Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 100716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
“Riley is your s-sister?”
Unease flares through his eyes before he dips his chin.
“The Riley Valentine? Or are we discussing a random Riley I’ve yet to m-meet?”
His fingertips tickle my nape when he gathers my hair in his hands so he can plait it. “The Riley Valentine. Though we should probably stop saying it like that or she’ll get a big head.”
A puff of air escapes his lips when I murmur, “Too late.”
I’m so grateful that some of my stupor is lifting. Paarth’s attempted attack scared me, but I’ve faced far worse, so I don’t want it to waste the opportunity it’s presented me with.
I’ve learned more about Ark in the past ten minutes than I have in the past three weeks.
“She is quite the force,” Ark whispers as he ties an elastic at the bottom of my twisted locks. “She’ll need to be to survive this.” He sucks in a sharp breath, conscious he said too much, before he places the brush on the vanity and nudges his head to the hallway. “Come. It’s late. We should get you to bed.”
I don’t recognize my voice when I ask, “W-will you stay?”
Again, I’m not scared. I just have a feeling Ark shouldn’t be alone right now, and since I’m just as desperate for him to stay, why not kill two birds with one stone?
Ark freezes for the quickest second before his eyes shoot to the paper heart collage Tillie and I made last week.
Just knowing he’s concerned about his influence in her life eases my hesitation by a ton.
“Tillie is having a sleepover with a neighbor. She won’t be home until tomorrow afternoon.”
When he cranks his neck back, the worried gleam in his eyes shrinks the bathroom. “I should go. It will be safer if I go.”
He thinks he’s taking advantage of me.
I’m not close to reaching the same verdict.
“I d-disagree.” His hand shoots out to grip the doorframe when I whisper, “You will wash away his scent better than any bodywash will.”
“Mara…” His chest heaves as he drags in a shuddering breath. “Fuck…”
I’m diving deep, headfirst into dark waters, but for some reason, I feel more free now than ever.
Knowing his struggle, sensing how much he wants to protect me, and witnessing it only hours ago rewards me with more strength than I thought possible.
He fought for me.
He protected me.
He made me feel like I was worth something.
Now I want to do the same for him.
“Please.”
Rejection hits hard and fast when he murmurs, “I can’t.” The brutal sting is nowhere near as bad when he adds, “I can’t do touch. I don’t like to be touched…It’s… I…”
When he struggles to be honest about the reason he has a phobia of touch, I say, “It’s okay. I d-don’t need to touch you.” The invisible wings I’m attempting to fan out should wilt from the weakness of my reply, but they don’t. They expand to their full girth, meaning my voice is without a quiver when I address my needs for the first time. “I just want you to continue teaching me that fear isn’t the first emotion you should experience when you want someone to touch you.”
“Mar…” He’s so torn he can’t get my full name out, not even with its shortness. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t.” When his eyes sling back to Tillie’s bedroom door, I murmur, “You won’t hurt either of us.”
“How do you know that?” Sheer bewilderment colors his tone.
“A mother knows these things. They know wh-who to trust with their children and who to steer them clear of. It isn’t intuition, more that a mother knows. She knows who her children are safe with. I can’t put it simpler than that.”
The pain in his eyes triples as he thinks over my words, and then the truth smacks into me.
Oh god. His mother knew he was being hurt, and she did nothing to stop it.
Like all victims of abuse, Ark tries to shift the focus off himself. “Do you think she also knows the body is designed to endure more pain than anyone could comprehend?”
“Probably,” I reply, nodding. When his eyes squeeze tightly shut, like my confession pains him to hear, I push out, “Some say birth is the equivalent of breaking every bone in your body. If that isn’t proof of what one can endure, I don’t know what is.”
My throat tightens when he asks, “And you did that when you were…?”
“Fifteen,” I fill in, too exposed and raw to lie.
A low sound leaves him as some of his remorse shifts to anger. “Fifteen?”
I don’t want to add to the absolute agony in his eyes, but since I genuinely don’t believe they can harness more hurt, I nod.
“Fuck, Mara. You were just a kid.”
“I was,” I agree, stepping closer. The threads holding him together are as worn as mine. They’re mere seconds from snapping, but I tug on them ruefully instead of leaving the fragile frays untouched. “As were you when you were hurt.”