Chapter 14
?
The truth stings.
Clara
I have done the thing.
The really bad, likely predictable…thing.
Swallowing hard, I scurry away once Viktor’s and Lukas’s treadmills start up again. Breath tight in my chest, I clutch my phone with Lukas’s tracking pulled up and flee my criminal activity.
Which is, of course, the eavesdropping trope.
I love her.
Supplication.
A friend.
My mind juggles what I’ve just learned, wrestles with it.
Lukas loves me? Lukas genuinely last night was petitioning to hold me? Because he is desperate for it? For me?
Lukas thinks I’ve been abused.
I scramble up the stairs, needing to get away before anyone who could incriminate me notices I’m here. Everyone else who lives here should still be asleep this early, but fear coils like a viper around me until I’m back in my room, pressing my back against the closed door.
Lukas loves me.
Romantically.
And he values me.
Intrinsically.
He values my well-being to such an extent that he is suffering this morning, voice breaking, because I said no last night, and he thinks I’ll always say no to his feelings.
Shame hits me, hard, and guilt follows. But I can’t shake the sensation of warmth blooming in my body. I clamp a hand to my stomach, manage to keep my breaths from going too short.
It barely felt like I was saying no to him last night.
He has made me feel so safe with him that I calculated my answer to whether or not I should stay with him from the guidelines he’s encouraged.
I slept soundly. Because he was so gentle I didn’t feel like I’d done anything wrong.
He stuffed his agony away and didn’t force me to feel a single drop.
He smiled, so bright, and took me to my room—and told me he was proud of me.
I fell asleep in the comfort and thrill that making my own decision resulted in such approval—regardless of what I assumed he wanted.
Now I learn that he shoved all his feelings out of sight, for my sake, because letting me know he approved of my choice was better for me than him getting his way. Confirming my autonomy meant more to him than him.
I can’t breathe.
My legs slowly give out, and I slip to the ground, fighting for air as my ears hum.
Hands planted against the carpet, I stare at the floor, feeling the thunder of my heart in my head.
Sand and soil.
Some people are sand…and some people are soil.
He is soil, but the crushing, foreboding worry that it’ll be too much for him to continue having grace for me robs the air from my lungs. Tears well. The blurry droplets hit the rug.
My own parents gave up on me. I can’t remember a time they were ever kind or gentle, not even while I was young enough that knowing nothing made sense.
My own parents reduced me to someone who works and cleans, and the most proud they’ve ever been of me is right now, when they think that a complete stranger is taking advantage of me.
That’s not right.
Something isn’t right with this.
So I drag myself to my bed, reach a shaking hand toward my laptop, and do something I’ve thought was not only ungrateful and disrespectful, but also just plain wrong.
Through clouded eyes and trembling keystrokes, I type: what are the signs of parental emotional abuse?
Then I check every box.
?
“Clara?” Lukas hedges, not sharing a single sign of the devastation I witnessed early this morning.
My stomach knots as I stop frosting the cake I put up yesterday to save as dessert for dinner tonight.
After one disaster when I tried to make my mother a birthday cake and it didn’t get a chance to cool completely before I tried to frost it, I have never dared to frost a homemade cake without letting it chill overnight.
“Yes?” I whisper, wondering how Lukas might react to a similar failure. Would he even care about the cake?
Or would he just pull me into a hug and tell me how much it meant to him that I was making him something?
This cake isn’t even for him alone, yet he already murmured praises about it into my hair yesterday.
I don’t know what’s been going on today.
I didn’t come to—or make—breakfast. I googled narcissistic parents and emotional immaturity and abuse for hours, passed out, had another panic attack when I woke up, cried some, and just barely dragged myself down here now, after a lunch I also didn’t make has already been cleared.
Hungry, I opened the fridge to find my cake, ready to frost. And my lunch. Wrapped up and labeled in Lukas’s handwriting.
For Clara. And a heart.
Because he loves me and probably tried to bring me food while I was asleep.
Concern now pours through his intense black-and-white eyes as he watches me. “Are you all right?” His fist closes at his side. “Last night…I didn’t go too far, did I?”
I shake my head. “We didn’t do anything.”
