CHAPTER FORTY-SIX #3
“Please listen to me. I don’t want to go back. I left because I planned never to go back.”
He looked away.
“I don’t want to be him,” he said. “I don’t want to wake up and find you gone and turn into a man who hunts you down.”
“You won’t. You stopped the second I went still.”
His eyes returned to mine.
“You asked me what I wanted,” I whispered. “Ask me now.”
His jaw tightened. “Do you want me?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
I pulled my dress over my head and reached for him. “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.”
The anger did not disappear, but it stopped being something happening around me. It became heat between us, chosen by both of us. Tristan reached for a condom with shaking hands, and I helped him tear it open because neither of us had the patience for grace.
When he entered me, I was still crying. He stopped with his forehead against mine.
“Still sure?”
“Yes. Move. Take me, Tristan.”
He did.
It was fast and needy at first, both of us clinging harder than we meant to. Then he slowed, watching my face, letting me pull him closer whenever I wanted more.
“I’m not letting you disappear,” he said.
“You don’t hate me?” I asked.
He went still. “I’m hurt. I’m angry. But I could never fucking hate you.”
His hand cradled my face. He kissed me again, long and heated, and the anger gradually gave way to the fear beneath it. He said my name against my mouth. I held him there and let him feel that I was not leaving.
We came together, messy and exhausted, neither of us pretending the hurt had vanished.
He gathered me into his arms quickly and tucked me into his side.
His arm was wrapped tightly around me. He kept kissing me.
My shoulder and neck, his hand cupped tightly around one breast. For some time, there was only heavy breathing.
“I didn’t run, Tristan,” I finally whispered. “I escaped from him.”
His breathing slowed as he listened. I turned my head to look at him. His eyes met mine, full of questions. I brushed my fingers along his face, and he lightly kissed them.
“He is a very bad man,” I explained. “He will find us if we stay here.”
Tristan frowned. “Let him. I’ll take care of him for you.”
My lips spread into a sad smile. “Tristan, roughening him up won’t stop him. When I say he is dangerous, I mean he will kill you.”
Tristan’s stare darkened. He didn’t speak for some time, and then he whispered, “Daze, you’ve seen the bush here. It would be so easy to bury him where no one would ever find him.”
Oliver being dead was a nice thought, but I couldn’t actually do it.
I’d been tormented all these weeks thinking I had.
I wasn’t a murderer, though sometimes I wondered how far I’d need to be pushed to become one.
I sighed and shut my eyes. “We need to go. We’ve been spotted, and I know him. He’ll be coming here.”
That was assuming he wasn’t here already. My eyes shot open and panic set in. It would be so easy to find us in these rural towns. The blue camper wasn’t exactly inconspicuous. I quickly sat up. “Tristan, please. We have to go.”
“Running isn’t the answer,” he said, sitting up now too. “Daze, you gotta fight back.”
I gave him an incredulous look. “This isn’t a storybook, Tristan. Fighting back just gets you killed and me locked back in his fucking room of horrors.”
His stare chilled me now. “What did he do to you?”
I scrambled out of bed and threw my clothes back on. “You don’t want to know.”
“Daze.”
I looked over at him, my face tight. “He broke me, Tristan, over and over again. He did it to watch what I would do. He liked to put me back together only to smash me wide open all over again.”
“What does that mean?”
“He hurt me.”
“Physically?”
I didn’t answer. Tristan’s hand wrapped around mine. He tugged me back to the bed. I fell into his lap and buried my face in his chest to hide from his stare. I was panting, my fear and pain impossible to bury.
“What did he do, Daze?” Tristan asked again, attempting to be gentle, but I heard the tremor of rage in there. “Tell me.”
Where would I even start? There was over a decade of deceit, turmoil and violence. Oliver had flayed me to the bone, and all the while under the guise of a knight in shining armor.
“Daisy,” Tristan prodded. “I need to know.”
I caught my breath, and squeezed my eyes shut. Licking my lips, I asked, “If I tell you everything, do you promise we get to leave?”
“We’ll leave regardless,” he assured me. “I just need to know. I need to understand so I can help you.”
I pulled away to look at him. Defeated, I pressed a soft kiss to his mouth that he deepened immediately.
When we finally pulled back, I nodded once at him.
I couldn’t look at him. The words caught in my throat, but I swallowed down the lump and breathed.
He needed to understand; I needed this burden off me.
I needed to reclaim my voice—the one that Oliver stole.
Terrified, I grabbed for Tristan. Dug my nails into his chest, trying to use him as an anchor as I whispered, “Okay. Okay. I’ll tell you everything.”
And, letting out a shaky exhale, I finally did.