21. TWENTY ONE
TWENTY ONE
SNOWMAN
I had to drag myself the rest of the way down the stairs and when I did, the thick smell of blood hit me before I was even on the ground. It hung in the air there, pungent and sickening, twisting my stomach. All I wanted was to collapse beside her, draw her into my arms, and squeeze her tightly. She'd been through so much, more than anyone ever should have to face. Her body was fragile, trembling whenever it was against mine.
I knew I couldn't fix her. That thought alone broke me to pieces. But damned if I wasn't going to try. No matter what it took. Even as my own mind seemed to be splitting under the strain of it all, she was the one thing that kept me grounded. I somehow knew, if I made it out of this alive, it would be for her.
The floor below was eerily quiet, each creak of the floorboards echoing as I looked around. Panic began to claw at me when I noticed that she was no longer there. My heart raced faster, my breaths coming out as short gasps as I scanned the empty room around. Then I saw it, out of the corner of my eye, lying on the floor of the room, where the door was ajar.
I ran to her, adrenaline was pumping me up. When I saw her, I felt relief, but it was short-lived, fleeting. She sat with her body slumped slightly forward, her arm over her knee. From a distance, it appeared she had perhaps been sleeping. But as I got closer, I noticed it.
The little red line streaking her arm, drops of blood, dripping slowly down. On the other hand, she held a jagged piece of broken glass, an edge sharp enough to reflect light. My stomach twisted at the thought.
She can't be.
"Fuck, Bree," I grumbled under my breath, dropping to my knees next to her. In a daze, I ripped a strip from my shirt and pressed it against her arm, attempting to stop the bleeding. She felt cold—too cold. Her pale face lay slack, and her breaths were faint.
"Bree," I whispered, stroking her hair back from her face.
I smacked her cheek lightly, having to wake her. "Come on, Bree. Wake up."
Her lids flickered, and for a split second, I saw her eyes. A knot in my chest loosened with relief. Without thinking, I picked her up, cradled her in my arms, and carried her upstairs, my heart thrumming against her cold body.
The cabin was quiet, and the air charged. I shut the door behind us, so no one would be able to come in. I placed her on the old, brown couch and raced back to the kitchen. My hands clumsily drenched the rest of my shirt in cold water, but I didn't let myself pause.
When I returned, I knelt next to her, dabbing her hands and face with the wet fabric. The cold seemed to work, her breathing grew somewhat deeper, and her eyes half-opened.
But seeing her, so fragile and pale, tightened my chest. I couldn't understand why she'd done that, why she'd hurt herself. Mel was safe now. Joe and Laura were gone. We were meant to be beyond this.
But then, deep down, I knew. I'd seen it before. People who had suffered so much pain for so long began to long for it. They thought it was all they had coming. Bree wasn't any different. She had gone through hell, and she had begun to think that was where she belonged.
My throat constricted as I washed the clotted blood from her hands. "You don't deserve this," I said, more to myself than to her. "Not this. Not any of it."
I stared at her, her face still pale, her lips slightly shaking. If pain was all she was worthy of, then I'd rather be the one to carry the burden. I'd rather be the reason she's hurting than allow her to do this to herself again. Because I couldn't take it if she hurt herself. Not again.
I leaned in, resting my forehead against hers. "Why, Bree?" I whispered the words, my voice cracking. "Why are you doing this?" Warm against my hands, her blood soaked through the bandage. "Please… tell me."
Her lips parted, her voice thin, I barely heard it. "I don't know," she whispered. "Just let me go. Please… just let me go."
Her words were like a punch and left me breathless. I swallowed and blinked away tears I did not want to fall. I couldn't let her go. I wouldn't. But I didn't know how to call her back, either.
All I could do was hold her and pray it was enough.
She turned away her back to the couch, shoulders slumped. Her hands hugged the cushions, and she wouldn't meet my eyes. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely there, just a whisper floating in the still air.
"I fell asleep," she said. "And when I closed my eyes, I saw Joe and the others. They were wearing masks… wolves, bears, wild animals. They scared me. I ran, but no matter where I hid, they found me."
"They won't find you again, Bree," I said softly. I took her hand, brushing my lips against it. "Never again."
Her breath hitched, and then the words came tumbling out. "When I was younger, Mel and I… we used to cut ourselves. We liked the feeling. I thought—" her voice broke, a sob hitching in her throat, "I thought if I did it, it'd bring us closer."
I stayed quiet, letting her get it all out.
