Chapter 15 #2
“No,” she answers. “I do keep up quite a visage, so it’s only natural for people to be fooled by it.”
I scan her face, then get to my feet before coming to sit next to her on the bed. “Why, though?” I question. “Why does she do it? And you said it happens often, too, so I’m beyond confused.” I wanna skin Miranda alive, but first, I wanna know her motive; I need some intel.
I’m also trying not to bring back the memories of my past – ones I’ve done everything in my power to burn to ashes. Because really, it’s useless going back in time and reliving the pain, the insults, and the hunger. It only affects my present and destabilizes my future.
Cignette sighs, pulling me out of my thoughts.
She then goes on to tell me that her mother has been doing this to her since she was a kid, and that her uncle defends Miranda instead of siding with her.
And, as she continues to list every incident from over the years, the reasons behind said incidents start to get more and more…
ridiculous. Especially when she explains what happened a few hours ago.
“A dress?” I voice, and my resolve to skin Miranda Adler alive grows firmer as I try to let every detail set in.
“For the charity gala this Saturday,” Cignette adds. “The dress isn’t even ready yet – physically, I mean. It’s merely a sketch on paper, but Mom must’ve seen it and thought I was planning on upstaging her during the event.”
“But why?”
Cignette scoffs. “She’s insecure, jealous. She clearly thinks my dress outshines whatever she’s had made for herself for this gala, so she thought she’d do this,” she gestures at her face, “to compensate for her lack of vision for fashion.”
“But it’s not a damn competition, is it? It’s a charity event. Why does what one wear to such a thing, matter at all?”
Cignette blinks up at me. “Because it’s always been like this with her,” she says, then smiles ruefully.
“She’s always felt the need to compete, to rise above others.
I think, in a way, she feels like if she doesn’t, then she’ll be left behind.
Can’t say she’s wrong, especially given her status and profession, but most of the time, she forgets who she’s competing with.
In her craze to be on top of the chain, she’s blinded herself to basic humanity and empathy.
” She clears her throat. “Even towards me.”
I open my mouth, but literally nothing comes out.
Cignette senses it, and chuckles again – this time, in actual amusement. “It’s okay; I wouldn’t blame you if you’re experiencing a brain freeze after hearing all that.”
How the fuck is she so damn calm about all of this?
I shake my head. “I’m not one to be at a loss for words, but right now, I can’t think of anything to say,” I admit.
“Then don’t say anything,” she tells me simply. “You’re not obligated to, Dorran.”
I pause to give her a once over, and watch as her lashes brush the top of her cheeks when she glances away from my inspection.
“Is she here right now?” I question after a while.
Cignette brings her eyes to me again. “What?”
“Is she here right now?” I repeat. “And you already know not to bullshit me, so don’t even try.”
Cignette lets go of a sharp breath. “Yes,” she spits. “Yes, she is. But you can’t do shit to her, Dorran. You absolutely cannot.”
“And why’s that?” I ask. “She’s just as feasible as anyone else.”
“Is she?” Cignette’s gaze darkens. “With dozens of highly-trained guards at her command, does she really seem feasible to you?”
“I can take ‘em.”
“And risk your life in the process?”
“Yes,” I answer easily. “Fucking yes.”
Cignette fists my vest and pulls me closer to her. “Why?” she whispers against my lips.
“Because I can’t see you like this,” I admit.
“Because it fucking maims me to see these bruises on you; to see you so tired of trying to be strong for yourself.” I grit my teeth and cup her face again.
“I wanna bring your mother tenfold the amount of pain she’s caused you.
I wanna show her what it’s like to be marred.
What it’s like to be the one receiving what she’s been so cruel to deliver – for years on end. ”
Cignette leans into my touch, and I erase the small space between us by pressing my lips to hers. She tastes like mint and tears, and it’s fucking everything.
I push my fingers into her slightly damp hair and kiss her harder, but she makes a noise and pulls back, then places her cold fingers over my mouth before saying, “Gently. It…hurts.” She points at the bruise on the left side of her face, and my chest contracts.
“Of course.” I attempt at kissing her softly. “I’m sorry,” I breathe, then part her lips before slowly running my tongue along hers.
She moans, then wraps her arms around my neck as she kisses me deeply, yet tenderly.
I’m not used to this. I always take what I want from a woman without being polite about it. But this – this very moment with Cignette – it’s so damn new that it’s hard not to get lost in it.
I drag my lips away from hers and bring them to the scar on her right cheek. I place a feather-light kiss there, then press sound, open-mouthed pecks on her chin and jaw.
I’ve only just reached her neck, though, when Cignette hisses and moves away again.
“What’s wrong?” I look at her, and when she pulls the collar of her hoodie to the side to show me the finger marks on her neck, my heart hammers to the point where it fucking hurts.
I make to stand so that I can find the bitch and slit her throat, but Cignette grabs my arm and pulls me back down with surprising force.
“Fucking sit your ass down,” she sneers. “You really think you’ll survive the night if you march up to her floor and try to get to her?”
I snatch my arm away from her grasp and glare at her. “I don’t care.”
“But I do!” she yells, then pushes her hair back hastily. “I fucking do, you hear me?” She runs the sleeve of her hoodie under her nose and places her hands over mine. “Please, just…” She brings our joined hands up and kisses my knuckles, then looks pleadingly at me. “Stay with me for a while?”
I decide to relent – for now, of course – and give her a nod.
She smiles a little, and I pull her to me. Pressing my back against her headboard, I stretch my legs and help her sit between them.
She groans as she stretches her arms in order to tie her hair in a knot above her head, then gets comfortable against me by placing her back to my chest and settling her head on my shoulder.
“You need more room?” I ask.
“No,” she says with a sigh, then closes her eyes. “This is perfect.”
Moonlight is at its peak now, and casts crazy silhouettes on the walls that are on the opposite sides of the bed. They’re subtle, but seem imposing regardless.
I gently wrap my arms around Cignette’s waist, and make sure my hold is loose enough, in case she needs to shift.
All of this is so fucking domestic by my standards.
If the crew saw me like this, I’d never hear the end of it.
But then again, I haven’t yet given any number of shits about what they think when it comes to Cignette, so it’s only natural that I don’t start doing it now.
Being here with her is…nice, and I don’t regret a second of it.
But, being here with her has also made me think of certain things I endured before stuff changed for me.
I bend and kiss Cignette’s temple, then let my eyes fall shut as I inhale the smell of her hair, and her skin.
Oranges – she smells like fucking oranges.
“I was…sixteen when I killed her,” I tell her. The words just tumble out of my fucking mouth, like they were aching to be set free or some shit.
Cignette stiffens against me, and momentary silence fills the air as I wait for her to say something. But then, mercifully, she starts turning around, and when our eyes meet, I’m relieved when I don’t see any fear or uncertainty on her face.
“Who?” she asks, then tilts her head.
I swallow, and I don’t know why, but my throat closes up a little as I say, “My mother.”