Although I know what I’m going to find when I leave the bathroom, I still can’t stop the sigh that rushes past my lips when I step into my bedroom.
“How long is this going to go on?”
Spade doesn’t answer. He simply holds the blanket a little higher so I can climb into the bed.
I’ve lived off the warmth of his body for days, growing accustomed to the feel of his skin against mine, and despite my words, I only hesitate for a moment before slipping under the cover.
The second night I found him in here, I waited until he pulled me against his chest, but by the third, I put myself there willingly. Tonight is no different, and I quickly settle my body at his side, lifting my own leg instead of waiting for him to urge it up his body.
The sting of tears comes just as fast tonight as they have the last four nights, and just as quickly, he presses his lips to the top of my head before those maddening circles start on my back.
My fingers grip his side as frustration leaks from my eyes.
He keeps his distance during the day, but each night is spent exactly like we are, wrapped in each other’s arms. I don’t know what the official protocol is when Cerberus is sent to look after a woman, but I doubt it’s acting like a surrogate boyfriend without the benefit of orgasms. Not once has he hinted that sex was part of his expectations, and honestly, it’s starting to leave me with a complex.
Has what I’ve done, my inability to read Will for who he truly is, poured ice water on the flames of his desire? Is he only comforting me because he feels obligated to?
I’ve progressively grown weary of him being here. I’m not foolish enough to just brush off what’s happened. I know there’s a possibility that I’m in danger, that something I did or said made Will think I’m his enemy. I know there’s a possibility that the man blames me for the fall of his illegal business, but I saw the man for a couple of hours after years of no contact. I didn’t even think of the man after leaving Telluride. I doubt with everything else he was doing in his life that he thought of me either.
I don’t see him coming after me in retribution when escaping and not getting caught or arrested should be his main focus.
I also didn’t see him as a man that would murder a woman and rape a little girl. Spade didn’t have to give me the details of what that girl went through, but I could see it in his eyes. Will Varon was a sex trafficker, and if he had that child with him long enough that she was trained to call him uncle and press her lips to her abuser’s face, she had to have suffered things that would make her act that way, a threat of what could happen if she didn’t respond the way he wanted.
That guilt continues to eat at me, much like the guilt I feel for taking comfort in Spade’s warmth right now.
What part of me made Will think I’d be okay to come into his home and not question what I saw?
Was it naivety?
Did he think I’d be okay if I knew the truth?
Whatever it was, I played right into it, concerning my thoughts over his wealth and the extravagance in his home rather than remembering he had no siblings, meaning he couldn’t possibly have a niece.
What had he done to both the little girl and Greta for him to not be concerned that neither of them would see me and not beg for help?
What about me made them feel like I wouldn’t be willing to help if they had?
I don’t see myself as unapproachable, but that little girl sat across from me at the table and didn’t so much as meet my eyes. I didn’t notice any hand signals or signs of distress. I saw no bruises or indications of pain.
“Get out of your head,” he whispers, his lips moving the hair on the crown of my head.
“I can’t,” I confess.
He remains silent as if he said the words fully expecting my response.
I don’t know how he deals with what he sees, how it doesn’t eat away at him until nothing is left.
Maybe his job is why he has the rules he does about his interaction with women. Maybe he doesn’t care and can so easily forget his own experiences because he’s only the shell of a man tasked with helping others but remains unable to help himself.
I shake my head. I’m in no fucking position to analyze this man. I can’t even get a hold on my own damned emotions these days.
I just need… something.
I’m desperate to feel anything at this point because I can feel myself sliding into depression and self-loathing. I know if I hit rock bottom, I may not be able to pull myself out.
I don’t want to be a shadow of the person I am, but my actions have already changed.
I haven’t left the house to see Big Daddy since New Year’s Eve. I don’t want to bring any attention to my grandfather because despite feeling like there’s only a small chance Will is going to seek me out, I don’t want any attention brought to the man. He may have been a soldier before, but he’s defenseless as an old man.