"Now, sometimes I do it because… I'm punishing myself. For not running away sooner. For not being braver. And this habit…" She shook her head, tears spilling freely. "I'm so fucked up. Aren't I?"
I moved closer, my hand cupping hers. "We both are," I said. "But I don't want you to hurt yourself again, Bree. Promise me."
She curled into herself, knees pulled up to her chest, her voice muffled. "I don't know if I can," she whispered. "It's hard. I'm… it's hard."
"There's a way," I said, my voice low, steady. "But you have to trust me."
She finally looked at me, her eyes red, her lips shaking. "What if I can't forgive myself? What if I see you in that same light, Thor?"
"What if I told you I have needs, too?" I said, my tone barely above hers. I slid my arms around her, lifting her gently up in my hands. "Let me help you."
She didn't resist, her weight light in my arms. We stood there, holding onto each other as if we were the only things standing our ground in a world slowly breaking down. Her eyes searched mine, and I felt her shaking—felt the fear.
"I trust you," she stopped. "I know I shouldn't, but… I do."
"It's fatal attraction," I joked, the corners of my mouth twitching upward.
"It's madness," she whispered, leaning her head against my chest, her voice softening. "Maybe I'm crazy. Or maybe I'm just crazy about you."
"Maybe." I let out a low laugh. "Or maybe you're just a scared little girl."
She pulled back slightly, raising an eyebrow. "Thank God for your personalities," she said with a wry smile, mocking me in a sarcastic tone.
I chuckled, shaking my head. "You've got a way with words, Bree. You really do."
She didn't reply, just rested her head against me again as I carried her downstairs. This time, I didn't take her to the bedroom. I pushed open the door to a dark room, the hinges groaning. The scent of wood and metal felt faint in the air, and cold nubbed my skin. Chains hung from the walls, around the light of candles catching in the cold iron, and in the center stood a heavy oak table.
I set her down gently, her bare feet brushing the cold wood below. She looked around, her brows knitting together.
"Are you going to kill me now?"
"No," I said, lighting the last candle. "I'm going to show you something."
The tools on the walls gleamed in the low light; blades, hammers, hooks, not a romantic setting, but it wasn't supposed to be.
She stayed silent, her eyes darting from me to the room and back again.
"Get undressed."
"Excuse me?" she said, a nervous laugh escaping her lips.
"You heard me. Come on." I raised an eyebrow, holding her gaze. "You said you trust me, didn't you?"
"Yes, but…" She hesitated.
"I don't like waiting," I said evenly, letting my stare rest on her.
Her breath hitched, but she complied. Slowly, almost hesitantly, she lifted her arms and tugged at the top of her shirt. She wasn't sure, but there was a quiet determination in the way she pulled the fabric off her body. Her blonde curls spilled forward as her shirt slipped past her head and fluttered to the floor, leaving her in just her bra. Her pale skin bore nothing but goosebumps.
She looked at me, took a shaky breath, then stepped up to the table. Her fingers fumbled with the button of her jeans—one leg, then the other—and the pants slid down her hips, past her knees, before falling to the floor in a messy pile.
I stood with my arms crossed, watching her in silence, lit candle still in my hand. My eyes roamed, drinking in every curve, every detail. She moved beneath my stare but did not back away.
"Do you know how beautiful you are?"
Her lips smiled, and her body lowered into a squat.
"Lie down!"
She obeyed, stretching out along the cool wood of the table. Her hair fanned around her head, and her breathing steadied.
"Close your eyes."
I moved around her, circling the table slowly, like a predator, my eyes searching for the perfect spot. When I found it, I paused, letting one drop of wax land on her skin. She flinched, a sharp gasp escaping her mouth, but her eyes remained closed. The tension in her muscles eased as quickly as it had built, her lips pressed together between her teeth.
She wanted more.
I continued, one drop at a time, the wax tracing a path from the curve of her neck down to her stomach. Her skin flushed where the heat kissed it, the faintest sheen of sweat catching the light. Each drop seemed to pull her deeper into addiction, and I was here for all of it.
"Do you trust me now?" I raised my brow.
She bit her lip again, her head nodding slightly.
I slid my hand to the edge of her hips, fingers brushing under the fabric of her thong. I pulled at the fabric, sliding it down her legs, past her ankles, until I had them completely off her. The room was still, except for the soft sound of her breathing. Her chest rose and fell in rhythm with her racing heart.
"Spread your legs, Bree," I said, and she hesitated a little, but after a few seconds, she moved her legs from edge to edge of the table.
