Chapter 14 #2
Even in its disarray, it’s elegant—simple but not underwhelming—with its stained wood cabinets and matte black countertops.
I lean against it, my eyes searching for any sight of him in the backyard, but he’s nowhere to be seen.
I guess I might as well work on cleaning up while I wait.
Give myself time to think through what the hell I’m going to say.
I push off the countertop, leaving behind the ghost of handprints, and instead of planning out how to confess one of my darkest secrets, my mind ponders what else would leave a mark like that.
Would the silhouette of my body be imprinted upon it if I were laid out here with Hawthorne between my legs?
I remember how good he looked eating me out in the mausoleum.
How satisfying would it be to drip onto these countertops and into his waiting mouth?
The errant thought sends a bolt of hunger through me, and not for anything in that fridge. Memories of us fucking on every surface of this house come to me clear as day, even with all the changes he’s made with the remodel.
One thing that was always true about us was that what we couldn’t convey with words, we always said with our bodies. It’s tempting to turn to that now, but we need to have a conversation. I need to lay everything on the table.
“You cleaned up?” Hawthorne seems genuinely surprised as he enters through the back door.
“You were gone a long time,” I say, not meeting his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he starts, but I wave it off with my hand.
“We need to talk,” I sigh.
“We do. First, I just want to say I understand why you feel the way you do about Jayden…kind of. But I need you to know, I meant what I said. I’m being honest with you.”
“I know, I’m sorry.” I pause, suddenly needing a deep breath.
“But that’s actually not what I wanted to talk about.
There’s…” I clear my throat. “There’s something else I need to tell you, but I’m going to need something strong in my stomach before I do.
” Needing a minute to catch my breath and harness my nerves, I set off to the living room where I’ll at least be more comfortable as I lay myself bare, and not in a fun way.
Sitting in one of the large chairs by the fireplace, I kick off my shoes—suddenly overwhelmed by their confines—and wrap a blanket around my shoulders.
The tinkling of glassware and metal is sharp, every sound, every movement grating as Hawthorne makes our drinks.
I sink into the chair more, trying to grasp at my scattered thoughts.
The night that caused this ripple effect in our lives has haunted me for so long; it’s time to bring it out of the shadows.
“Let me know if this is okay.” He passes me the fizzing beverage. We both ignore the way the ice rattles when I grab it.
I don’t hesitate, tossing a large swig back. The earthy taste of gin collides with lemon juice as the drink blossoms tart and acidic on my tongue. I regret that decision instantly.
“Based on the fact that you winced, I’m going to guess not,” he jokes, holding his hand out. “I’ll make you something else.
I used to love a Tom Collins, but after drinking too many nights drowning my sorrows about the shit lot I’ve been dealt, they’ve never been the same.
Maybe this is a chance to associate a new memory with them, though.
“It’s okay. The drink doesn’t matter, just the alcohol content. Thanks for the extra shot, by the way.”
He nods, then starts up the fireplace before taking a seat in the chair across from me. “I’m ready. Tell me.” There’s no trace of that beautiful smile of his when he looks up at me. Instead, dread casts a shadow over his face.
Buying myself a few more seconds, I take a long drink, hissing between my teeth at the sharpness of it. “Do you remember the night we played light as a feather?”
“Not something I could ever forget.” His eyes flick upward toward the streak of white that runs through his otherwise dark hair—a physical reminder that what happened to us was real.
“He wasn’t going to let you go.”
“But that’s why you made the deal, right? You wouldn’t banish him if he let me live…”
“That wasn’t the deal.”
“What are you talking about?” Hawthorne sits up straighter, all of his attention on me.
“I lied.” My words are unsteady as they tangle with the onslaught of emotions that rise within me at the memory.
Tossing back a large gulp of my drink, I buy myself time to find the gumption necessary to be honest, to finally spill my secret.
“You have to understand that there was no other way. I was willing to do anything to save your life.”
“Tell me. What was the deal, then?” His grip around the glass turns to strangulation, and my mouth goes dry as he peers up at me.
“It wasn’t that simple of an exchange.”
“What did you promise him?”
