Chapter 14 #2
It’s one of three beds in the house. I assumed that with all the increased security here, and because he let me wander around so much on my own today, that I would get to sleep away from him now as well. Based on how he’s been acting around me, he has to want that, too. Some space away from me.
“Yes,” he replies. “It’s mine.”
“But…” My head tilts in confusion. “I thought-”
“You thought wrong,” he cuts in, “if you thought I was going to drag you all the way across the border just to give you the chance to slip away now.”
Irritation flares, kindling into rage. Maybe it’s some kind of reaction to the hurt I feel. A protection mechanism. Whatever it is, I lean into it.
“Why would you even care if I tried to get away now?” I cry.
“You clearly want nothing to do with me. What is it that bringing me here accomplishes for you?” I’m breathing hard.
Fighting tears. Again. “You’re not handing me over to Elio or anyone else, but you said that someone sent you to New York on the night of my wedding.
Why? What’s the fucking point of all of this? What the hell do you even want?”
By the time I get to that last question, I’m shouting at him. My throat burns with the force of it.
When Curse answers me, his voice is deadly quiet in comparison.
“What the hell do I want?” His lips and fingers twitch in unison. Like he’s barely holding something back. “Don’t ask me that, Aurora. I guarantee that you will not like my fucking answer.”
Those words alone are enough to chill me. The heat of my rage abandons me, leaving me cold all the way down to my core.
“What do you plan to do with me?” I whisper.
“I plan to keep you alive,” he bites out. “So get in my fucking bed. And just let me fucking do it.”
He remains planted there, making it clear that he won’t leave until I do it. All the energy has drained right out of me. There’s nothing left in me to hurl at him. No voice to shout with. Even the tears are gone now.
Unsteadily, I walk to the bed, pull back the grey duvet, and clamber in. Curse doesn’t leave until I lie down and pull the duvet all the way up to my chin.
He turns the light out as he goes.
* * *
“Who’s there?” I mumble in the darkness.
“Go back to sleep.”
That doesn’t actually answer my question, but of course the voice gives it away. And I’m awake enough now that I remember where I am. Who else could it be but Curse?
I’m in his bed, after all.
Something cold encircles my wrist, then tightens with a telltale click.
He’s still using the goddamn handcuffs. Even here. Even now.
I’m too angry at the metal holding me hostage – and the man holding me hostage – to go back to sleep now.
I lie there in stewing silence as Curse gets in beside me.
This bed is so much bigger than the one back at the motel.
But it barely makes a difference now that we are once again basically glued at the hip.
We can’t spread out away from each other unless our arms get stretched out straight. There’s no way I can sleep like that.
So I don’t even try.
It’s pitch black in here with the security blinds closed.
No moon or starlight to cast even the faintest glow over Curse as he settles in beside me.
I catch a strong whiff of the body wash I used in the shower earlier, and wonder if he’s just had a shower.
Probably while I was asleep. There’s another scent, too. Something sharp and smoky.
Alcohol. Whisky would be my guess. Mia always liked whisky.
She got me to drink some of it every now and then.
I always loved the burn of it going down, but hated the slurring haziness it left behind.
Hated feeling like I could fall asleep and then not know what might happen to me.
I never wanted to feel like I wasn’t in complete control of my body.
Curse clearly isn’t worried about that. As far as I can tell, he drops off almost instantly. His breathing is rougher, more uneven than I’m used to. Usually, he’s as still and quiet asleep as he is awake. It’s probably an effect of the drinking.
But I don’t think he’s truly drunk. He strikes me as too cautious for that. And his words came out clear enough when he told me to go back to sleep.
I can’t imagine how much someone as big as him would have to drink to get knocked on their ass.
Whatever. It doesn’t matter. Who cares if he’s actually drunk or not? He’s asleep now, and I should be, too. I scrunch my eyes shut and try to make it happen. I almost succeed. But then Curse moves, startling me into wakefulness once more.
He was on his back before. He’s rolled towards me now, his heavy arm falling over my torso. I still, my heart pounding in my ears and between my legs, when I realize just how far his T-shirt has ridden up on me. The hip his fingertips are grazing now is bare.
So is my pussy below.
Curse makes a harsh sound in his sleep. His grip on my hip tightens.
“Curse?”