He nods; his fingers flex. “Right. I know. But.” His lungs fill.
“I just mean, we’re still friends, right?
I was stupid last night. You’re gorgeous, and I’m an idiot.
And we don’t need to add benefits to our friendship.
I’m really not emotionally stable enough for it, and I shouldn’t even have mentioned it as an option.
Worse, I shouldn’t have put the decision on your shoulders like I did. I’m… I’m very sorry.”
“You’re not stupid,” I state, harder than I think I’ve ever said anything before in my life. Looking back at my cake, I frost another flower. “Wanting me…isn’t stupid, right?”
“No. No. That’s not what I mean. I shouldn’t have asked. I shouldn’t have brought you to my bed. I shouldn’t have posed any of the questions I did. Period.”
“It’s not all your fault. I let things go as far as they did by myself. I was even planning to pretend to fall asleep, just so I could stay with you longer.”
“You…were?”
I nod.
“You wanted to stay with me longer, but then I ruined everything?”
Frowning, I lift my piping nozzle from the cake and face him.
“Weeks ago, I’d have slept with you, fully.
I’d have been terrified. But I’d have done it.
Last night, I wasn’t completely sure whether or not I wanted to risk the potential that just sleeping together might become something else, and I expressed that, and you took me back to my room, smiling at me as though I didn’t have to do anything I didn’t want to and you would still care about and respect me anyway.
” Stupid tears build in my eyes, as though I haven’t cried enough today.
I can’t force them back, so I at least step away from my cake in case they fall in the garden I’m meticulously piping.
Biting my lip, I try to contain myself as I relinquish my decorating bag and wipe my hands on my apron. “That, Lukas, is ruining nothing.”
“Lukas…?” he whispers, freezing before his hand can reach the trail of my tears.
Even though a spear of anxiety hits me, I step into his touch. “I’m sorry. I didn’t…”
“No. No apologies.” He cups my face, swipes his thumb across my cheek. “You…can call me that, my queen. Whenever you want.” Heat blazes in his eyes. “It feels right from you. Forgive me if I have missed an opportunity to show you how highly I consider you.”
“You haven’t.” I tilt into his warmth, letting my eyes close.
“You never do. I fear it’s my own opinions of myself getting in the way of your consideration.
” I suffer a difficult inhale. “I’m…going to try working on them, though.
Can I…” I wet my lips, chance a glimpse of him. “Will you help me? Please?”
“Of course, if I can,” he breathes, like I’ve bestowed a grand honor on him.
I ask, “Have you been holding back?”
“Holding back?” His brow knits.
I nod. “I…need more opportunities like last night. More chances to have a conflict of interest with someone I trust, and right now…the only person I trust is you. If you could demand more of me, I think that would help.”
His throat bobs. “Demand more…like…what?”
“Anything.”
His fingers quake against my cheek as he echoes, “Anything?”
“Outrageous things. Things I must hate, so I can practice standing up for myself. That…that’s what you were trying to get at.
Weeks ago. When you were talking about kissing me.
You wanted me to say no, didn’t you?” I squeeze my eyes shut again and drop my head.
“How obvious has it been that I’m this…broken? ”
His other hand meets my cheek, and he lifts my face. “Clara…no. You…you aren’t broken.”
“Abused, then,” I hiss. “Is there a sign on my forehead? You’ve been trying to help me from the start.” My breaths turn harsh, and I feel my sanity slipping. “I don’t like being looked at. I don’t want to be pitied.”
“I don’t pity you.”
“Right. You just kidnapped a girl with no self-esteem so you could use her in your own twisted fantasies, without a single scrap of remorse. That’s why so many of your fantasies happened last night, isn’t it?
” I battle the spiral, grip Lukas’s hands for support.
“I’m not— I’m not that stupid.” My lips tremble. “Am I?”
“You aren’t stupid at all,” he whispers. “But I’m no saint. I don’t pity you, Clara. I’ve been through worse. I know I have. It doesn’t help to compare our pasts, though.”
“Worse?” I whisper.
“Physical, emotional, mental…even sexual, a time or two. That’s what happens when you throw a child into an adult world and force them to make money for you.”
