Chapter 5
?
I may gain fifty pounds, but that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.
Lukas
Marching into Viktor’s room without knocking, I throw my workout towel on the floor before I toss myself onto his bed.
From his desk, where he appears to be writing, he turns and raises a heavy brow. “Hi…?”
“Do you have any psychology books in your library? I haven’t been in there in a while.”
“Why do you need psychology books?”
“Clara’s a mess.” I plunge my fingers into my hair, close my eyes, and picture the terror and confusion rioting on her face.
She’s never been kissed before, yet she would have let me do anything I asked.
Just because I’d asked. Her sense of obligation and this horrific role of submission she’s been subjected to leave her as a husk of a person—afraid, cautious, obedient. To any end. To every fault.
I am horrified for her.
Fighting the nausea swirling in my stomach, I mutter, “How do I foster self-esteem in a woman who neither has nor appears capable of wanting any?”
“What are you going on about?” Viktor asks.
“Clara!” I sit up on my elbows. “It’s like she was living in a cult, Viktor. She doesn’t seem able to think for herself. She’s just waiting for people to tell her what to do, and I don’t know how to fix it.”
Dryly, he stares. “I thought obedience was a favorite trait of yours.”
My fists clench. “Not like this. Obedience means nothing if she can’t choose it.” It all means nothing if she can’t choose me.
Viktor turns back to his computer, types a few more lines into the document open on it. “You’re twisted, Lukas.”
Spoken like an idiot who thinks I don’t know that. Why does he think I’ve come to him for help? I’m more than aware that I’m not capable of doing anything good on my own.
Maybe I’ve come to the wrong brother and should be asking Kaleb for advice instead. He has more experience with women than Viktor. Maybe he’s even dealt with Claras before.
On the other side of the room at a different desk, Crisis cusses, and I startle, because I didn’t realize Viktor’s fiancée was still here.
It’s late.
Just how workaholic are these two?
Swinging her chair around, Crisis faces me. “Just befriend the girl. You can’t force someone to respect themselves, but you can show them what it looks like to be treated well. If you treat her well, she’ll come to some very important conclusions all by herself, in time.”
I twitch. “Crisis, I appreciate the faith in me, but I’m not sure I know how to treat people well?”
Her arms cross. “Treat them how you want to be treated.”
I’m positive that would scare the living daylights out of most normal human beings. I crave adoration on scales that are not mentally well. Treating Clara how I want to be treated would mean supplication.
Kneeling for her, bowing to her, kissing the ground by her feet because I’m not worthy to touch my lips to her skin but I need to touch my lips to something her skin has touched.
The way I want to be treated is obsessive, all-consuming, and mentally…twisted.
It’d scare her even more.
Viktor snorts.
I mutter, “Shut up.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“I felt you thinking what I’m thinking, but ruder.”
“Boys,” Crisis interjects, “knock it off.” Her legs cross.
“If Clara’s dealing with a self-esteem issue, you focus on complimenting her and highlighting her strengths.
Nurture her confidence both in what she is capable of and in her innate worth.
If she’s been taught lies, gently identify them.
Pose questions and introduce doubts that she can mull over.
Encourage her to reassess what she thinks about her place in this world more critically.
Guide her away from negative self-narratives.
Above all else, become a safe place for her.
Seek opportunities to show her that you’re not going to hurt her physically or emotionally no matter what she does.
Become the stark opposite of what she’s used to. ”
I feel like I should be writing this down.
Crisis continues, “Most importantly, be patient with her. It takes time to change a person’s mind, and—in the end…” Her gaze trails toward my brother. “…they have to change it themselves. It’s easier with support, but you can’t make it happen.”
Falling back into Viktor’s bed, I free a tight breath. “I’m bad with patience. I yearn for constant and immediate gratification.” I am, also, bad at not making what I want happen. It’s in the control issues. Which I have. Abundantly.
“Sucks to suck.” Crisis turns back toward her computer.
“Healing from unseen wounds takes an entire lifetime, and it’s going to be frustrating to watch all the ups and downs of how that healing happens.
If you can’t handle it, send the poor girl back home.
Because even if her home was abusive…at least she was familiar with it.
A familiar horrible will always be easier on the system than inconsistency in something new. ”
The idea of sending Clara back to wherever she learned how to be a spectre in her own life causes all my muscles to tense.
I know Crisis isn’t wrong. I know, because I’ve lived it.
The shock of losing my parents—my abusers—hit hard.
If Viktor hadn’t been there pulling our family together, I don’t know how we would have managed to navigate a world without the pressure our abusers imposed on us.
For a solid year, Kyran went on hiatus. He didn’t know why he had to keep being in the public eye online if no one was making him do it.
So, he rotted. For a year. Then, as far as I know, he just picked himself back up, made a video, and renewed his love for creating without the stress of being forced to.
Even though our lives were so much better with our parents dead, it still took him an entire year to handle the new. And he’s never had to face anything alone.
I don’t know if Clara’s had anyone. Ever.
I can’t allow the monster in me to stunt her healing journey. I can’t let myself think of a world where she comes out of the abuse she’s known and chooses to devote herself to me. She needs to be stable on her own feet without looking for approval or validation from anyone.
