Now, I clung to those memories, clinging to sanity, refusing to succumb to the panic squeezing my airway.
But I didn’t do it for me. I didn’t do it to force myself to get better, to accept sex for sex, to finally recognise the hindrances of my past.
No, I didn't do it for me.
I did it for him.
I forced myself to hold his joint with one hand and run my fingers through his hair with the other. I ordered myself not to cringe against the imaginary chains ready to bind me and disciplines ready to scold me for touching him. I ordered myself to kiss him back. To open for him, to lick him, to accept the agony he poured down my throat.
I corralled my body to rub against his. I arched my hips against his leg. I let him believe I wanted him on top of me. I wanted his touch, his kiss, his lust.
And I did.
The more I pretended for his sake, the more my body took control for mine.
My heart galloped for need rather than fear.
My skin prickled for want rather than terror.
His attack could’ve lasted a few seconds or a few minutes—I didn’t know. All I knew was the amount of energy it took to be a girl I wasn’t. To pretend to be a woman who wanted this rather than beg for help to overcome her issues.
Stars swam in the quicksilver of my mind; exhaustion settling in as Elder suddenly shot off me and sat heavily on the edge of the mattress with his head in his hands. “Shit.”
The curse fell almost silently, his shoulders rising and falling with ragged breath. His erection distorted his jeans while need crackled in every motion.
Slowly, I sat up.
The joint still smoked in my fingers; the bedspread a little singed from where I’d brushed the ash on white linen.
I wanted some distance to sort out the clanging desires and thoughts inside, but I didn’t move away. Instead, I stayed close to him, so he knew I didn’t hate him for what’d happened. That he wasn’t at fault and didn’t have any reason to worry. That he could do it again if it made him feel better.
My heart prickled with the need to remind him that someone wanted him, someone appreciated him, someone ultimately cared and was so grateful for his kindness, protection, and generosity.
Me.
I hadn’t fully understood why I’d sought him out tonight. Why, after spending the evening alone after a silent journey back to the Phantom, I’d decided to walk into the lion’s den rather than stay out of his business and give him time to cool off.
I knew he was angry and likely to do things we’d both regret, but for once, I wasn’t thinking about me. I refused to be afraid, and by putting his hurt above my own, it made the parts of me not ready to heal start to piece together again, happy to be whole, even if that whole would be completely different from the girl I was before.
“I don’t know what to say,” he breathed tiredly. “I can’t control myself around you.” He held out his hand. “The joint please, Pim. Then go. It’s not safe for you to be here tonight.”
He’d told me something similar before. He’d smoked that night, too. I should do what he wanted. I should hand over the weed and leave. But I wouldn’t let him do one thing and expect me to do another.
He’d treated me with tough love since he’d taken me. He didn’t let me wallow. He’d given me choices and decisions and made me remember I was a person, not a possession.
He couldn’t do that and then expect me to obey him without question.
“I’m not afraid of you,” I whispered, hoping he didn’t hear the lie masquerading as truth.
He stared at the carpet. “You should be.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m not a good person.”
I twirled the still smoking joint. The sickly sweet smell of marijuana made me wrinkle my nose. “You’re an angel compared to—”
“Don’t even think about comparing me to that bastard who kept you.”
“I’m not comparing you—”
“Your perception of humanity is screwed up. Most men aren’t like him, and most aren't like me. I’m not—”
I didn’t let him finish. “I don’t care about other men.”
He froze, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. “You’re saying you care about me?”
“I—” Words formed a noose, unwilling to let an answer pass. How could I tell him that seeing him like this helped me more than his brash brutality and capable control? How could I tell him that I felt stronger when he was weaker and more ready to stop moping because I no longer had to get better for my sake but his?
Seeing his pain today had made me grow up—just like the storm had washed away my past. He’d fought for me, yet no one had fought for him. They’d tossed him away. They’d refused to forgive him. I couldn’t give him back his family, but I could give him my friendship and understanding. I couldn’t answer for his past sins or even say if it was forgivable, but I could judge him based on our interaction, and I refused to let the past dictate how I felt about him.
Was that short-sighted? Should I dig further into who he was?
Probably.
But Elder had been the one to save me. That gift alone was worth my loyalty, no matter what cost.
“No reply.” He raised an eyebrow. “I don’t blame you, you know. No one can care about me. It’s a curse.”
You’re wrong. I do care.
Say it out loud, weakling.
I bit my lip as he stole the joint and held it to his lips. If I was honest, I didn’t want him to smoke. I wanted to finish this conversation with no haze from substances. If he was able to use such tools, why couldn’t I? Why did I have to face my fear of sex cold turkey when he could abuse drugs to find reprieve?
He didn’t inhale, holding the pot, following my attention and disapproval. He sighed. “I don’t smoke for enjoyment, Pim.”
“You said it helps you.” I tilted my head as he took a drag then reached over me and stubbed it out on a silver ashtray on the bedside table. “Helps you how?”
“Long story.”
“I want to know.”
“You haven’t guessed thanks to my mother?”
“How could I guess?”
He shrugged, rubbing his jaw, the rasp of his five o’ clock shadow on his fingers gave me goosebumps. The more time I spent with him, the more aware I was of him as a man rather than a terrifying entity. He was beautiful, and not because of correctly proportioned features or a body that’d been honed and trained into perfection, but because he truly was a different species to the monsters I’d lived with.
He had a soul. And it was a vibrant, throbbing thing visible, not just in his eyes, but in every nuance, kiss, and motion.
His legs spread as he pressed his hands together between them, staring at the floor. If he truly didn’t want me there, he could’ve stood and left by now.
But he hadn’t.
He hadn’t thrown me out.
Hadn’t tossed me over his shoulder.
I took comfort in that and stayed where I was, giving him time if time was what he needed.
Finally, he murmured, “How can you sit beside me? How can you kiss me after hearing I’m responsible for my father and brother’s death?”
I forced myself not to flinch as his eyes locked on mine, trapping me in his questions. “How, Pim?”