Chapter 18
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Progress is progress.
Clara
“Come on, cupcake.” Lukas hugs me from behind—an inconvenient thing if ever there was one—and kisses my neck—one of my favorite developments about him embracing even more casual affection with me since we officially became a couple. “Please.”
“No,” I say, again, for the fifth time. We’re doing great at this whole desensitization to the fear of rejection and persistence in standing ground thing. I’m proud of us. So proud of us.
He snuggles. “You know you want to.”
I do not want to. I know I do not want to.
And I am making that known, firmly and consistently.
“I will not stop making Kyran a sandwich when he misses breakfast.” The youngest Bachelor brother has started leaving me little thank-you notes with poorly-drawn weeping puppy eye emojis.
This whole family is packed to the brim with sweethearts, and I intend to protect and care for them, as either a lover or a sister.
“I’ll make it worth your while,” Lukas purrs, and ahh the idea of what he’d concoct to make it worth my while has me buzzing.
But, no.
My moral compass says feed the babe, and I’m not sacrificing my character for someone else.
And Lukas isn’t getting mad no matter how many times we go back and forth.
And I’m just smiling wider.
He squeezes my waist, making it hard for me to cut Kyran’s sub. Yesterday’s jaunt through classic fast food put me on a kick, so today Kyran gets copycat Subway. I’m even adding a little wrapped cookie for him.
Which makes Lukas want to give his youngest brother a wet willy.
“I’ll have to punish you if you insist on being so nice to people who aren’t me,” he murmurs, voice low and dark in my ear.
Oh boy. “You will? How?”
“You’re sounding too eager.”
I am so eager.
He exhales a swear against my neck and uncoils one arm to pull my hair away so he can kiss my nape, suck, nip. “You want my attention so bad, don’t you?”
“I live for it, King.”
His lips smile against my skin. “Patronizing me. You’re real sassy, you know that? It’s so sexy. I love it. More of that, please.”
I find myself leaning into him, letting my back find solace against his chest.
That someone appreciates the sass I’ve always shoved deep down into the nowhere zones of my soul is healing.
He is healing me in ways I didn’t even know I needed to be healed.
I love it. “The faster I finish Kyran’s sandwich, the sooner I can tell you about my current read.
It’s a royal romcom. He’s her bodyguard.
Her father wants her to marry someone else…
It’s all very drama, drama. Something you know nothing about, I’m sure. ”
“Stupid brother,” Lukas mutters, freeing me so I can finish up.
Once I have packaged the sandwich up all nice and neat, I turn to find Lukas inches away, closing in.
“Oh.” My lips part as he plants his hands on the counter behind me, caging.
“Tell me I’m your favorite,” he demands.
“You’re my absolute favorite.”
He smiles. “I love how kind you are. I hate it, too, though.”
“Wasn’t obvious at all.”
His eyes glint, and he whispers, “Sassy, sassy,” as he kisses my forehead. “Never took you for a brat, cupcake, but I’m very into it.” He grips my hips, letting a low rumble leave him. “My stupid brother is lucky you’re mine. You wouldn’t do these nice things for anyone I don’t care for.”
I probably, absolutely, one hundred percent would make a sandwich for a person Lukas doesn’t care for if they asked.
My journaling has led me to a phenomenally freeing conclusion: people pleasing isn’t bad unless it’s self-corrosive.
I love pleasing people. It’s only when pleasing people injures or compromises me that it’s not ideal.
I can still love and respond to people in a way that embodies who I am.
So long as I have enough time and energy for it.
So long as I’m not losing myself in the process.
I twine my arms around Lukas’s neck. “Everything I do is secretly for you.”
“Exactly.”
I whisper, “I’m not telling the truth.”
He whispers back, “I know.” His thumbs leaves indents in my flesh as they rub. “Most things, though?”
“Probably. You really are my favorite person in the whole world.”
His hands slide all the way up my body to my back where his fingers dig around my wing bones, kneading sore muscles. “May I say something unbelievably vulgar?”
I ponder, then swiftly decide, “Yes.”
He looms nearer, whispering, “I’d like to get you facedown in my bed and dig my hands into your muscles. Your back is so tight, sweetheart.” His eyes close. “Let me work while you tell me about your book? Please?”
“Lying facedown anywhere is marvelously uncomfortable…but I’m very interested in a massage.”
“I have so many pillows. I’m sure I can get you comfy.” He runs his nose up the bridge of mine. “Your back wouldn’t be so tense if you didn’t abuse it by hand kneading so much bread for Kyran’s sandwiches. We do have a mixer. With the fancy hook even.”
“I like to hand knead the last few minutes, just to make sure the dough’s come together right. Makes me feel like a baker.”
“My baker.”
“Your everything.”
He sighs. “You really are.” Before we can head to his room, the phone in my apron pocket begins buzzing. My stomach dips as realization crashes into me.
Mom.