She needs to become independent.
And I need to become better. For her.
?
I can’t do it. I hate myself and everything I am, but I can’t do it.
I don’t want her to become independent. I want her to be mine.
Forever. Starting now, I want her to depend on me completely and think of me constantly.
I’ll take perfect care of her, nurture her self-esteem, protect her, everything.
I will make her the happiest woman in the world. I will become anything she wishes.
So long as she looks at me like this every day.
I need her to, lest I wither away into nothingness.
Eyes big and blue and shining as though she’s never been hurt, Clara says, “You like it?”
Hope saturates the words while she sits beside me, fidgeting and desperate for me to tell her yes, I like it, I love it, marry me.
A grateful sound pulls from my chest as I indulge in another bite of glorious chocolate chip muffin.
It is warm, soft, and large. “You’re amazing.
Amazing, Clara.” Compliments, right? Emphasizing strengths?
This, right here, is a strength. “You’re a savant.
I’ve never tasted anything this good before in my life.
Where did you learn to make magic like this? ”
She smiles.
My heart skips a pace at the sight, and I die. Right here, at the breakfast table, with only Crisis, Kaleb, and Viktor present, because the rest of my family chose to sleep in over this.
Glowing, the mystical baking fairy says, “You really like it? I taught myself to bake, for the most part. Sometimes, I’d go in early to the bakery where I worked, and they’d let me help out with the morning prep in the back.
I started as a cashier, but when I was in early one day, my boss taught me decorating because our artisan quit on short notice.
” The light in her eyes dwindles, and my stomach twists, grappling in desperation to get it back.
Softly, she says, “I’m sorry. I’m rambling. ”
“No, please,” I beg, more desperate than I think I’ve ever been, “keep talking. Your voice is remarkably beautiful.” It’s light, airy, clear, practically magic. “Do you sing at all?”
She tenses, looking down. “N-no, I…” Her lashes lower. “I used to. A little bit. But my brother said it was annoying…so I stopped.”
I would like to murder her brother. “I’d kill—” Your brother. “—to have you in a studio with me. Maybe I’ll write us a two-part harmony someday.”
Terribly lovely, she returns her baffled gaze to my face, then I watch as doubts creep into eyes. Guarded, she fiddles with her fingers and submits herself to me. “I probably can’t keep key. But if you want me to try, I’ll do my best for you.”
My heart aches as she loses her smile and her light, but I have no idea what I can do to bring either back. I feel so…helpless. So completely and utterly helpless where it concerns this woman.
Into the silence, Crisis declares, “I’m selling my firstborn human child to these muffins.” She reaches for her second serving. “Tell me, Clara, how’d you keep them from catching on fire?”
Eyes widening, Clara drags her attention off me and fixes it on the menace who will become my future sister. Adequately worried, Clara asks, “Is…that an issue for you?”
“Constantly. I tried baking once. My insurance didn’t cover it.”
As politely as possible, Clara tiptoes around her response. “I’m not sure how to keep the things I bake from catching on fire…? They just seem to…not do that?”
“Crisis has a unique disposition,” Viktor explains, mumbling into his second muffin.
I take offense, because I am still busy savoring my first, and by the time I’m ready to savor a second, the hogs I live with will have decimated them all.
“A unique disposition?” Clara inquires.
Crisis sighs, heftily. “I’m a hazard. Stuff happens around me. You’ll get used to it. Eventually.” She reaches for a third muffin—the animal—and shrugs. “I have.”
Seeking reassurance, Clara glances at me, and a prickle of gratification sneaks into my chest.
I smile to calm her, then revel in the blush it causes as her gaze darts back away.
Right then and there, I decide that I want to be the safest person she has ever met. Because I need her to be mine. But she is too precious to own…so I might as well consider what it might be like to be owned by her instead.
Amid my terrible thoughts, a timer goes off in the kitchen, and Clara jolts to her feet. “Sorry. That’s the second batch. I wasn’t sure how many we’d need, so I planned for ten people.”
I watch her trot to the oven, pull on a pair of mitts, and bend to get two more fresh trays of giant muffins out. The way her hair falls against her cheek when she sets them on the stovetop has me hypnotized. And I must be staring a little too hard, because Viktor jams his elbow into my ribs.
Trance broken, I glare at my rotten older brother and his disapproving look.
Then I roll my eyes.
Because I know the man who spent two years gazing longingly at Crisis’s butt isn’t judging me for admiring Clara’s hair.
It’s just…flaxen. Long. Pretty. I want to run my fingers through it and pull her close.
I want to tell her that she’s wonderful and it’s not her fault that she grew up surrounded by people who didn’t deserve her.
My attention finds the flowing strands again, and I melt when I see her smile beyond them.
She’s so happy. So peaceful. So safe.
This is what gives her confidence.
This is what she loves.
This is what will help.
I just need to give her more of this.
“King?” She whirls toward me, beautiful, angelic, perfect. “Would you like another?”
My heart seizes, and I tumble, helplessly, for her.
This will be my undoing.
But won’t it be beautiful to come undone?
“Yes,” I say. “Please.”