Chapter Thirteen #2
The question catches me off guard, hitting nerves I thought I'd buried deep enough that nothing could reach them anymore. Something twists uncomfortably in my chest. "I can take care of myself," I finally say, the words coming out rougher than I intended. “I manage fine on my own.”
"I know you can take care of yourself, and you’re capable of handling things on your own.
" Charlotte says softly, her blue eyes holding mine with an intensity that makes me want to look away. But I can’t.
"You can walk around without shoes too, but it's nice to have protection.
An extra layer between you and the world, shielding you from unnecessary pain. "
Her words hold a wisdom far beyond her years.
There is a weight of understanding that you can only have by living the same isolating loneliness of walking through life alone.
She shifts even closer, the leather creaking beneath her movement.
"Everyone needs someone in their corner, even the monsters. "
Her eyes fall to the tattoo on my forearm.
“Monsters are made, not born,” she reads the words out loud, as she gently runs her fingertip over the inked scales of justice then traces every letter—taking in the words and the meaning behind them.
“Do you really think that everything you went through created the monster you claim to be? Or was it always inside of you, waiting to be unleashed?”
Her question unnerves me. I feel like she’s peeling back every layer I have with a single question.
I’ve kept so much of myself buried for so long, I don’t remember what it feels like to let someone in.
The silence stretches between us as I stare at her finger still tracing the lines of my tattoo.
I don’t know if it’s the alcohol, exhaustion, or how close she is to me right now.
Maybe it’s a combination of all three, but she’s breaking down walls I’ve spent years building.
"Both," I finally admit. "It’s always been there, lying dormant, just beneath the surface. But what happened to my mother? What my father did? That's what gave it teeth. What made it hungry."
“Darkness doesn’t make you a monster. What you choose to do with it does.” Charlotte's hand stills on my forearm. "You're not a monster to me."
I let out a laugh. "You saw what I did to Corey. What I'm capable of."
"I saw you protect me," she counters. "I saw someone who understands what it's like to be powerless.
" Her blue eyes blaze with conviction. "Someone who decided to do something about it.
You survived living in hell. Instead of crumbling under the weight of it all, you transformed yourself and came out stronger, even if the world sees it as wrong. "
The alcohol must be hitting harder than I thought because my chest feels tight, making it hard to breathe.
Or maybe it's the way she's looking at me. I shift uncomfortably on the couch. For so long, I’ve fought against feeling anything other than anger or control. But now? She is making me feel seen, really seen, vulnerable even. I don’t know what to do with the feelings or how to act.
"You should be terrified of me."
"I should be," she agrees. "But I'm not. You have a certain way of doing things that makes me question if I should be running towards you or away from you. So far, I’ve only wanted to run towards you. I watched Corey die and felt nothing but relief. I don’t mind the blood on your hands. It doesn’t scare me. What does that say about me?"
"It says you're just as damaged as I am." And maybe that's it, that pull towards her I’ve felt since I met her. Just two broken pieces of a fucked up puzzle that somehow fit together.
“My mom should be added to your list.”
“Don’t worry, she’s already on it.”
"Teach me." Her hand squeezes my forearm so tight her nails dig into my skin. "I want to learn your rules. I want to understand and learn how to do what you do. I want to be the one to kill my mom."
I pull back, creating distance between us on the couch. "No. Absolutely not."
"Why? You said I can never leave now that I know everything."
"That doesn't mean I'm going to teach you how to kill people.
" I slam my beer bottle onto the coffee table harder than I intended.
"Jesus Christ, Char. You don't even know what you're asking for. This isn’t some game. One mistake and it’s all over. Prison or death, those are the only two endings when you live this life.”
"I know exactly what I'm asking for." Her chin lifts defiantly. "You said it yourself, I'm damaged too, just like you. Maybe that's why I understand. Why I want to help. I want to be the one in your corner."
"Help? You want to help me kill people?" My laugh is bitter. "You're eighteen. I’m trying to keep you safe, keep you clean of all this."
"But I'm already part of it." Her eyes lock with mine, unflinching. "The moment you killed Corey, I became part of your world. At least teach me how to survive in it."
