Chapter 13
Koby
Coward!
That word’s gnawed at the base of my skull since morning, a parasite chewing through bone.
I shouldn’t have pulled away from Leilani in the bathroom.
I should’ve given her what she clearly wanted...
I should’ve kissed her, but I pulled back like some half-broken boy who doesn’t know what the fuck he wants.
And I haven’t stopped thinking about it since I left the house ten minutes after she walked out of the bathroom.
I wanted to kiss her.
It’s the thing I’ve wanted more than air since I first laid eyes on her. It’s hunger. Obsessive fucking starvation, a constant itch under my skin.
I could’ve tasted that perfect mouth, but I left her disappointed.
I walked away from those lips I study any chance I get.
Their soft bow when she’s distracted, the way she chews them when she’s annoyed.
The curve when she smirks at me like she knows I can’t function properly around her and she loves it.
I have no idea how to handle this. Us. My brain keeps screaming: don’t break her.
Don’t hurt her.
Don’t make her regret you.
I hate that voice because when she smiles at me, my chest splits wide open. When she’s close enough that the sweetness of her berry shampoo floods my nose, my pulse stutters. And when she snaps, when she lets the wreckage Anton left behind show, I’m ready to tear the fucker limb from limb.
The closer the FaceTime call, the harder it was not to accidentally trigger her, as if her mind was constantly running through the past, rifling through a deck of unwanted memories.
Broadway and Ryder are having the time of their lives, making fun of the scratches and bruises she imprints on my skin.
She’s tough, I’ll give her that. She’s wild, bright rage. She swings hard, bites deep, and knows exactly when to slot her knee between my legs for highest impact, but beneath the fight, she’s hurting. Not knowing the extent of Anton’s sins keeps my hands tied behind my back.
How do I stop her from bleeding when I can’t see the wounds?
“Even though he never raped me, he did far worse.”
That line loops through my brain. I’ve gone over it a hundred times today alone, trying to make it make sense. I tried guessing, but this game’s rigged against me.
What’s worse than rape?
Torture, maybe, but Leilani bears no scars. No marks that’d confirm physical abuse. I know. I’ve seen her in outfits that leave little to the imagination.
I’m at a loss. Confused. And now I’m in self-loathing mode because I was the reason why disappointment scrunched her features this morning.
She was right there—so soft, so pretty, so open—and I left her hanging despite wanting nothing more than to feel her lips on mine.
I tell myself it was the right thing to do, that my restraint is fucking admirable. I don’t know where her head is, how far she’s willing to go, whether she’d kiss me because she wants to or because she thinks she owes me something.
And the not knowing drives me feral.
Every second with her feels like some fucked-up exam with no study guide, and I don’t even know what’s being tested.
Me? Her? Us?
Maybe everything.
Maybe nothing at all.
Maybe I’m just paranoid thanks to Broadway’s constant take it slow, don’t push, let her breathe.
As if I can fucking breathe when she’s near me.
She steals the oxygen from the room without trying and my lungs don’t expand right when she’s around. My blood doesn’t circulate like normal. It’s hotter, thicker.
The apartment is quiet when I come home shortly after nine in the evening. I’m not usually back before midnight, but today, I wrapped everything up in record time, then broke several speed limits getting here.
Looks like I shouldn’t have bothered.
Every evening, Leilani’s been waiting for me on the couch, either reading, or watching TV while folding my clothes.
Tonight is the first night she isn’t around to greet me.
The living room is dark, empty, and it sends an unpleasant shiver down my spine. The pizza box balancing on my palm feels ridiculous. I glance at the red logo, calling myself a fucking idiot.
What was I thinking?
That she’d come running at the smell of pepperoni? That she’d forgive me for rejecting her just because I brought food? That she’d want to spend the evening with me after I didn’t kiss her then teased her about it?
That was low.
I fucking panicked, alright?
I stand in the hallway longer than I should, deciding how to proceed. If she wanted to talk, wanted to see me, she’d be here, right? The fact she’s locked in her room is a clear message: stay away.
Like hell.
She’s all I’ve thought about today while running errands, checking another buttload of information from Blaze, and bruising my knuckles on the face of a cocky informant. The guy picked the wrong day to play games with me.
I kick off my boots, crack my neck, and shake out my shoulders. My jaw aches from how hard I’m grinding it. I head down the hall, eyes on the sliver of light beneath Leilani’s bedroom door. My pulse is doing acrobatics as I raise my hand, exhale sharply, and rap my sore knuckles against the wood.
One, two, three seconds pass.
My palms start sweating.
Four, five—
“Come in.”
Oh thank fuck.
I push the door open, peeking in, and that thank fuck morphs into a simple fuck. She’s on the bed, knees pulled to her chest, arms wrapped around them, eyes red-rimmed and swollen.
“You’ve been crying.”
I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I’ll never push you away again. I swear.
“A little,” she admits, wiping tear tracks off her cheeks. Then, like she’s desperate to change the subject, her gaze flicks to the pizza box. “What do you have there?”
I clear my throat, holding it out. “Peace offering.”
I’m starting to notice a pattern...
She quirks an eyebrow, the faintest twitch of humor slipping through as she tilts her head to the side. “We’re not arguing.”
“You’re not mad at me?”
“Should I be?”
She’s not crying because of me?
“I thought...” My grip dents the cardboard. “I mean, this morning, when I—”
“Koby.” Her cheeks glow pink even as she smiles through the fresh tears dampening her eyelashes. “It’s not you. I just had a bad day.” She pats the space beside her. “Story time?”
