So I doctor up his hand, and can’t help but kiss each bloody knuckle. I run my fingers gently down his back, and he closes his eyes as if relishing my touch. I want him to touch me this way. But something happened back at the main house that's changed him.
“Are you going to cash in on that rain check?” I ask him, my heart smacking in my chest with sudden nerves. I don't feel any of the confidence I felt before he left, even after that scorchingkiss he gave to mark me. He’s holding something back from me, and it’s made me nervous as hell.
He shakes his head. “No, lassie. We need some rest. Tomorrow’s the big day.”
“You’ll sleep better if you let me —”
But he takes my hands off of him and gently pushes me away. “Get ready for bed, Bryn.”
“Mac —”
He gives me a look that brooks no argument, stern and commanding. “Are you talking back to me?”
We’ve enjoyed some push and pull. I crave his dominance and strength, and like to tease him into asserting himself over me. But this… this is different.
“Well, no, I just?—”
He pushes himself to standing and scowls at me. “Then do what I say. Now. And don’t question me again. If I come back in here and find you haven’t done what I said, there’ll be consequences.”
He stalks out of the room, slamming the bedroom door behind him. I sit on the edge of the bed, a bit stunned. He definitely doesn't like to be disobeyed, and I know that. But this is the first time I've really been tempted to do just that.
I consider chasing after him. I consider following him, asking him what the hell his problem is. It hurts to be rejected like this. This is no playing at dominance. There’s nothing sexy about this.
But at the same time, I know who he is. Maybe he just had to do something that's put him off-kilter, something violent or dangerous or unsettling in some way. And if I do care about himat all, doesn’t that mean I have to accept that? Give him some space to process whatever it is that just happened?
But there’s another part of me thatwantsto talk back, wants to disobey, just to see what he’d do. If he punished me, at least I’d know he cared.
Wouldn’t I?
But I don't want to manipulate him. The very decision to not allow my father to control the situation is because of that, because I don't want to use him. I want to be honest. I want whatever's to be between us to be sincere. So even though it hurts my heart to be rejected, even though I dislike that he walked away from me like that, I do what he said.
I get ready for bed and crawl under the covers. Alone.
I don’t fall asleep right away. My heart hurts, and I want whatever this chasm is between us to be swallowed up again. I don’t want this great divide between us.
I feel a lump rising in my throat. And for the first time in a very long time, I know I'm going to cry. I do my best to keep quiet. I don't want him to hear me. I don't even want to see him right now. But I'm so confused, so concerned, and I want so desperately to be his.
I don’t know how I can make that happen.
I muffle my mouth with the pillow as the tears begin to flow. But as soon as they start, I feel as if something breaks inside me, and I can’t seem to stop them. I weep, sobbing into the pillow. It quickly dampens, and the harder I cry, the bigger the sadness welling inside me becomes.
I don’t hear him until he’s right up next to me, crawling into bed. He rolls me over, tucking me up to his chest, holding me in silence. Instead of sobbing into the pillow, I sob onto his t-shirt.
“Shhh,” he finally says. “Why are you crying? I only walked into the other room. I’m not cross with you. Is it something else?”
It’s so much else I wouldn’t even know where to begin.
I’m going to tell him the truth, I know I have to. I open my mouth to begin, to tell him everything, but I’m paralyzed with fear.
It was only moments ago I saw that hardness in his eyes. Only moments before that, I washed blood off his hands. I’ve seen how my father treats my mother.
I’m not safe telling him the truth here.
But Mac will never hurt you.
Is that true? Is it really?
I don’t care.I don’t fucking care.