She's right, I did bring her into my mess, dragging her across that invisible line between innocent and accomplice. But teaching her? Turning her into a monster like me? That's a line I'm not sure even I can cross.
"Please," she begs. The desperation in her voice making me pause. "Maybe I'm meant for this too."
"Being damaged doesn't mean you have to become like me." I run a hand through my hair, my frustration building. "This isn't a life anyone should choose."
"But you chose it."
"I didn't choose shit." I reach up and grip her jaw in my hand, my fingers pinching into the soft skin of her cheeks hard enough to make her wince, but not enough to leave marks.
"This life chose me. I became what I had to be.
There's a difference between watching death unfold and being the one dealing it.
Between understanding darkness and becoming it.
You need to stay away from this, far the fuck away, before it consumes you like it did me.
This life will stain you in ways that can never be washed clean. "
"It's pretty hard to stay away from it when I'm sleeping next to it at night," she counters, her voice slightly muffled by my grip. The defiance pisses me off and intrigues me at the same time. My thumb traces the curve of her jawline; a gesture caught somewhere between a threat and tenderness.
"You're dangerous," I tell her, but I'm not sure if I'm warning her or myself anymore. My thumb moves up, tracing the outline of her bottom lip almost unconsciously.
What the fuck am I doing?
"So are you," she whispers, her breath warm against the pad of my thumb.
"Charlotte—" I growl out, my grip tightening slightly, trying to make her understand the gravity of what she's asking. "You're playing with fire, little girl. Getting this close to me. You have no idea how quickly it can consume everything you are."
The smirk is barely noticeable, just a subtle curve to her full lips.
Instead of pulling away from my grip like any sane person would do, she leans into it, pressing her face firmly against my hand.
It's a move I didn't expect. She doesn't flinch under my grip.
Those big blue doe eyes of her stare back at me unfazed, challenging me.
"I've been cold all my life, Silas. Maybe I'll like the burn."
Well, fuck me.
Before I can even respond, she's on me, her knees pressing into the couch on either side of my outer thighs, straddling me, her weight settling onto my lap. I hear the beer bottle that was tucked between her crossed legs fall from the couch and roll across the floor.
Her lips press against mine, and for a moment I freeze.
I feel the heat of her body as she shifts against me, her hips rolling in a slow circle that makes my cock twitch.
She shouldn't be on top of me like this.
My hands grip her hips anyway, whether it's to push her away or pull her closer, I don't even fucking know right now.
My mind is telling me to stop this; I can't let this go any further.
My body on the other hand has different plans and is leaving that message on read.
Instead, I bring a hand up to her face, my thumb pressing into the hollow of her cheek until her mouth parts, and I take it as an invitation like the sinner I am. Her mouth tastes like beer and something sweeter… And suddenly, it's not enough.
My hand trails back down her body until my fingers are digging into the soft curve of her ass through the sweatpants she wears, my sweatpants.
Knowing that causes something primal to snap inside of me.
The kiss changes into something deeper, hungrier, like we're both trying to chase away the loneliness that's been our only companion for far too long.
Wrong fucking move.
She lets out this sweet, quiet gasp against my mouth, and it vibrates through every goddamn nerve in my body like a shockwave.
I should shove her off. I need to be the one to end this before it spirals out of control.
There's no hiding how hard I am, not with her grinding herself down on my cock.
"You shouldn't—" I manage to get out between kisses. "Shouldn't be letting me fucking touch you. You don’t know what you’re doing,” I growl against her mouth, but my body betrays me, bucking my hips up into hers.
“I know exactly what I’m doing,” she whispers before she bites my bottom lip, hard enough to sting.
I shouldn’t do it. I know I shouldn’t, but fuck it. If I wasn’t going to hell before, I sure as shit am now.
My hands slide up under her shirt, my fingertips tracing the ridges of her ribs, the soft swell of her tits. She’s not wearing a bra, and the second my palms skim her nipples, her breath hitches. They’re already stiff, pebbled against my fingers.
“You like that?” I pinch one nipple, rolling it between my fingers, my thumb rubbing rough circles on the other until she whimpers into my mouth.