“I kissed you back. You had to have felt that.” Her cheeks pinked. “I’m sick and tired of being afraid of passion when you live and breathe passion every day. You were hurting. I wanted to give you something—”
“Wait.” It was my turn to hold up my hand. “So you kissed me out of charity?” I didn’t know what was worse—trying to blow me to keep her or bestow a kiss to make me feel better.
Fuck!
“It wasn’t like that. I wanted to kiss you. I wanted it just as much for me as I did for you.”
My temper unfurled like a sword from its scabbard. “You pity me now you’ve met my mother and heard how unwanted I am by those I love.”
“What? No?” She shook her head. “That isn’t the—”
“You think you understand me now, is that it?” I balled my hands, pacing around her. “You think you can judge me, read me? Know what goes on inside my goddamn head?” Stopping in front of her, I growled, “You know more about me than you should, Pim. And I know nothing about you. That isn’t fair, nor is it part of our agreement.”
She turned on the spot, keeping her gaze locked on mine. “You’re mistaken. I don’t know a thing about you.”
I smiled coldly. “You know more than you should.”
“I’d know more if you told me.”
I laughed. “Never going to happen.”
The itch to play my cello hijacked my fingers. I’d trained myself enough to know when I was borderline, and I sought out music rather than a new obsession. Pim was right to expect me to be playing. It was time. I needed her gone. Before I did something I regretted.
Stalking toward the bedside table where I kept a pre-rolled joint in case of emergencies, I fumbled in my pocket for my lighter. Holding the weed to my lips, I lit the end and inhaled. Hard.
A flash of grey and black appeared then my marijuana salvation vanished from my fingers. “What the fuck?”
“Stop.” Pim held the smoking joint. “Talk to me. You’re hurting. You should talk to someone.”
“Talk?” I looked at the ceiling and laughed. “Again, you want to talk.”
“Yes, I think—”
Grabbing her, I tossed her onto my bed. “When I’m in this headspace, Pim, the last thing I want to do is fucking talk.”
Chapter Fourteen
______________________________
Pim
HE CLIMBED ON top of me, wedging me against his mattress as his scent from his sheets rose up the meet the scent from his skin.
The wildness in his eyes terrified me.
The smoking weed in my fingers could set fire to the bed if I let go.
A panic attack from my years at the white mansion swivelled into being, begging me to let go and disappear. To leave this physical plane and return only once he’d finished with my body.
Every other time, I would listen. I would fall. I would leave. But there was something about Elder and the pain tainting everything around him that kept me there, that locked me to the present.
I didn’t move as his lips sought mine again. I didn’t cry out as his hand found my breast and squeezed. And I didn’t scream as his leg wedged between my thighs to press against my core.
I stayed frozen beneath him, forcing myself to remember the coal burn of lust I’d enjoyed from kissing him on the deck. How wonderful it’d been to let go and just accept the kiss, to bestow one back, to allow heat and liquid to course through me with the promise of one day being whole enough to enjoy more.
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.