Chapter 26
twenty-six
. . .
I lie on my back in the bed and stare at the emptiness that surrounds me. I wish I could conjure clouds, or fireworks, or something to look at besides the dark.
Eventually, I head for the window. Kit has a notebook and a pencil in front of himself. He’s sketching something. It takes me a second to realize that he’s sketching me. My hair is wild around my head, my lips forming a slight smile, my eyes mine and not his.
It’s beautiful.
I’m about to say so when he rips the sheet out of the notebook and tears it up. He keeps doing that. Creating things and then destroying them. Like he’s not allowed to do anything but destroy.
He grabs my laptop from where it’s set on the coffee table in my living room and opens it. He’s researching haunted places near us. He’s still trying to help. All he’s done is try to help.
I understand why he doesn’t want to go to Hell.
He’s scared. He’s traumatized. I mean, I wouldn’t want to return to the place where I was tortured for centuries.
I shouldn’t expect that of him. Honestly, it’s horrible that I did.
He doesn’t owe me that. He doesn’t owe me anything.
He made a choice to save me using the only method he could think of.
I appreciate that. If it weren’t for him, I would be dead.
Though the question begs, is death better than being a prisoner in your own mind? Many would say yes. I’m not sure how I feel, because…well, because I’m not alone.
He pulls up a discussion page about an abandoned house a couple of miles from here.
I am a specialist in haunted abandoned houses.
People started reporting paranormal activity at this place back in the ’70s, and it’s only gotten more frequent since.
Slamming doors, disembodied voices, cold chills, sharp smells. Just what I like to find.
“That place looks cool,” I say.
Kit flinches at my voice. “I thought you would give me the silent treatment for longer,” he grunts.
“It’s been long enough.” My fingers drum on the window. “Kit, I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me the truth to begin with.”
“Would you have believed me?”
“You never gave me the chance.” However, he’s correct. I would not have believed him.
Kit sighs and closes the laptop. “I really am sorry. If…if you want me to go to Hell and put you on that list, I will. I just… I need a bit of time to psych myself up. Okay?”
“You don’t have to. I don’t want you to put yourself through that for me. It’s not worth it.”
“I’d do anything for you,” he says seriously.
I respond, “I know,” because I do.
We research the house more and make a plan to go there tomorrow evening. Kit promises that if any spirit seems even slightly malevolent, he will get me out of there as soon as possible.
We’re watching Friends again. He might like that show more than I do.
As we do, I’m not watching the TV, I’m watching my hand.
Carefully, I lift each finger one by one.
I pause, make sure Kit is distracted, then try to move my wrist. I do.
I try to pick up my arm, but no luck. I huff a small sigh.
I’m getting stronger, no denying that. But not strong enough.
Suddenly, Kit pauses the show and says, “Lacy, can we talk?”
Panic races through me. “Sure,” I squeak. “About what?”
“That thing that happened before the poker game.”
Oh. That. My heart rate calms, but not as much as I would like. I gulp and try to keep my voice steady. “The thing with my nipples. Yeah.” I was hoping we would never talk about it again.
“Was that…I mean, was that okay?”
I purse my lips. I want to tell him that it wasn’t okay—that I shouldn’t have let him touch me like that. I want to, but I can’t lie. “I enjoyed it.”
He lets out a relieved huff of air. “Cool. Okay.” He presses play and doesn’t say anything else.
I keep practicing my hand movement.
When this episode ends, he prevents the next episode from playing. “Lacy?”
“Yes?”
“So, when you say you enjoyed it…?”
I cover my face with my hands and groan.
Muffled by my palms, I say, “I mean I liked your hands on my body. Okay? I liked that you were touching me. But it can’t happen again.
It shouldn’t happen again, because…because…
” I have no reason. No reason I believe, anyway.
I could say because he’s a demon, or because he’s holding me hostage even if he is doing so to protect me, or anything else regarding any of the bad things he has done.
I could say that, but I would be lying through my teeth and he would see right through me.
However, he does not push for a reason. “Understood. It won’t happen again. That is not why I possessed you. I promise.”
He lets the next episode play, and we watch it in silence, neither of us letting out more than a light chuckle throughout. When the episode after goes to start, he stops it again, this time turning off the TV.