I forgot about Mom.
For an entire day.
I’ve been so blissfully unaware of everything other than Lukas, I completely forgot to address the missed call, list my excuses, smooth the waters—if smoothing them is even possible.
Seeing my face and supposedly close enough to feel the vibration, Lukas slips his hand into my pocket, lifts the device, and looks at the screen.
His mood blackens.
My heart shakes.
He answers. Voice coarse, he mumbles, “She’s busy.”
My throat closes as Mom’s voice comes through, loud. “Too busy for her mother?”
“Who do you think you’re talking to?”
“The man who took my baby girl away for an entire month without ever asking her parents.”
A dull laugh exits Lukas as he falls against the counter beside me, tickling his free fingers up and down my spine while he maintains a death grip on my phone. “My babygirl is an adult capable of making her own decisions. I asked if she wanted to come home with me; she said yes, please.”
That is a striking misremembrance.
“Oh, I’m sure she did.” Mom scoffs. “Have you no respect?”
“None. But you know who does? Your daughter.” He combs his fingers through my hair.
“She’s so good at being very, very respectful.
I wish you’d stop calling her when she’s busy being so respectful.
I hate hearing her whine because she wants to talk to you, and if it keeps happening, I’ll keep her phone for more than a day, so she won’t be able to talk to you ever again. ”
My mouth falls open, and the moments of silence between Lukas’s last word and my mother’s reply makes me think we have the same expression. She stammers, “You can’t do that.”
“I can do whatever I want. And Clara will do what I tell her to. You raised a good, submissive little toy for me,” he purrs, then his tone goes razor sharp, “I’d thank you if you weren’t pissing me off. She’ll call you, when I let her. Until then, be a good girl like your daughter, and shut up.”
He hangs up.
On my mother.
And drops my phone back in my pocket.
Words pop in my throat as I try to speak. I can’t.
Eyes cold, he scans me. “I’m the bad guy,” he murmurs.
I manage to nod, find a word, speak it, “I…caught that.”
“Now she can’t say crap since you didn’t call her back, because you were with me, and you’re an angel, doing exactly what she wants, and you don’t have to worry about her calling, because the power is in your hands.
You’ll call when you want to, when I ‘let’ you, which will be when you want to and only when you want to. ”
My breaths shorten. “But…that’s…you lied to my mother.”
“When? When did I lie?” He plucks my chin, forcing my eyes to pin on him.
“It’s not my fault if she mixes up the chronology of when I asked you to come home with me and how many times you’ve said yes, please to me since.
You are good. You are respectful. I would hate it if you whined about wanting to talk to anyone other than me.
I am capable of keeping your phone should you decide to whine repeatedly.
It’s leading, cupcake. I learned manipulation from some pretty professional teachers in the subject.
And the best lies? Are the ones twisted into truth.
” He pauses, taking me in. “Are you mad at me?”
I’m…shocked.
“Breathe,” he murmurs. “One deep breath, for me.”
I suck the air in.
“Let it out.” He taps my lips with his thumb. “Through here.”
Parting my lips, I do as I’m told.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re mad at me,” he says.
I swallow. “I’m not mad.”
“You’re allowed to be.”
“I know. I don’t… I don’t know what I’m feeling. You…” I try the breathing again, slower this time, more controlled. “In half a minute, you fixed the power imbalance I’ve struggled against my whole life.”
“Fixed?” he murmurs. “No, cupcake. I just taught her who’s always held all the power. ’Cause that’s the thing about abusers…they need their victims more than their victims ever need them.”
I swallow again, and my short breaths return for a different reason.
Without releasing my face, he pets my head. “I’ll be your bad guy whenever you need me to. Your mother, your father, your family does not get to hurt you anymore. Now.” He lowers his gaze to my lips. “We were discussing ways for me to get my hands all over you…”
“Yeah,” I exhale.
“In my bed.”
I pull my lip between my teeth to stop it from trembling.
“You want that, don’t you? To feel helpless and at my mercy?”
I think I definitely need the release at the moment, yes.
“Am I laying the suggestion on too thick?” he murmurs.
Vehemently, I shake my head. “Nope.” I clear my throat. “I very much prefer whatever you’re doing over the other feelings I probably should deal with but would much rather shove under these new ones.”
He smiles. “It will be okay. Your better family is here for you. And why wouldn’t we be? You make incredible sandwiches for the stupid slugs who can’t even find it in themselves to revel in your glorious breakfasts. He is so my least favorite brother for this.”
A broken laugh escapes me. “My family.”
“That’s right. Yours.”
Mine. A family that treats me like family and leaves me little thank-you notes instead of telling me how wrong or insufficient my efforts always are.
My very own family.
It still hurts to know that the family that was meant to be mine never really adopted me, but it’s a little easier knowing I don’t have to face them alone.
It still hurts, and maybe it always will, but I am not alone.
And I will not need to face the pain by myself ever again.