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 him at 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 that wants to 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.
“Just so many things on my mind,” I tell him, half lying. “I hated how you walked away from me like that. I wanted to keep you here with me. I felt so rejected…” but as my words flow, I feel so foolish and silly, like a little girl. “I was half tempted to disobey you, just to get a reaction out of you.”
He raises a brow at me in that way that makes my heartbeat quicken. “You considered intentionally disobeying me?”
I nod but don’t reply.
He brushes my hair out of my eyes, bends, and kisses my cheek. There’s no humor in his gaze. Nothing but cold determination.
“Have you done something that’s earned punishment?”
My mouth goes dry, and a tingle slides through me. I’m playing with fire, and I know it.
“Maybe I have,” I whisper. “Maybe I haven’t.”
He shakes his head from side to side. “Which is it, darlin’?”
“I want you to punish me,” I whisper.
He holds my chin in his hand, making me meet his eyes. And when I look into his gaze, my heart softens. I’m not angry with him. Was I ever? I’ve put him in this position. I am the one that put us here.
“Why?” One word, but his voice is so steely, I flinch.
This is my chance, my chance to tell him everything. Behind him, a shadow crosses the window. The guard.
If I told him I betrayed him, he could order them to take me back to the main house. He could kill me, even. My father’s men would, anyway. And is he really that much like my father?
Seeing his guard outside his window, I'm reminded that it's too dangerous to tell him the truth. I tell myself it's because I don't want to hurt him. I don't want to see his eyes wounded. I may have told my father that I’ll do what he asks, but I won't. I fucking won't.