Chapter 6
CASSIDY
I’ve spent the entire night wide awake, thinking of Killa. At least I haven’t been having nightmares, I guess, so there’s some winning to take from a night of no sleep.
The way he looked down on me with pure hatred is something I’ve never experienced before.
Obsession, yes. Hatred, no. Why the hell that got me so wet, I don’t know; another first. My body came alive before him, eager to comply, like he was commanding me to become his.
Yet my mind warred with me. If it weren’t for the risk of waking Noah, I would’ve argued with him. At least, I think I would’ve.
I shamelessly wanted to touch myself once I put Noah back to bed, but I refused. I didn’t deserve pleasure, not when so many had not been given the same opportunity as me.
Unable to help myself, I squeeze my eyes shut as the familiar feeling of guilt rises, swelling until I can’t breathe. Survivor’s guilt, they call it, and that in itself makes me feel not worthy; so many times, I didn’t want to survive, not in his presence at least.
My mind flicks back to Killa, like a safe space.
A place the guilt slips away and I become worthy, if only for a few moments during the time I bring him pleasure.
I’m useful to him. I replace his pain with pleasure.
The intensity behind his eyes when he pumped his thick cock into my mouth was obscene.
He wanted to punish me, and the worst part: I wanted him to.
When he came, utter bliss washed over his handsome features, and I reveled in it.
The moisture between my legs was a testament to how much I delighted in the control he had over me, and in turn, I had over him.
Does he always look like that when he comes?
Something strange creeps over me. I don’t like the thought of him coming for anyone but me.
I bury my head in my pillow with a sigh.
This is fucked up.
He sees me as an enemy. Probably loathes the very air I breathe; therefore, I’m totally screwed.
“Mama?”
I pop my head off the pillow, and happiness thrums inside me at the sound of Noah’s voice. “I’m here, buddy!”
He’s been in his own room now for over a week, and I’m super proud of him for all the changes he’s overcome since moving here a little over a month ago.
“We have breakfast?” he whispers.
I swallow back the emotion his question brings. No child should ever ask that question. Ever. Nor should they have to whisper in silence, terrified of using their voice.
Leaping up off the bed, I walk toward my little guy standing in the doorway and crouch down to his level. “We do.” I straighten his pj’s. “We have cereal, and there might be some bread left over for toast.” His eyes light up, and I blink away the tears threatening to fall.
Stay strong, Cassidy. I rise to my full height and swallow the emotion.
“Toast, please.” He grins, and I smile down at his good manners, grateful he’s now able to use them.
“Good job, buddy.” I ruffle his dark hair and place a kiss on his forehead; other than his hair, there’s no resemblance to his father.
He has my green eyes and small button nose, a few little freckles beneath his eyes, and little dimples when he smiles widely that make me melt every time I see them.
“Come on, let’s get you fed.” I hold out my hand, and he slips his small one into mine.
The softness and warmth of his skin give me all the strength I need to get through each day and keep the memories at bay.
“I like it here,” he declares as we step into the kitchen space. He’s told me this so many times already, but it doesn’t grate on my nerves. It reassures me that I’ve done the right thing, moving out and fighting to gain some independence. Forging a new life away from the horrors of our past.
“Me too,” I say.
He sits at the small table and props his head up with his elbows resting on the table, and I get to work making breakfast.
“Are you going to try talking more at school today?” I ask, pouring him an orange juice, and grimace when there’s only enough for him. Opening the cupboard above me, I take the bread out and wince. There’s only a couple of slices left, and I need those slices to make his school lunch.
“Buddy, you’re going to have to have cereal.”
His face falls.
“Mama gets paid soon, and we can get more food, okay?” I’m quick to reassure him.
He sits forward, and I know what he’s going to say before he says it. “Like chocolate cars?”
The moment we stepped foot in the food store, his eyes latched onto the box with a car on the front with promises of chocolate car parts inside. Of course, I didn’t have enough money to buy one, but I promised him the moment I did, I’d make sure he got a box like his classmates.
“Okay, so what if you talk a little more at school, I can get you one?” I wink at him and smile.
His lips turn into a pout as he thinks about something before he nods, making his dark locks cover his eyes. That’s something else he needs—a haircut.
Why the hell is being a single mom on a normal living wage so difficult?
I wonder if I can pull some extra shifts.
Jolie offered to watch Noah for me, and in turn, I could watch her rowdy bunch.
The thought of leaving Noah with someone I don’t know very well makes my stomach churn; I’m not ready for that just yet.
Besides, I don’t know how he’d react to it either, and I don’t want to push too much too soon.
The last thing I want is for him to regress.
When I shake the cereal into the bowl, my stomach plummets; there’s barely enough for a full bowl.
I pull my lip into my mouth and contemplate what my mom would do.
She’d probably let me have a cookie as I headed out to school.
That I can do. Grabbing the bag of cookies, I’m relieved I didn’t finish them during the night when I desperately needed something sweet to satiate my raging hormones.
I place the bowl and cookie down in front of Noah.
“Wow. I get a cookie too?” He glances up at me with the biggest smile, and not for the first time, I’m grateful he has my bright-green eyes.
“You do. Be a good boy and eat them all up.” I pat his head and smile to myself. Something that was almost a disaster was mended with a simple cookie.
I can totally do this.
“I want to live here forever.” Noah grins around his spoon, and I know exactly what he means because I feel the same way.
But as my eyes latch onto the very spot Killa had me kneeling last night, my stomach does a weird flip.
I want to stay here forever, but I’m not so sure the Unholy Savages will allow it.