Chapter 7 #2
“You want to stay right here, don’t you?
Right here in my arms.” Breath fans through my hair.
“Feed me all this good attention. I’ve been desperate, really, but I haven’t wanted to frighten you as you got used to your new life…
I’m so sorry I didn’t explain the expectations better.
My poor cupcake. Thinking you had to make such big meals every day. ” His voice darkens. “How cruel of me…”
The lower his voice gets, the more I worry that he’s angry. But so long as he’s not hurting me, it’s fine, isn’t it?
“I said I’d take care of you,” he murmurs, tone immovable as his arms solidify around me. “Next time something like this happens, come to me. If I’m not upset, there’s nothing to be upset about. Am I understood?”
Fragile, I say, “Yes.”
“Yes, what, sweetheart?”
“Yes, King.”
He snuggles. “Try it again…with a my.”
“Yes…my King?”
Breath moves him, like he’s soaking what I’ve just said in, lapping it up, dwelling on the words.
Then. He murmurs, “Yours… I’m yours, okay?
There’s nothing to worry about and nothing to fear.
” A dry chuckle escapes him, and he frees me from his embrace.
Pulling his fingers through his hair once I’m teetering without his stability, he says, “Sorry. There’s that incurable attention seeking again.
You really are more than welcome to hit me at any point.
Always. I spout nonsense constantly.” Half grinning, half wincing, he points at his head.
“It’s cause I’m so messed up up here. I crave stuff I shouldn’t. ”
“Stuff?” I ask.
“Everything.” He dries my face with his thumb, then stills. Delicately, he leans forward and kisses the corner of my eye. “Just…everything.”
Craving everything can’t be healthy. For anyone. Yet I find myself drifting back into his gravity anyway.
He sets a finger against my throat to stop me, thumb following the movement when I swallow. “Careful. I might steal your first kiss if you look at me like that. And I will only hate myself a little bit for it, nowhere near enough.”
My face warms.
“What’s on your mind, sweetheart?” he asks, so…gently. Like he cares.
Cautious, I say, “You’re really not mad at me?”
“Not even a little bit. I’m nuts, Clara.
I get a thrill from the idea of you wanting to keep me happy this badly.
Even though it’s wrong. Even though you’re hurting.
” His gaze shifts off me. “I don’t think I could manage to be mad at you.
Have you seen yourself? You’re so sincere.
And committed. And careful. You do your best in everything.
It’s beautiful, but scary. I feel like I need to protect you from myself.
You’re so intent on keeping other people content that you lose yourself in the effort.
But, horribly, I love to be kept content.
You are exactly what a messed up guy like me thrives on. I’m obsessed with you.”
Obsessed with…me?
“I’m obsessed with obsession.” He mutters, “I’m pretty sure it’s a nasty side effect from my childhood of neglect.”
He was neglected as a child? “I’m so sorry,” I whisper.
He lifts a broad shoulder and plays with my hair.
“Adding external validation by the thousands and millions to my diet every day since I was tiny didn’t help my particular disposition.
My worth hinges on praise and attention.
You praise and attention me well, because you praise and attention people easily.
It’s a sweet trait. I just wish it weren’t a defense mechanism.
I…wish softer things had brought it out in you.
” He lowers his gaze, dipping his head. “I’d like to be a softer thing that brings it out, but I fear I’m not really all that soft.
I’m much too aware that I’m flamboyant. My worth practically hinges on being seen.
” He settles, watching me. “Speak to me. Please. I can’t keep rambling like this all by myself. ”
I… What do I even say? “My worth hinges on the opposite.”
His head tilts. “The opposite?”
“I prefer not being seen. I feel safest when nobody’s looking at me. When nobody’s paying attention, it’s less likely they’ll see my mistakes and punish me for them.”
His expression blackens, and he lays a wave of my hair across my cheek, as though he’s styling me for him. “That’s a shame… I’m afraid you’re too pretty for those kinds of aspirations.”
My mother’s always said the only good thing about me is how I look. Pretty, like her. Even though I have a worse figure.
A sinking feeling takes hold, and I hate it. I hate how I can’t look at myself without thinking about how I’m less than everyone and everything—always.
Lukas grazes his touch across the top of my head. “Are you hungry, E-clair-a?”
My gaze drifts toward my nightstand, where he put the plate boasting a sandwich and a bowl of tomato soup. “It doesn’t bother you that you had to bring me food? Isn’t that what you want me to do for you? To appease your…attention cravings?”
He looks at the plate. “If I expect your respect, I better be willing to earn it by never asking anything of you that I wouldn’t offer in return.
You’re not an adoring fan. You don’t exist to appease me without hope of reciprocation.
” He winces. “Well, I mean…fans don’t exist to appease me either, but…
” He sighs, seeming to wrestle himself. “What I’m trying to say is: we’re equal. ”
Those words cut me to my core, because I don’t think I have ever been treated as someone’s equal before. And now such a thing is being awarded to me by someone who could rule this entire world?
“In other words,” he says, softly taking my wrist, bowing, and drawing my knuckles to his lips, “my queen.” He kisses.
Something self destructs inside me.
“Eat up, buttercup.” His eyes lift to fix on me. “Maybe tell me about your book while you eat, too? Purely to…satisfy my attention cravings and all that.” A slight chuckle accompanies his lopsided grin.
The shrapnel stuck in my bloodstream slices the walls of my veins. “You want to hear about my book?” I might not be breathing quite normally still, but at least the panic is staying down.
“I want to hear you talk to me about things you’ve never talked to anyone else about.”
I can gladly do that. But… “You won’t be bored? I’m not the best speaker. I don’t gather my thoughts very well. I’ll mix things up and misremember and probably just annoy you.”
“You won’t annoy me. I’m delighted by the notion that I’ll be the only person to hear the story you’re about to tell in the exact way you’re about to tell it—unrefined, rambled, uniquely raw.
” Bracing his arms behind his head, he falls into my pillows and settles himself on my bed before lifting his chin and cueing me to begin.
“Go on, sweet girl. Make me feel special.”
As I reach for my sandwich plate and fumble through my once upon a time, I’m not sure who could possibly feel more special. Him…or me.