I can’t tell if he hears me or not. His hand slides upwards from my hip to my waist. I gasp when he reaches my breast and squeezes. Instantly, my nipple is achingly hard beneath his palm.
“Curse!”
He definitely doesn’t seem to hear me.
In an instant, he shifts position once more, looming over me instead of lying beside me.
His mouth finds my neck, and pure sensation bolts between my legs, making me cry out.
Curse groans against my neck in response, his uncuffed hand diving between my legs and palming me there possessively.
The pressure on my clit is wondrous ecstasy. So good I want to sob.
I’ve never felt like this before. I tried masturbating a few times as a teenager as a way to reassert some control over that part of my body, but all that ever achieved was a sick feeling low in my stomach and a numbness in my clit. I didn’t think I was capable of any kind of physical arousal.
I thought that part of me was dead.
But it’s not. Jesus Christ, it’s really not. I moan low in my throat, spreading my legs and grinding helplessly against the unyielding pressure of Curse’s hand. Something is coiling inside me. Something that I feel like I have to chase, to capture. I think I’ll go crazy if I don’t.
I’ve never had an orgasm. But what else could this be? This desperate undulation working its way through my pussy, bringing me higher and higher. So high that I don’t care if I die when I eventually fall.
Curse is aroused, too. I can feel him through the material of the shorts or boxers he’s got on.
His cock is hot and so fucking hard against me.
He groans again, shifting his hips, thrusting onto me.
Demanding. I don’t feel any disgust at the evidence of his physical need.
I feel only tearful elation. Relief. That at least a part of him wants me.
He could fuck me. Just like this.
It’s a wild thought that makes my pussy clench with need a split second before it throws me into blind panic.
He could fuck me.
And that doesn’t make any sense.
Not even twelve hours ago he told me not to touch him again.
With my free hand, I clutch at his shoulder. Push at his chest.
He doesn’t respond at all.
My God. He’s sound asleep. Completely fucking out of it.
He’s not in control of himself. He doesn’t even know that this is happening.
“Curse, stop!”
I don’t want him to stop. It’s agony for me to say it. I want him to keep touching me.
But I want him to do it willingly. When he’s awake.
I can’t ever participate in something like this. Stealing this sordid sort of pleasure from someone in the dark. Taking it from someone who can’t say no.
Especially him.
“Curse!”
His mouth moves lower, closing over my breast and sucking my nipple to a sensitive point through the shirt. His hand is still pressing hard on my clit.
I think I’m going to come.
I’ll never fucking forgive myself if I do.
“Curse!” I scream his name as hateful pleasure writhes and throbs. “Curse, stop!”
I’m terrified. I don’t know what to do. I get my hand against his face and shove as hard as I can. My palm connects with his nose. “Stop!”
Curse rears back.
My palm is slick and wet. Light from the bedside lamp floods the room. Blood pours from Curse’s nose. It’s all over my hand.
“I’m so sorry,” I choke out. “I didn’t know how to…How to stop…”
Didn’t know how to stop him.
Didn’t know how to stop myself.
Curse doesn’t bother doing anything to staunch the crimson flowing from his nose. He prods mercilessly at the bridge of it, sending more blood gushing out.
“It’s not broken,” he says flatly, dropping his hand. “You don’t need to cry about it.”
I hadn’t even realized I’d started crying. But now that I’m aware of it, I can’t stop it. Instead of silent tears slipping down my cheeks, I’m suddenly weeping so hard that I can barely breathe.
“Jesus, Aurora,” he hisses. “Fuck.”
“I’m fine. Sorry,” I gasp between sobs. I want to tell him that he doesn’t have to touch me if he doesn’t want to. But all I manage to force out is a raggedly screeched, “Don’t touch me!”
He takes it to heart. Not only does he not touch me, he doesn’t even stay beside me. He unlocks the handcuffs and storms from the room.
I don’t think he’s coming back.
But less than a minute later, he does.
“What are you doing?” I cry.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” he asks, swiping savagely at his face with a white hand towel. Well, it used to be white. Now it’s stained bright red. “I’m cleaning myself up so I don’t get my fucking blood all over you.”
It’s a little late for that. I look at my own bloodied palm and sob even harder.
“I can’t…Can’t stop!”
Can’t stop. Can’t breathe.
