Chapter 16
chapter sixteen
i think i like my shadow
By the time we got back to the townhouse, my eyes stung, and my throat ached like I’d not stopped screaming. I tried not to show it, tried to keep my mind off it and fake something close to composure, but Marcus wasn’t buying any of it.
I didn’t think he’d ever believe me if I lied to him anyway. He had this maddening way of looking at me, like he’d already mapped out every crack in my armour, like he knew me better than I wanted anyone to.
The low light in the hallway embraced me with that familiarity I was craving. But it was quiet. So quiet and so not the home I was used to. But part of me was grateful that everyone was asleep. The last thing they needed was me bursting through the doors in tears.
Again.
Besides, I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t want questions. I just wanted tea, and my bed and—
"You okay?"
Him.
My eyes barely lifted to him as I attempted to nod. But either he didn't see me or he knew I was lying, because without hesitation, like I was nothing but breath and weak limbs, he scooped me up and climbed the stairs. My cold arms tucked inwards, but it was pointless trying to avoid touching him.
He was everywhere. I felt him everywhere. More than I'd ever wanted or imagined to feel him. But I'd be a liar if I said it wasn't nice, feeling the way his arms curved around my body, like a marble statue.
With some of my conscience back, I kept my head free from the curve of his neck and pretended to be really interested in our ceiling.
Didn't help.
When he reached my room, he kicked the door open with his boot and set me down gently on the bed. I shuffled away, letting that niggle in my chest simmer as he stood back.
“I’ll be right back,”
My nod was barely a nod, but I still watched him as he disappeared behind the door, hanging on to his footsteps as they faded.
I got changed into my go-to baggy black t-shirt, then slipped under my covers, my legs crossed.
I could hear the kettle boil. A few cabinets.
Then muted creaks of the floorboards as he returned, reappearing with a mug.
My mug.
I didn’t need to ask what was in it. The dark grey tag dangling over the side said everything for me. Ignoring the ache in my back, I reached over and gripped it; that constant craving I had for Earl Grey was slipping away entirely once the mug hit my lips.
And I don’t know how he did it, but it was perfect. Just like the last one he made me. Just how I made mine.
“Thank you.”
His jaw ticked as my words settled, but eventually half of his mouth lifted, dimpling his cheek.
Part of him must’ve hated seeing me hurt; otherwise, he would have stood his ground, let me freeze and cry myself to sleep outside the theatre. But he didn’t. He showed up.
He always showed up.
Even when I didn't want him there. Even when I didn’t want to be saved.
Just like tonight.
He held that soft smile, gaze pinned to me as he grabbed my painting stool from the corner of the room and dragged it a pace away from me. He crouched with a groan, until his elbows rested on his knees and his body leaned forward. And then finally said, low and rough, “Two things.”
His tone was enough for my lips to snap shut.
“One: in case the times I told you before weren’t enough, you need me. Regardless of who the threat is, I’m supposed to be there for you. It’s my job.” His eyes dipped from mine, thinking, before he lifted them back. “Do you understand?”
I swallowed hard. “Yeah.”
“Two,” he sighed, voice rougher now, “I agree with you about not wanting to hide away until you’re better. I do. But for that to happen, for us to get to a place where we one day don’t need each other, we’ve got to get you in shape to fight back.”
I stared at him, his words washing over me. My head angled. “You’re serious?”
“Dead serious.”
His voice backed that up.
“Things aren’t going to change if you sit here and let what happened take everything from you.
I’m with you on that. And you’re already doing great, going to classes, showing up, but if you want your freedom, we need to do more.
You need to be strong. You need to fight.
And you need to be an indestructible force whether I’m by your side or not. ”
He leaned in a little as he said it. Not much. Just enough that I could feel his breath on my cheeks. His eyes flicked to my mouth for a fraction of a second before they snapped back up—too fast, too guilty. Like he wasn’t supposed to let that slip.
“You’ve already got that fire; you just need to learn how to use it to your advantage.”
I stared at him, remembering all the ways I didn’t want him this close. Then, softly, “What do you want me to do?”
His brows lifted just a little. “This isn’t about what I want.”
“Well, I don’t know what I want.”
“I find that hard to believe,” his chin jutted at me. “Start small."
My gaze drifted to my tea, my mind wandering the forgotten halls where I kept my dreams.
“I want to paint again,” I whispered to my tea.
“Good. What else?”
My throat tightened, eyes lifting back to his. “I want my shot at the Nouvelle Muse Gala.”
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t scoff. He didn't even know what Nouvelle was. But still, he nodded like he did.
“And?” he pressed.
“I want to fight,” I admitted, voice low but firm. “I want to stop letting people ruin me—and start making them regret trying.”
His lips parted, just slightly, and I caught it: the way his eyes softened, the brief flicker of something he didn’t let himself feel. For a moment, I wasn’t a client, or a girl he needed to keep alive. I was someone he was starting to care about. It was right there. Clear as crystal.
And the feeling behind my chest sparked.
“Then we’ll start tomorrow,” he sighed, voice measured, grounding me. He reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. His fingertips brushed my skin, feather-light, enough to pull my attention to the space between us without words. “But for now… tea. Rest. You’ll need it.”
I laughed softly, chest rising and falling with the mug pressed to me, and for a moment, I let myself just exist in the quiet warmth. Let myself enjoy whatever was happening between us because, well, after tonight, it was the least I deserved.
Marcus stayed beside me, letting the silence stretch. No advice, no orders. Just him. Solid. A presence I didn’t know I could rely on, and yet… I already did. Then he rose, moving toward the door, but paused before stepping out. Hand on the frame, his chin tipped at me, steady and quiet.
“Still hate me?”
“Always.”
His wide smile warmed me. “Good.”
And even as the door closed behind him, the weight of him lingered. Maybe now he was less a shadow, and more a tether I hadn’t realised I was holding onto.
One I didn’t entirely hate.