“Me,” I gasp. “In exchange for your life, I promised him that he could have me in death. Your life for my soul to keep.” Saying it aloud is as painful for me as it is for him. Our grimaces matching. “Bound. Forever. When I die, I will remain in this house. But I’ll belong to him.”
He stands, and despite what I know of him, I flinch—the reflexive response to sudden movements and clashing fists as natural as breathing, ingrained in me from a young age.
Hawthorne stills, his gaze apologetic, his body tense with anger that he would never unleash in front of me.
It’s not mine to bear; we both know who it belongs to.
“There was no other way.” A promise, a confession, a placation.
“Why would you do that?” The punch through the chest I’ve just delivered has left him breathless. “Why? Sol, no.” He’s shaking his head. His rejection useless, his distress wasted. A deal is a deal, as I’m often reminded.
“This is the way it has to be.”
“No. I don’t accept that.” He begins to pace. “How can you look at me and expect me to be okay with this? How are you okay with this?”
“I made my choice. I’ve come to terms with it.”
“So, you’re just fine with selling yourself into some fucked up arrangement that leaves you at the mercy of that sick fuck for all of eternity.”
“I was the only reason he targeted you in the first place. I couldn’t let you pay the price for me.
” It was a big decision for a teenager to make, but I wouldn’t make a different decision now.
“I would trade an eternity of misery for just a few more minutes with you. That gamble paid off. You’re alive, Hawthorne.
Nearly two decades later, you live and breathe.
I would have taken anything, and you’ve had years. You’ll have a lifetime.”
“I live and breathe, and I’ve been a fucking ghost of myself every second that I’ve been without you.
What kind of life is that? What kind of life have we both been living?
” The air quotes he throws up at the last word are sharp, more like claws.
As if he could tear the harsh reality of it to pieces with his bare hands.
I wanted to save him this pain. The realization of just how much that night changed everything.
But despite all my sacrifices, all the lonely nights I spent in cold motel rooms with the miles tearing me in two—the part of me that belonged with him and the stranger I had to become—I can’t bear to imagine the alternative.
“There wasn’t any other choice,” I say with the heaviness of all the regrets I hold onto.
They build within me, a hundred angry buzzing bees stinging my most tender parts.
“There’s no point in arguing about this; what’s done is done.
” I turn away from him, desperate to shield myself from his ability to read me.
“I’m not letting this go. I’m not letting you go.
I meant it when I said you are mine.” Hawthorne’s hand slides around my waist, pulling me against him, letting me lean on him without me even having to ask.
Intuitive. He learned the language of my body and mind quickly—more intense in his study than even the most dedicated students—and never lost his fluency.
The pounding of his heart beats against my back, each steady drum of it pushing me toward the ledge of no return. He deserves to know just how much I ruined his life. I take a step away, creating distance between us. There’s no way I can be in his embrace when I say this.
“The reason you were even in danger in the first place was because of me.”
“How can you say that? He came after us.”
“He came for me. He attacked you because he knew you mattered to me. He knew that I loved you.” My voice cracks, all that old guilt shredding me to pieces. “I made you a threat to him. I made you a target.” A fresh dose of self-hatred makes its way through my veins.
“No, Sol.” His fingers wrap around my wrist. “Look at me.”
Reluctantly, I do. He tilts my head up so our eyes lock.
I search his gaze for resentment or disgust, expressions that I’ve been on the receiving end of so many times from so many people in my life, but not from him.
There in his gaze, there’s only that undying love that’s like a flare shooting into the sky when you’re lost at sea, a beacon of hope, of possibility that maybe help is coming, that maybe this isn’t as bleak as it seems.
“When I made the agreement, death seemed like such a distant thing. I thought I’d bought us a lifetime.
Time to grow up, to really fall in love, to enjoy our lives in exchange for an afterlife of discontentment.
A fair deal, I’d told myself.” I let out a sigh, still trying so hard not to hate the naive girl that I was.
“But Ivan was greedier, more calculated, than I realized. Everything had been leading to that moment; he was just waiting for his opportunity to back me into a corner. To fully sink his teeth into me and claim me.”
“He was fucking grooming you.”