Chapter 23 - Nancy
TWENTY-THREE
NANCY
Isettled Ginny back into her bed and smoothed the scratchy blanket over her trembling frame.
She’d barely made it through being washed down and patched back up, the cuts and grazes she sustained having marked her lovely skin.
She twitched and murmured about the Echo Chamber, broken whimpers on her lips.
Her tufted hair lay lank against her temples.
It was the colour of wet straw with sweat.
She needed a bath, but a brief scrub down had to suffice.
Her eyes darted behind me, hunting the shadows for people who weren’t there.
‘Elijah,’ she whispered under her breath.
I brushed her hair back, gently tucking it as best I could behind her ear. ‘Shh, love. You’re safe now.’
The door creaked open behind us.
Robert leaned in the doorway with his arms folded, his mouth a picture of contempt. The way he looked over Ginny was full of distaste, as if she were a pile of rotting food rather than a hurt patient.
‘He’s here,’ Ginny said while trying to raise her very pregnant self to sit. Her eyes snagged on the corner of the room. The empty corner.
My heart jumped. ‘Who, Ginny?’
‘Elijah. He’s here.’
Robert snorted. ‘Christ. She’s gone, Nancy. You’re wasting your time.’
He shook his head at the two of us before backing out of the room, his boots echoing as he left us there.
I stayed.
I leaned closer, trying to keep my voice low and reassuring. ‘Ginny…you mean the boy you told me about before? From when you were younger?’
Her eyes met mine, shining with near tears. ‘No. He comes here, too.’
‘Out in the woods?’ I asked.
Her breath quickened. ‘He comes here, too. Inside my room.’
A shiver snaked through me.
‘He’s here now?’
She nodded with frantic jerks, tears brimming along her waterline.
The room was empty but for Ginny and me.
‘How long have you known Elijah?’ It was becoming clear that Ginny was more messed up than I’d realised.
‘Since I was thirteen. Mama says he’s known me longer, but I didn’t meet him until then. Not that I remember.’ She shivered under the blanket.
The realisation of what that meant hit me like leaden weights. Either she’d been hallucinating for years, or had been abused during them. And with her swollen belly, there had definitely been a man involved.
Elijah wasn’t real.
He couldn’t be.
He was just a story she told herself to survive. A boy invented in the dark corners of her mind to cover a worse tale. A fictional lover couldn’t make her bleed, couldn’t cut her hair, couldn’t catch a baby on her.
But Ginny’s tears glistened, her face filled with sincerity. She believed Elijah was here.
‘Make it stop,’ she whispered while grabbing my sleeve. ‘Please. I need you to make me better.’
She forced my hand beneath her blanket with a surprisingly strong grip. Right under her nightdress and against her heat.
‘Make it feel better,’ she begged when I tried to pull away. ‘Please. Don’t leave me like this. Don’t let him leave me like this.’
My pulse quickened, my hand sandwiched between the softness of her thighs and the wet warmth between them. It was against every fiber of my being. Continuing would make me no better than Marney and the others.
‘I can’t,’ I whispered. But I wanted to.
‘Please.’ The word tumbled from her lips in a needy whine.
God, I knew I shouldn’t have. But my hand remained trembling against her bare skin.
Ginny shifted her thighs, opening them in a silent plea. My fingers slid lower.
Her breath caught, and the sound ruined me. I adored hearing such a sweet sound tumble from my sad girl. She turned her face toward me with lust-hazed eyes and lips parted.
I couldn’t look away.
Her gaze begged for something to make her forget. A kindness among all the hurt. As though my touch could tether her back to herself. My touch had never mattered to anyone before. With men I was merely a doll to me fucked. Whether my mouth or my pussy, they took what they wanted.
Like they had with Ginny.
I could be her solace.
Her hips lifted against my hand, demanding I move. The moan she gave made me squirm. I pressed a fingertip into her, delighting in the way it made her whimper. A rippling movement shifted against my arm, tightening as though the child within stirred at her pleasure.
‘See?’ Ginny whispered, clutching at my arm. ‘He’s here. He’s inside me. He won’t ever leave me.’
Her words brought a lump to my throat. Every ounce of reason in my head screamed at me to stop. Instead, I pushed deeper, marvelling at the tender, ridged feel of her.
Her moan morphed into a sob, her chest rising in sharp bursts. A wild need filled her eyes as she dug her nails into my skin, forcing me deeper still.
‘Elijah,’ she gasped. ‘Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.’
A spike of jealousy hit me at his name in her mouth while it was my fingers coated with her slickness.
Dark circles appeared once more, and the urge to see her overwhelmed me. I tugged her nightdress high to expose her nakedness beneath. The more pent up she became at the insistence of my fingers, the more the yellow liquid beaded from a dozen tiny points on her hard nipples. It mesmerised me.
When her thighs tightened around my hand, I lost the battle to stay away, leaning forward and pressing my tongue against the milky flesh.
She tasted like condensed milk, and a tear escaped as longing welled up in me.
Why couldn’t I do what she did? Why did my body reject my babies while she flourished with hers?
Jealousy nipped at me, and in turn, I sank my teeth into a pink nipple. A gush of sweetness filled my mouth while Ginny gave a sordid gasp.
Shame hit me and I dragged myself upright, wiping my mouth on the back of my arm. Ginny’s cunt fluttered against my buried fingers, all heat and need.
I couldn’t drag my eyes from her face. A paradigm of innocence and ruin colliding in the twitch of her lips. The spot between my legs grew nearly as wet as hers as I watched her body respond. Watched her writhe under my hand. Watched the taut swell of her belly wriggle with life.
It could be mine.
For a moment, I believed it.
I could claim her baby. Claim Ginny.
Take them both home with me.
Her thighs quaked, warm wetness dripping between my fingers. Her moans rose before breaking into sobs. Her nails marked my arms as I whimpered in pain.
The sound of her crying cut through me. Ginny’s face crumpled as tears streaked down her cheeks, even as her body thrummed under my touch.
‘Elijah,’ she whimpered. ‘Don’t leave me again. Don’t leave me.’
Something inside me snapped.
Horror surged.
I ripped my hand away as if scalded. Much to her dismay. Before she could complain, I pulled her into my arms and crushed her to my chest.
‘I’m not Elijah,’ I said fiercely as shame wrapped around me. ‘He’s not here. You’re safe. Safe with me.’
She collapsed against me, a pile of sobbing, stuttering breath.
I held her tighter as I fought the waves of shame and longing that washed over me.
Because I had touched her. Wanted her.
Wanted to steal the life she carried.
And I didn’t know if I could stop.