“Mum always told me that once I embrace my scars, I’ll feel more comfortable in my skin. I want to be comfortable in my skin more than anything. I want to stop my head from tormenting me with the past.”
A shiver goes through her and she snuggles closer to me, as if I’m her safety. I’m anything but fucking safety, but I want to be a haven for her right now.
“Anyway.” She clears her throat. “Your mum must’ve gone through certain circumstances to get to that point.”
“When I was young, she often struggled mentally. Sometimes, she’d be the best mother alive—teach me things, dance with me, play with me, dress me up, and even teach me things. Other times, she’d become a ghost. It wasn’t temporary, it didn’t last a few minutes or hours. It went on for days on end. She’d look at me and see straight through me. I’d call her and she wouldn’t hear me. She’d speak, but no words would come out. It was like she was trapped in a space I couldn’t reach.”
Cecily shifts closer, and the friction of her skin against mine makes me feel a deep sense of revolt. Not against her, but myself for never being able to forget those snippets of my childhood, even though it was a long time ago.
“Did she get better?” Cecily asks with easy compassion. Not pity.
“Eventually. I haven’t seen the ghost since she was pregnant with Annika. That was nineteen years ago. Isn’t it weird that I still have these vivid images of those times?”
“It’s not weird. In fact, it’s perfectly normal. You were what? Five? Six? You were a child, and any child exposed to that type of imagery would develop a strong reaction that would be reinforced the more they grow up. Our perception of the past depends greatly on our state of mind during that certain event. Any type of trauma can alter not only our memories but also our perspectives and personalities.”
“Are you psychoanalyzing me?” I smile down at her. “It’s a turn-on.”
She pushes at my chest playfully and shakes her head. “Everything is a turn-on according to your logic.”
“Only when it comes to you. Not my fault you’re the sexiest person alive.”
Red creeps up her face and she rubs the side of her nose before she clears her throat. “Point is, it’s not your fault you feel that way about what happened during your childhood. But it’s not your mother’s fault either.”
“How is it not her fault?” I slowly close my eyes and take a moment before I open them again. “She gave birth to a child she couldn’t care for.”
“That’s not true. You said she took care of you after learning how to cope with her mental health issues. Anni always said that your mum is the best and she sees her as a caring, affectionate figure, which means those episodes never happened with her. To say mental struggles are her fault is no different than victim blaming. I understand your issues, and the feelings of abandonment you must’ve had, but you also need to understand that she would’ve stopped it if she could. That, deep down, she was fighting her demons to be able to go back to you, and she eventually succeeded. That’s the part you should celebrate, because it takes a lot of willpower, energy, and strength to fight one’s demons.”
I stare at Cecily silently as if I’m looking at an extraterrestrial being.
I’ve always hidden that slight animosity for my mom from the whole world. Hell, I even hid it from myself sometimes because I was disgusted that I would be holding such emotions against her.
No matter what, I shouldn’t feel this conflicted about the woman who gave me life, but I do. I’ve sometimes thought of her as a ghost and had this idea that I wasn’t wanted.
Like Annika, I care for my mother, and I’ve never been able to imagine my life without her. However, I also haven’t been able erase that ghost version of her, no matter how much I’ve tried.
And yet, Cecily has managed to open my eyes to a different perspective. To the fact that maybe Mom wasn’t too far gone back then. That maybe she tried to fight for me, after all. Maybe that’s why she doesn’t want to speak about the first six years of my life and barely keeps any pictures from that time.
God-fucking-dammit.
Now I feel like the worst asshole to ever exist.
This woman is shuffling my cards into a mess and I wouldn’t stop it even if I could.
I lift her chin and kiss her, softly this time, with enough passion that she melts against me. Kisses me back. Fuses her body with mine.
For a moment, I forget that I must ask her about my sister’s whereabouts. But I’ll get to that later.
Because right now, I want to thank her in the only way I know how.
33
CECILY
Things are…confusing, to say the least.
When everything with Annika and Creighton went down, I hadn’t thought I would witness this side of Jeremy.
It’s even different from before we had that rift.
He doesn’t feel distant, like he’s putting a wall between us and refusing to divulge anything about himself. In fact, in the last five days we’ve spent together, I’ve learned so much more about him than I did during all the months before that.
One, he’s responsible to a fault about the people he considers to be under his wing. That includes his family, Nikolai, Killian, Gareth, Ilya, and even the guards.
Oh, and me. He definitely treats me like I belong on that list.
Two. He’s protective despite the cold aloofness and is ready to unleash the beast side of him whenever he senses a spark of danger.
Three, and most importantly, he’s an emotional vault. In the beginning, I thought he lacked feelings, and he does to an extent, but when I dug deeper and he allowed me to get closer, I found out that he just keeps them hidden well. He’s also highly selective about which emotions to let slip from his armor.
The fact remains, Jeremy does see the world in black and white, which is why he barely trusts anyone, but when he does, it’s for life.
That’s the other thing about Jeremy. He truly has high regard for loyalty, which is why he got extremely mad when he thought I’d let Annika down.
And that’s the link that’s confusing me in this whole story. We still haven’t resolved what happened with Annika, yet every night, he picks me up from the shelter, the dorm, or the library, not caring that anyone can see him. He brings me to the cottage, where we cook, eat, and study together.
He fucks me, sometimes by chasing, other times by just taking me on the bed or the sofa in regular positions.
For some reason, I thought I’d never like that, that I was too defective to ever feel pleasure without some sort of thrill or feeling forced into it. Jeremy has taught me that I can enjoy ordinary sex.
Calling it ordinary is a bit of a stretch, though. He’s still rough, intense, and uses the knife sometimes. Not that I’m complaining.
Jeremy has awakened parts of me that were dormant before he came along. Parts that buzz to life around him, waiting for the moment he’ll touch me again.
Whether it’s chasing me or laying me down and fucking me doesn’t matter. I pant for more after every time.