24. Twenty-Four
Twenty-Four
Sara
In a series of unfortunate events, I moved in with Liam. I’ve now been in his house for a week, and I can’t believe this has become my life, a necklace of pearls of each event after event, jeweled at my neck in a chokehold. Help?
I’m one to go with the flow because that current attempted to drown me too many times, and now, I follow a path that is not always the most obvious path one would take.
I’m drawn to Liam. He’s a masterpiece of contradictions, alluring in ways that are not only physical but also possess a softness and a deep loyalty that lives in him.
He’s warm when you least expect it, and I’m seeing a version of him that perhaps just wants to be loved like everyone else.
Yet, living with Liam is nothing short of… Confusing?
He seems to have relaxed knowing I’m safe in the house, but he’s been holding himself back to start what we were on the verge of starting. I guess him and Joe have that in common. Good Lord. Regardless, it’s for the best.
I told him I’ll stay in Joe’s room, not that there are many other options, and I only ended up embarrassing myself when he looked at me with his upraised brow and suggested I’m welcome to take the couch if I'd prefer that too. Jerk.
I need to pour a bucket of ice over my head with this man being under the same roof, and it’s pissing me off.
When he walks around half naked after a shower, when he thinks of always getting food for me, when he draws me a bath just to remind me I should rot in warm water with a book, when I’ve fallen asleep on the couch and he turns the tv off and covers me as I keep my eyes closed pretending I’m still asleep; things only intensify in my chest.
It would be easier if he would go back to asshole mode but for the first time, I see an implausibly beautiful, handsome man who is trying to survive his darkness, and I think I remind him of his demons, of everything he promised himself to stay away from.
I tell myself that this is probably for the best. When all of this is over, we’ll part ways and I’ll go back home.
Perhaps I’ll consider the university in Paris I’ve thought about.
I’m very attracted to him, but the guilt that comes with him being Joe’s brother is keeping me caged, and being restrained in this house has rattled me.
Meanwhile, the one I haven’t shied away from is Fiasco The Potato. He’s been such a cutie patootie, all paws and floppy ears. He’s grown so much that I wholeheartedly believe he’s half Labrador, half cow.
Moof.
I've settled into a strange rhythm here, peaceful on the surface, but with a silence that amplifies every thought I try to escape. My heart and mind are yearning for elements that are out of reach, and it always goes back to Liam.
He wakes up before I do, and I hear the clatter of pans and the smell of coffee brewing, and he’s the first thing I see.
This burning feeling of appreciation follows me around.
I’m furious at myself for wanting more and yet not knowing what it is I’d ask for.
The memory of his arms around me, my breath heavy against him, enveloped by his scent, is enough to… miss him.
Sara, you hated him not too long ago. Revert to that feeling!
I’m washing a mug, avoiding thoughts and putting my focus and devotion to something as simple as washing dishes, taking me absolutely no closer to a sanctuary, except that I crave to bare more of my soul to Liam and to see how far he will strip me alive.
I jolt when he appears behind me, close enough that I feel the heat of him but not close enough to touch. How easy it would be to turn around, put my hand on his chest and kiss him. That desire is as poisoned as the cruel daydreams that taunt me.
We were so close to crossing the line… I feel deprived of carbs, and I need a dose of gluten. I’d shove my whole face into a loaf of bread at this point and regret it later.
“You don’t have to clean. I’ve got it.” His voice is low, kind, even.
I grip the mug harder than necessary. I don’t turn around because if I do, I don’t trust what I’ll do.
“I live here now, don’t I? I want to do my part.” It comes out sharper than I intend.
There’s a beat, one of those heavy Liam beats, where he says nothing and somehow says too much.
“You do, but…” he answers quietly. He sounds as if he’s forcing the words past something lodged in his throat.
I finally turn to face him.
His eyes flick down to my hands, then up to my face, and the tension between us stretches so taut I feel the throb of want pulse inside me, a string attached to my chest pulling me not to act on any of it.
Each of my heartbeats expands that thin thread to the point of snapping, and I don't care about what's right or wrong. His eyes only reveal that he’s holding himself together just as badly as I am.
“Then stop acting like I’m made of glass,” I whisper.
“Sara…” he says in an exasperated, too lost in a breath, pinching his eyebrows.
“What?” I ask, feeling a sting. “What are we doing, Liam?”
