“I’m having a hard time letting go of my past. I’m having a hard time accepting my future,” I confess. “And I know you say you love me, but I feel like I’m a burden or an obligation. I can’t help it.”
“You aren’t either of those to me,” Christopher states firmly. His jaw is locked again, and his brow furrows. “Have I not shown my devotion to you? My commitment? I don’t take either of those lightly. And I’ve been working my ass off to try to get our lives started. I wish it could all happen overnight, but it can’t.”
“I don’t want to be left alone anymore. The walls are closing in on me here. You go off to work and to work events in the evenings, and I’m here, alone.” I’m changing the subject from Papa Rich, but this is another issue I feel I need to address. “I stare out our bedroom window just like I stared out the window of the schoolhouse. Nothing has changed. I’m still a ghost just haunting a different place.”
“I have to for my work, and the only reason I haven’t taken you to the evening dinners and parties is that I’m worried you aren’t ready. It’s a lot of people. A lot of questions.”
“But I want to. I’m your wife. I want to be by your side. I have to start figuring out this new way of living. I need to stop being the ‘freak’ everyone thinks I am.”
He circles his fingertip on my hand again, which I’m realizing is something that gives me comfort. “Fair enough,” he says. “I can’t keep you locked up in a gilded cage safe and protected forever.”
I almost want to scream out that I’m not safe. Far from it. Scarecrow and Papa Rich are here! But I stay quiet. I need more proof. I need to wrap my head around the hows and the whys before I try to make people believe me. I can’t keep saying my gut or because I feel they are.
“Tomorrow night, there’s a party at a politician’s penthouse. He’s trying to get donations for his campaign and to earn goodwill. I normally wouldn’t go to something like this, as it’s pretentious, arrogant, and everything I’m against. But I promised my editor I would, and I’m trying to prove in my own way that I’m also not the ‘freak’ some people think I am now.” He moves a little closer to me and pulls me into his arms, holding me close. “Let’s go tomorrow as husband and wife.”
I snuggle in close to him, pressing my face to his chest and inhaling his essence.
“I’m sorry I lost my cool,” he says as he begins petting my hair softly.
“I’m sorry I angered you. I’m also sorry I broke all those vases. I’m sure they were really expensive. I owe your mother an apology at the least.”
“My mother will be just fine. It’s not like she hasn’t had her bout with hysterics a time or two.”
“I still shouldn’t have broken what isn’t mine. I was scared. I know you feel I shouldn’t be. But I was. I just don’t want you to think… less of me. I don’t want you to think I’m a freak.”
“I love you, Ember. I truly do. I’ve never been good at knowing or showing what that exactly means… love. But I know it’s something I feel for you.”
As if he just released a flood gate, I cry. I can’t help it. “I love you too. I don’t know what that looks like either or how it’s supposed to feel. I’ve been told all my life how it should be and how it should feel. Love confuses me. I thought I loved Papa Rich. I still sometimes think I do. But then I met you. And I’m with you now, and… this is what love is supposed to feel like. How I feel right now in your arms.”
He presses his lips to mine and kisses me with more passion than ever before. It’s like the kiss is needed to repair what we may have broken. It’s a kiss to bandage the wounds inside.
“You’re my wife,” he mumbles into my hair.
“You’re my husband.”
“I want to fuck you,” he states so simply.
“I want you to fuck me.”
How we can go from yelling to tears to wanting to fuck, I have no idea. But I want Christopher inside me, tearing and clawing his way in as he does it.
“Hard,” he whispers. “I want the tears staining your face right now to be from how hard and deep I’m going to fuck you. No longer out of sadness or fear.”
“Yes,” I breathe out, wanting something more raw and primal. “Punish me. You may not hit me. You may not beat me. But I want my husband to punish me his way. I want there to be consequences for what I did… bad, bad consequences.” I playfully wink as I lean forward and kiss him again. “Your wife has been a bad girl.”