20. Blesk
CHAPTER TWENTY
blesk
“Blesk?” Erik’s voice spills down the stairs.
The cold from the concrete has seeped through my palms into my arms. I don’t know exactly how much time has passed, but my thighs ache, my back is stiff, and my stomach is chewing on itself—hours must have flown by.
“Shit, Bebe, I told you not to go in. Why can’t you do as you’re told?” The crunch of his shoes on the steps grows nearer. I’m still trying to lift my head from the cold concrete when his arms envelop me.
“I’m okay,” I say as he pulls me protectively against his chest. His hands stroke the back of my head, fingers feeding into my hair. He smells like home—warm and familiar. He rocks me back and forth.
"I’m sorry,” I say.
He hushes me. “Don’t say anything right now. I just need to hold you.” And as I begin to cry harder, he squeezes me closer.
My shoulders shake. “Thank you."
Tears soak into his shirt. I hear his breaths become rough, feel his body tight with panic or tension. He hides his emotions quickly; a sniffle masked by a cleared throat.
My heart aches for every bit of sorrow I cause him.
Have caused him. And will always cause. I tried to move on.
Year after year. I thought I was good at it.
But here I am—causing drama again. And this man, here, he loves me.
Cares for me. I’ve never felt worthy of care.
Too much work. No matter how nice I am to Erik, it's not enough to account for all the sadness I bring.
Lifting my head, I blink away tears as I look into his eyes. They are red, anguished, clearly lacking sleep.
I’m sorry, Erik.
“I love you.” I hold his stare, and he holds mine. “I’m so sorry to put you through this again.”
“Blesk.” He grips my shoulders, pushing me out in front of him, his eyes studying me. “Why are you here?”
The question knocks air from my lungs. Konnor. One word. I don’t know how to answer this… How do I explain that I believe the boy I left in a cage for four years is the man I’m dating… I look up at him, pools of tears blurring my vision. “It’s… It’s to do with Konnor.”
His pupils dilate. "What about Konnor?”
I hiccup a sob. “I don’t…” I trail off when his hands move down to grip my upper arms. Tight. His fingers dig into my skin, and something icy slides down my spine. Maybe he doesn’t know how hard his grip is… I subtly try to shake him off, but his fingers respond. With more pressure.
He knows his grip is tight.
“Can you let go of me, please?”
“Let go?” The two words come out as if they’re inconceivable, low, hard, and unthinkable. “I know you lied to me. You went to see him after I dropped you off at your dorm. You told me you were going to sleep. You lied to my face.”
My throat tightens. “I… knew you wouldn’t like it.”
His jaw pulses.
More tears bubble over as dread churns through me. “Why are you doing this now? Please don’t do this now.”
“I hate that guy.” He cups my face with his hands. “He’s a total dickhead and he’s not good enough for you.”
I try to pull away from him now that he doesn’t have my arms, but he doesn’t let me.
“Erik, don’t do this now. Not now.”
“What did the dickhead do to make you cry?” His stare is very still. My pulse fills my ears as I think about that stare. About what is behind it.
“Erik”—I’m shaking my head—“don’t.”
He leans in, mouth inches from mine, breath slithering along my lips. I tense. “Tell me what he did to you, Blesk.” His voice is almost tender but scores the air.
I try to stand up, but he grabs my arms, dragging me back down to the step.
“Let me g-go.” My voice trembles.
“I saw you last night.” He pauses, letting that sink in. “Tell me the truth, Blesk.”
“Erik, whatever—“
“And I spoke with Pemberton.” His tone is soft and precise. “She said that she found you in his apartment. That you were adjusting your dress. That the sheets looked lied in… Has he been inside you, Blesk?”
My breath catches.
Whimpering in his hold while I squirm for freedom, I try harder to get away from him, shoving and pushing. His fingers just twist in my hair. The other hand grips my back. “I swear to God, Blesk, if you've let Konnor inside you, I can’t be responsible for what I do.”
Struggling in his grasp, I desperately fight back tears. And then the begging starts. I’ve never, ever begged before, but the words pour out as if something inside has been unplugged. “Erik. Please. Please. Don't do this. We can pretend this didn’t happen. I will pretend. You know I can pretend.”