With dawning terror, I think that I might go on crying forever. I hear the sounds I’m making as if I am outside myself. The wretched, rapid screams.
Curse says something to me, but I don’t hear it. He says it louder, then must give up on talking to me. Because I’m suddenly lifted into the air.
No. I’m lifted into his arms.
I have no sense of what he’s doing or where we’re going until the frigid water hits me. The shock of it stalls my stuttering brain. It gives me just enough time to suck in a lungful of air and get my bearings.
Curse is standing in his shirt and boxers beneath the showerhead as it rains freezing water down upon us both. He’s cradling me against his chest, his gaze furious as he stares at the wall ahead.
I want to touch his cheek. To bring his gaze back down to me.
But I don’t dare to do it.
“I’m sorry,” I say again. My crying jag seems to be over as quickly as it started. The cold water has shocked me out of it somehow.
“Don’t say it,” Curse says. “Don’t tell me you’re fucking sorry. I should be the one saying that.”
I hold my breath. He finally looks at me.
“But here’s the fucking thing about me, Aurora. If I were to apologize to you now, it would be a lie. I’m not capable of guilt. I don’t ever feel remorse.”
“You don’t even need to apologize,” I stammer. “You didn’t do anything! You were asleep-”
“I was touching you,” he practically spits. “And I know you don’t like men touching you.”
“But you’re not a man,” I argue weakly. “You’re a monster.”
He smirks, but there’s no real humour in the expression.
“Maybe now you’re finally starting to get it,” he says. “I can’t be kind. I can’t take care of you. I don’t know how.”
His words feel cruel. But I don’t think they’re meant to be. He’s just making a simple statement of fact.
Just like he did twelve years ago. I can’t be what you need, Aurora.
“When I see you crying, I’m not going to do what a normal, caring person would do,” he goes on. “I’m not going to pat your back and say, ‘there, there.’ I’m going to dump you into a freezing fucking shower.”
But he didn’t dump me into a freezing fucking shower. He carried me in, cradled against his chest like I am something precious. He could have put me on the floor and left me in a sobbing heap before stepping out and turning on the tap.
“But you could have just left me crying alone in the bed,” I say. “You’re taking care of me right fucking now!”
“Oh yeah?” He sneers. “Well, how’s this for caring? How’s this for kindness?” He sets me down on my feet. We face each other in the freezing water. “They’ve found Marco’s body. And they know that your papà’s business shit didn’t transfer to him. It all transferred to you.”
“Wh-What?!”
“It will all go to your husband – any husband, not specifically Marco. But only after one month of marriage to you.”
I’m so suddenly, terribly cold that I can’t feel the water anymore.
“That’s why you were in New York,” I say through numb lips. “That’s why you killed Marco. That’s why you took me.”
Of course. It all makes sense now. Elio is the one who sent him. But Elio already has a wife, so he can’t be the one to marry me and get all of papà’s money and businesses.
Curse isn’t married. And above all, he’s loyal to his older brother. He’d transfer papà’s assets over to Elio without hesitation once they were legally in his name.
That’s why he was already outside the house when I called him. That’s why he told me that Marco was meant to die that night from the very beginning, whether I’d pushed him or not.
That’s why he wants to keep me alive despite not seeming to give a single real fuck about me. That’s why he’s so unwilling to let me out of his sight.
He needs me alive to marry me. And then he needs me alive for at least a month after that.
It was never about me as a person at all. It was never about helping me. Protecting me.
None of it.
“So you’re planning to use me, then,” I say, my voice surprisingly steady. “To get your hands on Papà’s assets. So you can hand them all over to Elio.”
He doesn’t confirm my statement. He doesn’t have to. I know in the deepest parts of myself that it’s true.
I didn’t think I had enough pieces of my heart left to break. I didn’t know that I could still hurt like this. But for the second time tonight, Curse Titone proves me wrong about what I’m capable of feeling. The pain steals my breath. Cracks me open and hollows me out.
This moment feels like the final nail in Accursio Giordano’s coffin.
The boy I loved is well and truly dead to me now.
I have to say goodbye to him while simultaneously learning to reckon with the beautiful monster who’s taken his place.
Because the Curse who stands before me now is not a person I know.
Is not a person I could have ever loved.
Is not a person at all.