I moved my hand to her ankle, and my fingers slid gently from her foot to her inner thighs, until I was so close that my hand hovered above her. I spread her lower lips, pulled them gently upwards, and dripped the wax gently on top. She moaned softly, her hands gripped the edges of the table, holding on tightly from one side to the other.
"Do you want me to continue?"
She opened her eyes, locking onto mine.
"Not sure," she said softly, biting her lips.
The answer had already been decided, I asked just to prepare her what was coming next.
I let another drop fall, this time dangerously close to her clit. The wax landed with a soft hiss, the burn sending shivers down her skin.
"Maybe," she chuckled, her eyes closing again, surrendering once more.
I blew out the candle, wax still held its warmth. Slowly, I lowered it down, holding it upright as I positioned it near her clit again. I moved the candle side to side, the gentle pressure making her moan. Her nails scraped against the wood, leaving faint crescents on the wooden edge.
After a moment, I moved the candle and set it at the edge of the table. As the candle dropped, I grasped her legs, pulling her down to me until her hips met mine.
She spread her leg, her hands holding onto the edges of the table, trying to ground herself. She was insatiable, and her eyes consumed me, mirroring my hunger for every part of her.
I pushed her back from the edge, far enough but close enough. I walked slowly to the wall where a smaller axe with a painted edge hung. Taking it in my hands, my fingers traced the edge—dull in some places, but sharp enough. Moving to the middle of the left side of the table, I leaned over her, pressed a kiss to the curve of her stomach, and drove the axe into the edge of the table, right between her legs. She screamed so loudly in panic as the point of the axe board barely lightly brushed the tip of her clitoris.
"You're crazy!"
I moved closer to her, kissing her neck, "Crazy about you, Bree." My lips gently traced the path to her ear, whispering in a soft hum, "Ride that axe like you would ride me."
With a flick of her tongue, she wetted her lips, her eyes fixed on mine. She then retreated to the bottom of the table where the axe was. As she lifted her hips, I moved towards her, and by the time I reached her, she was thrusting the wooden handle inside her. A soft moan escaped from her lips as she adjusted herself around it. When she had taken about half of it in, I gently placed my thumb on her clitoris letting her sway and twirl around the wooden piece. Her weak legs trembled, yet she continued to move against the wood as if it were a dance that would never come again, biting down on her lip, eyes rolling back in pleasure.
As the trembling in her thighs intensified, I moved onto the table straddling over her body. My hands held onto her hips as I joined in this dance of twisted need for more, pushing her faster at times, then slower, and finally more forceful onto the edge of the axe.
I extended a hand to her, pulling her up and into my arms, her frail body collapsing against me. Her strength was spent, but the ghost of a smile graced her lips.
"Did that feel good?" I queried, "Do you want more?"
She responded with a simple nod and a coy bite of her lip. My need for her was growing bigger now. I wanted to claim every inch of her as mine. Only mine.
Unfastening my trousers, I shed them until I stood bare in front of her. I spun her around, her back brushing against my chest. Lifting one leg gently, I parted her ass cheeks, pulling her towards me with a dominant tug.
I am well aware of how big my cock is, I did not doubt that she couldn't take every inch of it. Reaching up, I unhooked a chain hanging overhead and presented it to her.
"Hold on tight," I chuckled lightly as she clung onto it tightly when I guided myself closer and plunged into the depths of her inside flesh.
"Fuck," she gasped out as she held onto the chain with all the strength she had in her.
Ignoring her gasps, my head tilted back in pleasure while my hands secured themselves on each side of her hips; pushing myself deeper and deeper inside her. Each powerful thrust was matched by an equally forceful jerk from both our bodies; our moans mingling in perfect synchrony as she took every inch of me, like the good girl she was.
The chain jangled against her breasts as I continued to thrust further into her. The feeling of her tightening around me was an indication that any moment now would have been filled with cries bearing my name. But before that could happen, my palm silenced her as I continued to thrust deeper into her. Lowering her leg, I leaned forward, straightening my back against hers while spreading her legs further apart.
Her tremors were a clear sign that she had reached her limit and it wouldn't be long before I followed suit. Removing my hand from her mouth, I allowed her screams to fill the room just as a final thrust brought me over the edge and I groaned with her.
Pulling away from her, I turned her around to face me again. Our lips met in a kiss, my tongue exploring every crevice of her mouth; searching for traces of myself.
She took my body, melted my heart, and became mine. And I vowed that she would remain so until forever. There was no one before her, there will be no one after; she is now and forever will be the only one for me.