“I forgot,” he says. “I got you something.”
“You got me something? When?”
He heads to my bedroom. “This morning. You were asleep for a while.” On my bed sits a few shopping bags.
“Some clothes,” Kit explains. “It’s nothing big.
I just figured you needed some pieces to refresh your wardrobe.
You never buy anything for yourself.” He flips the bags over and dumps an assortment of clothing on my bed.
“If you never wear these after you have control of yourself again, I won’t be offended, but you’ll be beautiful in everything I picked out. ”
A smile tugs at my lips. “Thanks, Kit. Show me what you got me. Try it all on.”
His hand goes over his heart. “A fashion show? Are you allowing me to give you a fashion show?”
“Oh, good lord.” I laugh. “Yes, please. Give me an after-shopping fashion show.”
I can’t see his face, but I know he’s grinning ear to ear.
He practically skips to the light switch to flip it off.
He puts on the first outfit then turns on the light again so he can show me in the mirror.
It’s not what I was expecting. Kit has been dressing me dark and sexy, so when I see a floral lavender midi skirt paired with a cropped, lightweight white cardigan, I’m surprised.
“I wanted to buy you things I thought you would actually wear on your own,” he explains, understanding my surprise without me having to express it.
“I love it,” I say genuinely.
He tugs at the bottom of the cardigan, so lightly the action feels involuntary. “You look great in it,” he says, gazing in the mirror.
He shakes his head slightly, taking his hands away and turning away from the mirror.
He flips the light back off. When it’s back on, he’s wearing a high-neck cropped black tank, still with the same skirt.
I like that as well. He turns the light off again, this time coming back in wide-legged black pants and a cream-colored shirt.
Next time the light goes off and on, he’s in a dark-purple, silk midi slip dress with a cowl neck, and holy shit—
“I look hot,” I say, causing him to throw his head back in a cackle.
“You always look hot, babe.”
I lift my eyes upward and appeasingly amend, “Hot-ter.”
“Thank you.” His hands absently smooth over the dress as he twists to consider me in the mirror, hands staying on my waist.
My teeth sink into my lower lip as I watch his hands on me.
God, there is something about him touching me in silk that gets me revved up.
An ache pulses between my legs and my nipples pinch against the fabric of my bra as I’m suddenly desperate to feel his hands on me.
I just said that this couldn’t happen again.
I need to get a hold of myself. I need to, but all I can think about is what it would feel like if his hands were between my legs, stroking me, touching me, making me scream.
Shit. I’m practically panting at the thought. I can see my face blush in the mirror. I know Kit can tell what’s happening, but for once, he’s choosing to stay silent.
I break into my lustful thoughts and ask, “Anything else?”
His mouth perks. “Yeah, one more dress.”
He reaches to turn the light off, but before I know what I’m doing, I say, “You can keep the light on.”
I feel his surprise, but he doesn’t inquire further. “Okay.”
He turns away from the mirror still as he strips off the silk dress and does not look down at my body.
He grabs a dress from the bed, pulling it over his head, then rotates back to the mirror.
After the last one, I was expecting something extravagant, but this is simple.
It’s a black dress with short sleeves and buttons running down the length of it, hitting me at mid-thigh.
It’s shapely enough that I have a waist, but it’s not clinging to my body.
“I love it,” I say, and his grin is so wide it makes me grin as well.
“Good. I thought you would.” He tucks my hair behind one ear, hands lingering in the strands. He stares in the mirror but isn’t meeting my eye. Quietly he says, “Do you know how often I think about kissing you?”
This catches me off guard. It’s not like he’s never said anything in this vein before, but usually it’s more, I don’t know, sexual? Like the things he could do to me, how he could make me feel, but kissing is so…intimate.
I divert the comment with, “Feels a little vain when you’re in my body, doesn’t it?”
This gets a small, sad smile from him that hollows out my chest. “I suppose. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. It’s okay.” I pick at my nail polish that is still the same amount of chipped as it has been since Kit arrived. “You can’t kiss me.”
“I know,” he says softly. “It’s a foolish thought.”
I shake my head. “It’s not. I’ve thought about it, too.”
His eyebrows perk. “You have?”