybe I was so used to Dad picking up after me, I didn’t know responsibility unless it slapped me in the face, and I figured someone else would clean whatever mess I got into.Maybe it took me four years to figure out how to do things for myself.
Because that’s exactly what happened. Tommy swooped in with the job, the money, the house, the nice cars. He took me to the fancy restaurants and dressed me in the expensive clothes. I didn’t have to lift a goddamn finger, because Tommy did all the thinking for me. When to eat, when to sleep, who to talk to, when to fucking breathe.
It wasn’t even a slow progression. It practically happened overnight.
I stayed with Tommy because I…I thought I didn’t have a choice. Dad died, I lost all my friends, and I thought I was stuck. Grief turned me stagnant.
Or, fuck, maybe it was nothing at all. I had on a pair of cherry-tinted glasses, and my first serious boyfriend could do no wrong in my eyes. Narcissists are manipulative. I got played, and I fell for it, simple as that.
I never learned how to survive until I lost my safety net. I had to gouge it out to find my backbone. Now, I’m surviving again, but it…it’s different. It’s not like with Tommy.
Ordus and I are working together, like the rainwater drums. I thought up the saucer; he came up with the filter. The chickens were his idea, but the coop was mine. He wanted to keep fish closer so he doesn’t need to go hunting as often, so I drew up a cage with what we had on the island.
And the crops I’m trying to grow. He made a garden box; I designed the system. I come up with the natural electricity plans; he’ll execute them. I wash laundry; he built a clothesline.
When was the last time I demanded Ordus return me to the mainland? A week? Two?
Ordus stops pacing, his back to me as he motions to the treasure, ignoring what I said. “It is yours to do with as youplease.” There’s finality in his voice. It echoes against the cave walls and weighs a hundred tons.
I shake my head. “What? No, I can’t accept it.”
“All I have is yours.” He looks at me over his shoulders, and it almost knocks me off my feet. It’s not just adoration. It’s…hopelessness. He’s a man at the edge of his rope, and he doesn’t know what to do anymore.
But it’s not mine. It’s too much. I don’t deserve it. They’re his memories. His treasures. I’ve done nothing to earn them.