Hope blooms like wildfire under my ribs. She still wants me here. I cross the room, setting the box at the foot of the bed before taking a seat beside her, my back to the headboard.
“I’m all ears, hellcat.”
She doesn’t speak right away, and I don’t rush her. I’ve imagined a multitude of scenarios, and whatever she’s about to confess will gut me like a fish, I’m sure, and be extremely hard for her to voice.
She hugs her knees tighter, rests her chin in the hollow between them, and breathes in.
“I spent almost three years with Anton,” she whispers.
“Losing myself piece by little piece. Fading away until I felt like a distant memory. He took everything. My personality, my thoughts, my words... There were days, weeks sometimes, when I didn’t even know my name. ”
This isn’t how I imagined this would go. I expected a clear answer to my burning question: what the fuck did he do?
But I don’t think it’s as simple as he raped me, or he beat me. Her opening words already tell me that whatever she went through can’t be blurted out in one sentence.
“It felt like quicksand. You tell yourself if you stay still, maybe you won’t sink... but I sank. Fast. Faster than I thought possible.”
The first tear falls from her eye, sliding down her cheek, but her tone remains flat, dejected, like she’s reading a script. The emotional contrast is startling. Unsettling even.
“He didn’t take me to use me. He took me to... keep me. Play with me.” Her lips pinch into a thin line as she swats her tears away. “He was so calm. So soft. Every word a lullaby. Praise, encouragements, gentle corrections.”
My fists curl in my lap. She’s talking, opening up, but the picture I’ve been dying to see is still kaleidoscopic. I don’t understand what happened.
I’m itching to take her hand, ask questions, pull her into my arms and help the words flow easier, but I’m afraid to make the wrong move, so I don’t do anything at all.
“You’re such a perfect little girl,” she whispers. “So pretty. Stay still for me. Good little girls don’t pout. Breakfast time, sweet girl. Open wide. No pouting, sweetheart.”
Her eyes are closed now, arms wrapped around herself like she has to hold her body in place while her mind is dragged back. She recites in a soft voice, every next word sending shivers down my spine. I’m unraveling as things become clearer.
“Is my pretty little thing having a tantrum? You need a nap. Don’t touch that, petal.
Sit, petal. Smile, petal. Chew, petal.” She inhales a shaky breath.
“He bathed me, dressed me in pastel, frilly dresses, cut my food into bite-size pieces, and fed me while I sat in his lap. He did my hair, read children’s books to me every night.
..” Her voice wobbles and she takes a pause.
I want to reach for her. Every instinct screams to drag her against me, to hold her through this, but I don’t know if that’ll make things worse. I don’t know what she needs from me.
“I wasn’t allowed to do anything by myself,” she continues. “No frowning, no pouting, no smiling too wide. He liked me quiet, obedient. No opinions. No thoughts... he stripped away every part of me until there was nothing but a hollow shell. A glassy-eyed doll he arranged just the way he liked.”
I stare at her... at this girl who throws punches, shatters cups, swears, teases, laughs. Who eats with her fingers, dances around my kitchen in the mornings, and bosses me around in my own goddamn house, and I try to reconcile that with what she’s saying.
“And tomorrow...” Her voice shudders. “Tomorrow, I have to do it again. Sit still. Dress up. Be soft. Be silent. Be what he wants, so he won’t realize I’m not where I’m supposed to be. That I’m fighting not to be who he says I’m supposed to be. Who he trained me to be.”
“Leilani... fuck. I—”
“Don’t,” she pleads, eyes cutting to mine. “Please don’t say anything.”
Obeying takes everything I have, and giving her space takes everything again and then some, but the moment I start to rise, her warm fingers catch my wrist.
“Stay with me?” she whispers, speeding my heart into cardiac arrest territory. “Just until I fall asleep?”
God, if only she knew how much this means to me. How much I crave staying with her forever. How much I’d give for a chance to watch her fall asleep every night.
I ease back against the pillows, pull the comforter up, and watch her slip beneath it. She flips onto her side as I tuck the blanket around her. I want to hold her, curl her into my chest, weave my fingers through her long, dark hair, and protect her from the whole world.
Watching her will have to be enough. She asked me to stay. If she wanted more, if she wanted my arms around her, she’d ask for that as well.
How is she so calm? How is she not spiraling?
I turn Anton’s name over and over in my head, imagining the most elaborate ways to make him suffer. I could break his bones. Pull his teeth. Shred his veins piece by fucking piece.
“I can hear you thinking.” Leilani pulls herself up on one elbow, her eyes shining in the low light. “Can you hold me?”
Fuck. Yes, please. Thank you, baby.
I slide down beside her like an eager puppy whose owner allowed him into their bed. My arms go around her. I flip her over and she curls into me, her breath warm against my neck.
Perfect. So fucking perfect. This is where she’s supposed to be. This is where I’m supposed to be.
I kiss the top of her head, taking my first deep breath all day close to eleven at night.
“Goodnight, hellcat.”
I don’t dare move. I’m sure that if I shift even an inch, I’ll break whatever spell has her pressed against me. My arms are locked around her, possessive in a way I don’t bother hiding. She asked me to hold her. She gave me this.
Her hair spills across my jaw, silken strands catching in the stubble. My heart tries pounding through my chest as if it can imprint its rhythm on her skin.
Her hand twitches, curling into my shirt, and her lips brush my collarbone as she exhales, already half-asleep.
And I know that if this is all I ever get: her weight in my arms, her breath against my skin... it won’t be enough.