12. Arlo
I don’t respond to his invariably precise aim. There’s no way I can make him an accomplice in the devil’s work.
“I want to help.” Hota spouts this like he’s deciding he wants sushi for dinner, which he always does and can never get because we live in a boarding school in the middle of nowhere UK.
“Absolutely not.” I lie down and cover my shoulder with the blanket. “We never had this conversation.”
“I know you’re trying to protect me,” Hota snaps.
I rocket off the bed, standing next to him in an instant. My face is shoved so close to his that I can see the faint veins in the whites of his eyeballs.
“Of course I am.” My broken voice rattles around the room like a pathetic roar.
With both hands, I snatch his pillow from behind him and press it against his chest. Using it as a barrier, I press against him to drive home the point. “He would hurt you without a second thought. He would kill you to hurt me.”
Just the thought of him injured makes me want to burn the school to the ground. My fingers clench in the softness of the pillow so hard I shake.
“There’s no way I’m letting him set his eyes on you again. Much less his filthy fucking hands. Do you understand?”
I shove off him and huff breaths in and out of my burning lungs.
“No.” He throws the pillow at the far end of the bed. It bounces onto the floor. We both ignore it. There’s no anger in his voice, but it’s soaked with pleading. “If you’ve been watching practice for the last few weeks, you’ll know I’m far from helpless.”
My head swings in a slow back and forth. “That has rules, regulations. With him, it’s life and death.”
“I know.” Hota stands and comes closer to me than he ever has, nearly touching his chest to mine. “I choose your life and his death.”
“What would you do if he held a knife to my throat?” I cock my head. When he doesn’t answer, I answer for him. “You would do whatever he told you to. You’d lock shackles around your ankles to keep him from slitting my throat. I know because I’ve done it to myself. You would lay your belly on the floor and let him hurt you. I know because I’ve done it myself all so he would stop hurting my dog. What would you endure so that he’d stop hurting me?”
His jaw flexes, and his lips stay stubbornly closed because we both know the answer to the question. He’d do anything. That makes me angrier than anything. That he’d risk himself for me.
I lower my head until we’re breathing the same air. “I will not risk you.”
“But you’ll risk you?” he snarls. His chest brushes mine, but I don’t care. I have to get my point across.
“I’m already at risk.” I shrug.
His teeth flash, and his hands form fists at his sides.
“He needs me to get my parents’ money, which he’s running low on already. I have to do this while I still have that over him. After, he’ll have no reason to keep me alive.”
The more I talk, the redder Hota’s cheeks become.
“He’s already picked out my grave. A dried-up well. It’s in the middle of farmland. He’s explained in great detail how no one will ever find my body.”
“ You ,” Hota shouts. “How no one will ever find you !” His fists shake as though he wants to shake me.
“The best part is he told me exactly how to find the well. All I have to do is make it his grave instead of mine."
“Let me help you,” he implores. The veins in his neck look ready to burst.
“No.” I press my forehead to his. Heat radiates from his smooth skin, bolstering mine.
At the contact, Hota sucks in a breath. The fight drains from his shoulders, and his eyes close for just a second before he finds mine again.
“I can’t lose you. Not ever.”
He’s quiet for a handful of heartbeats. Then he sighs. “You never will.”
“Thank you.” I shudder.
“Fuck you.” He offers me a sad smirk, then straightens and climbs into bed.
“Maybe one day,” I say, meaning it, hoping one day I’ll have command over my mind and body enough to enjoy him. I’m sure he thinks I’m joking because he says nothing. I grab his discarded pillow, toss it back, and climb into my spot, thankful to have Hotaru as my guy.