“Who…”
“My parents were also not good people.”
Also. So he knows the truth about my parents, too. He knows where this brokenness comes from. He knows, yet instead of following his instincts and desires and taking advantage of me, he is fighting to do better. For me.
He says, “It doesn’t matter how bad they were or if yours mean to be bad.
The point is that I don’t pity you, and my very real motivations were selfish and lacking in all remorse.
Most horrible people can justify just about anything.
My twisted mind found a way to justify bringing you home because I wanted to.
I found a good enough reason because I wanted you.
But those flimsy justifications don’t matter. ”
“What does matter?”
He kisses my forehead, lingers, lets his exhale run through my hair.
“I have come to care about you. I sincerely want what’s best for you.
Even if that’s not me. And I’m almost positive that’s not me.
I can’t be everything for you—no matter how much I want to be.
Would you like to talk to a therapist about what you’re dealing with? ”
“That sounds terrifying. I don’t know how I’m supposed to get the words out.
They’re stuck. And my brain keeps screaming at me that I’m wrong and ungrateful and a horrible person for even suggesting that I’ve been mistreated.
I don’t know how to deal with the past right now.
I just want to try to be stronger in the future. ”
“The past is a very important element in creating a better future. Could you try journaling the things you feel guilty sharing aloud? You can self-reflect, and then if it’s too much to look at, we can burn the book.”
I…like the idea of scribbling all these feelings into pages that I fill with rainbow glitter and stickers. I also like the safety of knowing I can watch them go up in flames if they get too big. I say, “I’ll try that.”
“Processing might take a while, so don’t feel discouraged if you don’t feel a change any time soon.
It took me years to come to terms with everything, and I’m still battling the character flaws I’ve been left with.
Time heals many wounds, but the deepest cuts, the cuts that reach your soul, take the longest.”
I fit myself against his chest and welcome his arms as I grip his fading signature to my heart.
“Please find some worth in me while I’m healing.
Please don’t let my struggle frustrate you.
I don’t want to take advantage of your kindness or patience.
” My stomach dips as I confess, “I’ve been reading about abuse.
All morning. So many people say when they were finally safe, they were so much worse for a long time.
Some said they had to fight not to become just like their abusers in an effort to protect themselves or maintain the respect they couldn’t stomach losing again.
I’m scared. I don’t know how much I need respect if I’ve gone my whole life without it, but I do know I don’t want to lose the happiness I’ve so briefly found here. ”
“Your place here is never going to be in question.” His hold around me tightens. “You never have to worry about losing your home.”
“What if you come to hate me once I’ve started healing?”
“I won’t.”
“How can you know?” I blurt, then I wince. “I’m sorry. I’m being annoying.”
“You aren’t. You’re begging for me. I love reassuring you.
Don’t think for a moment I am not delighted to know that your greatest fear right now is losing me.
” His fingers slip through my hair. “Your weakness lets me feel strong, cupcake. I need that stroke to my pride, lest I wither away into humbleness.”
That would be catastrophic.
I whisper, “Can I do something for you?”
“For me?”
Tipping my head back, I meet his eyes. “To reassure you, too.”
His brows lift. “Why do I need reassurance?”
My face warms. “Because…you don’t think of me as just a friend anymore, do you? And last night…I rejected some of those feelings.”
He tenses, but—like Viktor said—he communicates well. “You don’t need to worry about my romantic feelings, Clara. They’re my problem. You’re allowed to…” Acute suffering laces itself in his voice. “You’re allowed to reject them.”
“And if I don’t want to reject them?”
His lips part, but he swiftly recovers and hardens himself. “I don’t want to coerce you into accepting them. I’m not going anywhere, no matter what you do, so. They really aren’t your problem.”
They’re not my burden to bear—even if my rejection hurts him so much he can’t sleep.
I have never before been cared for like this.
“Lukas?”
He shivers. “Yes, cupcake?”
Standing on my toes, I kiss his cheek. “I’m growing in soil now. I will decide for myself how I feel, and if I come to love you…I promise, I will love you so deeply you will have no choice but to drown.”
Helpless, he caves around me, forehead to forehead. Broken, he whispers, “I would like nothing more.”