He goes very still.
Dread threads through my ribs.
Something switches inside him—not onto anger, but onto a chilling calm.
And I gasp when he scoops me up, cradling me against his chest. It’s a long way down.
I grip his neck, so he doesn’t drop me down the stairs—or throw me down them.
Would he? No. He doesn’t. He walks me carefully down them, his heavy feet hitting the basement floor.
“Erik!” I can’t breathe. “Put me down!”
He does. Gently. With care. My back meets the cold floor.
His hand covers my mouth, before I’ve even decided to scream.
He comes down over me with the smooth authority of a man who has done this before, who knows exactly how much of his weight to distribute, to cover me, to confuse me with warmth, familiarity—and control.
Who knows the exact way to hold me beneath him so that I can’t move. Can hardly breathe.
Tears drip down my cheeks. I blink through them, trying to search the eyes of the man above me, trying to find a glimpse of my loving brother.
“Sh. Blesk, I’m not going to hurt you. You know that. I’m always gentle. God, I love you.” He kisses my lips. “You know that. I would do anything for you. I have. But I know you won’t listen to me unless you feel this again. How good this can feel. How right it feels."
My eyes widen when he uses his hips to force my legs apart, his erection rubbing between my thighs. Bile coats my throat and tongue.
I close my eyes, not wanting to see his face. The backs of my eyelids are dark and featureless, so I fix my attention there. Disappear into there.
Disappear.
Disappear.
He nuzzles the crook of my neck, the air from his nose hitting my skin. Even and heavy, he pants. Something wet slides up the column of my throat, leisurely, as if we have all day and—oh God. No one knows where we are. We are not at home. Not in our rooms. Not wary of Dad or any intruders…
I sob.
“Please don’t cry, Bebe."
Disappear.
I try to ignore all the places his hands are and the disturbing ardour of his touch. My nipples ache even though his fingers on them are gentle.
He rocks against me, groaning, “God, no one else gets me this hard. Ever."
I will my hands to match my fierce pulse, a sound that roars between my ears, but they are not strong nor powerful, shaking and heavier than I can lift. I will them to slap him or push him away, but what would happen? Would he stop or turn the gentle pressure to hard?
My hands search the floor at my sides for something solid, finding nothing to hold on to, so I dip my nails into the concrete until they hurt.
The rhythmic grinding of his erection between my thighs awakens that part of me I never consent to.
When I grow wet and prepared for him. Fingers slide up my thigh, lifting my dress to my waist, leaving the thin, damp piece of fabric protecting me.
The ridge of his erection is so hard, his pace against me so slow, so entitled.
"Oh, fuck, yes.” He feels my damp warmth. “See, it’s you and me. Always.”
A deep groan vibrates from him and through my chest.
Disappear.
"Don’t you remember how good this was? The first time we did this?
And how close we became? How devoted I was?
More than before. You bled. Oh God, Blesk.
You bled. I couldn’t believe how much you bled.
That means something to me. You gave me your virginity.
The thought of Konnor touching you... Fucking hell, it’s driven me out of my goddamn mind.
I’ve been going crazy, and I need you to calm me down.
So I can think straight.” His tongue traces a tear that rolls down my cheek. “Please don’t cry, Bebe.”
I want to scream, ‘Stop.’
"I’m the only person who's been inside you, right?"
I nod frantically.
"Good."
Disappear!
When he unbuttons his jeans and shifts his weight to pull them down, my mind fades out, leaving him alone with my body. The old lightbulb hangs loosely from the ceiling, dark, rocking back and forth in a draft from somewhere.
Or maybe I’m rocking.
It’s dark down here. Only thin tendrils of daylight come through the latch above, and they don’t reach the floor.
He must know this ceiling well—my hero boy.
All those nights, staring up at it, waiting.
I find a web of cracks in the concrete above me; they creep out as if they have been soundlessly splitting for a very long time, working towards the moment everything comes down.
I trace them with my eyes and wait.
Static.
Finally.