“I’m trying not to hurt you.” His jaw ticks hard, his icy blue eyes making my stomach flutter.
Ignore it, ignore it, Sara.
“You’re hurting me, anyway. You were hurting me less when you meant to!” It is the closest I come to unleashing everything.
His breath leaves him in a slow, ragged sigh, and for a throb, the smallest, treacherous pulsation and I think he might reach for me. Pull me in. Finally, stop pretending he doesn’t want to, and convince me to do the same… but he takes the mug from my hands and wipes it down with a towel.
His eyes never leaving mine.
I swallow hard, my legs shaking at his proximity, and it’s downright ridiculous and amateur.
He steps closer and my breath hitches, my body begging for things that only resonate with regretful carnal desire.
Just when my eyes stare down at his lips, he sets the cup on the counter and steps away.
Leaving me breathless from running an imaginary marathon on my bare knees, begging for him to ruin me.
I eventually go to my bedroom and slam the door, which draws him standing outside my room a moment later.
If we are trying to make things uncomplicated, we are pathetically failing.
While, perhaps, it doesn’t have to be, the brain and the heart are dividing me into what started as a fuse and now feels like a ticking bomb ready to explode.
For better or for worse, taking everything in its path either carrying us away to dive deep or take us apart.
Wanting him. Hating him. Breaking for him.
Silently, hoping he’s breaking for me too, for something we will both never be able to take back.
It’s as if he’s ready to knock. I stand taller, longing for the doorknob to turn, for him to walk through that door and tell me the things I’m too frightened to hear. I take a breath, digging my nails into my palms.
Come on, Liam…
Come on.
But he walks away, and I let out a heavy breath— a feeling of being unwanted ravaging through me, a feeling I am too familiar with.
When I think I'm drowning a little more into an existence of wanting things I’ll never have, my phone pings.
Mimi: Boat Velastra, Party starts at 18:30 tomorrow, and they will park the boat across from The Senequier Café. You’re welcome. Don’t make me regret this.
Mimi came through with the poker game invitation I've been waiting for.
My stomach twists with both dread and a strange thrill.
I'm stepping into something even more dangerous than whatever burns between Liam and me, but this feels inevitable somehow.
I need to find out what secrets Joe kept.
I can't explain why, but tomorrow night on the Velastra's dock feels like destiny pulling me toward answers I'm not sure I'm ready to find.
The scream jolts me awake. A deep voice echoes through the walls, carrying pain and fear across the room.
Did Liam catch my stalker and torture him?
My pulse races out of my chest as I throw back the comforter, startling Fiasco, who’s been curled against my stomach. He blinks up at me with accusatory eyes.
“Some guard dog you are,” I whisper, unsure if I’m in immediate danger outside of Joe’s bedroom.
What time is it, anyway? It must be three in the morning. I finally fell asleep semi-peacefully after that poker game invite, and now I’m sweating, swallowing hard at the loud yells.
Then they halt. I get up, open the door, and creep down the hallway.
The house is dimly lit by moonlight and the village nightlights.
There’s no one in the living room or kitchen.
I walk slowly, holding my breath, barely daring to look out the windows — God forbid I lock eyes with my stalker, who may have slipped inside.
Then the scream comes again, vibrating through the walls, and I realize it’s coming from Liam’s bedroom.
Oh no. My heart drops. The thought that someone’s hurting him in his sleep, when he’s most vulnerable, makes me ill…
scared for him. He’s no saint, and I’m still unsure what he does or why, but I know he has enemies.
I scan the kitchen for a weapon, and there’s only a knife or a mop. I grab the latter because with my luck, I’d end up dead from my own defense tool. I’m really not made for this life.
Stepping toward his door, I fling it open, prepared to confront an attacker with a deadly mop readied, but only find Liam writhing in a nightmare.
His face contorts in agony. My chest aches at the sight of him and at the mercy of whatever demons haunt his sleep.
This man, untouchable, vicious at times, soft at others, is now helpless.
Before I can think, I’m at his bedside. My feet carry me there on their own accord, drawn by some need to repay him for the times he’s watched over me.
His arm slams the empty pillow beside him. I reach toward his face and whisper his name. Too quietly, I suppose, as he remains trapped. His skin radiates heat beneath my fingertips.
“Liam,” I try again, louder. “Liam… please.”