Chapter 23 #2
Grace remains still, patient. Waiting for direction, for the structure of the scene to unfold around her. I should be providing that structure. Should be finding the words, issuing commands, creating the kind of scene she craves.
But my mind is splintering into too many pieces to hold on to control.
Images flash unbidden. Phineas standing over me with that familiar cruel smile.
The knife glinting in the cabin’s dim light.
Victor’s face when he burst through the trapdoor, all controlled violence and fury.
The hospital. Being trapped at the club.
The endless string of locked rooms where I’m supposed to be safe but am not.
My breathing changes, becomes shallow. My palm is damp against Grace’s hair. The room seems too small with not enough air.
I force myself to focus. Grace needs me present. Needs me to be in control. I can do this. We’ve proved it comes natural to me.
“Look at me,” I command, and when she raises her eyes, I see nothing but trust and anticipation.
I open my mouth to continue the scene, to tell her what I want, how I want her to serve me tonight. But the words stick in my throat. My hand in her hair trembles.
Grace notices. A flicker of concern flashes across her features, quickly masked by submission. But it’s there. She sees the cracks forming in my composure, even as I struggle to hold myself together.
The realization hits me with brutal clarity. I’m unraveling. Right here with Grace kneeling at my feet. All the trauma, the fear, the helplessness I’ve been suppressing is surging to the surface, and I can’t stop it.
This can’t happen. Not now. Not like this. Grace needs me.
But my body betrays me. My breath stutters. My hand in her hair shakes more visibly. And the room is suddenly getting smaller.
I let go of Grace’s hair and sit down heavily on the edge of the bed. The mattress dips beneath my weight, the sound of the bedsprings unnaturally loud in the sudden silence. Grace remains kneeling for only a moment before she rises, concern replacing surrender in an instant.
“Did I do something wrong?” She asks, moving toward me but stopping short of touching me.
“No,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “You didn’t do anything. I’m just struggling a lot more than I realized.”
The tears come before I can stop them. Not loud, not the messy sobbing I hate, but still a steady flow. Silent streams of tears roll down my cheeks, and I can’t control it. I wipe at them roughly with the back of my hand, hating the display of weakness.
“Lili,” Grace says softly, moving closer.
I shake my head, unable to meet her gaze. “I’m fine. Just give me a minute.”
But I’m not fine. My hands are trembling and my breathing is shallow, like I can’t catch my breath. The room feels so tiny and somehow it has me too exposed. Like there are eyes watching from every corner, and threats that I can’t see lurking in the shadows.
“I haven’t felt safe,” I admit, the words coming out broken. “Not since Phineas climbed into that SUV and I realized I was being kidnapped.”
Grace kneels in front of me, not in submission, but to be close. Her nakedness has nothing to do with sex or power exchange anymore. It’s just her, offering presence without demand. Giving all of herself to me.
“I know,” she says simply.
“Even here, even with both of you…” I struggle to find the words. “It’s like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. For something to shatter whatever safety I think I’ve found.”
Grace remains quiet, letting me find my way through the tangle of emotions.
“And Victor,” I continue, anger overpowering the fear now. “He keeps things from us. Trivial things, maybe, but it takes me back to my life with Phineas. A life where I’m not in control. Where decisions are being made about my life without my input.”
My hand comes up to touch the bandage on my arm where Phineas cut me. The wound underneath is healing, but the memory of how helpless I was, the certainty that I was going to die alone in that cabin with a man I despise is still raw.
“When he doesn’t tell you things, keeps you in the dark to ‘protect’ you…” I shake my head as I add air quotes around protect. “It’s too familiar. Too much like what I left behind.”
A sob escapes, surprising me with its force. I press my hand against my mouth, trying to contain the sound, contain the swirl of emotions threatening to break out.
Grace rises slightly, her hands coming to rest on my thighs. Her touch is gentle, grounding. She doesn’t try to embrace me or soothe me with empty words. She just kneels there, a steady presence as I fall apart.
“You don’t have to be past it,” she says quietly. “You just have to let me be here to catch you, to support you.”
She rests her cheek against my thigh now, her breath warm through the fabric of my sweatpants. An anchor, not a demand. A gift with no expectations.
I laugh through my tears, the sound shaky but genuine. “I hate crying in front of people. Finn always belittled me if I cried. Especially if we were in public.”
“Then I’m honored you trust me with it,” Grace replies, her voice steady and sure.
We stay like that for several minutes, me sitting on the edge of the bed, tears gradually slowing, and Grace kneeling in front of me, her head resting on my thigh.
The mood I’d intended when I told her to kneel is completely reversed.
There is no scene, no power exchange. Just two people holding space for each other.
Eventually, my breathing steadies. The trembling in my hands subsides. The room feels solid again, and I’m no longer watching the scene play out from outside my body.
“Come up here,” I say, patting the bed beside me.
Grace rises with an ease emblematic of her name and sits next to me, our shoulders touching. I take her hand, lacing our fingers together.
“I’m sorry,” I begin.
“Don’t,” she interrupts gently. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”
“I wanted to give you what you needed.” I look down at our joined hands. “To be what you needed.”
“You are,” she says firmly. “Just not in the way you planned.”
Her words ease the last of the tension in my chest, and I exhale slowly.
“Lie down with me?” I ask.
We move together onto the bed, settling against the pillows. Grace pulls the blanket over us, creating a cocoon of warmth. She snuggles against my side, resting her head on my shoulder and draping an arm across my waist. Despite her nakedness, there’s nothing sexual about it, it’s pure comfort.
The quiet that falls between us is easy, not awkward, or nerve-wracking the way silence usually is for me.
I listen to her breathing and press a kiss to her hair.
For the first time in days, the hypervigilance that’s been controlling my mind fades into the background.
It will take some time for it to cease entirely, but for now, I’m grateful to have it be a distant whisper.
“What do you think Victor is keeping from me?” Grace asks eventually, her voice quiet in the dim room.
I consider lying, deflecting, just to keep from bursting the bubble we’re in. But I’ve just finished crying about exactly that pattern, people deciding what I can handle. I won’t do the same to her.
“Something about your stalker,” I say honestly. “He thinks he knows who it is.”
Her body tenses against mine. “He knows? And he didn’t tell me?”
“He wants to be certain first.” I stroke her hair, offering what comfort I can. “At least that’s what he told me.”
“But you think I should know.” It’s not a question.
“I think you have a right to all the information about what is happening in your own life.” I turn slightly to look her in the eye. “But Grace, I don’t know the details. Just that he’s been investigating and has a theory.”
She’s quiet for a long moment, processing what I’ve told her. “I should talk to him,” she says after the pause.
“Yes,” I agree. “You should.”
“Will you come with me?”
I shake my head. “This needs to be between you two. And honestly, I’m not sure I can keep my temper in check right now.”
She nods against my shoulder, understanding. “Thank you for telling me. For not keeping me in the dark.”
“Always,” I promise. “No matter what Victor thinks is best.”
We fall into silence again. Grace’s breathing gradually slows and settles into a steady rhythm. The stress of the last few days catches up with her. She drifts to sleep, her body heavier, more relaxed against mine.
I don’t sleep. Can’t yet. But I hold her, listen to her breathe, and let something close to peace wash over me for the first time since Phineas took me. I wouldn’t call it safety. That will take longer. But there is a certainty that I’m not alone in this.
And tomorrow, when Grace confronts Victor, I’ll be here for her. Whatever storms they weather, I’ll be the one they can both return to. It’s a different kind of strength than I planned to show when I told Grace to kneel tonight. But perhaps it’s the strength she needs most.
The strength we all need.