Chapter 12 Annie
ANNIE
The leather passenger’s seat of Elio's car is cool against my cheek as I curl into myself, his loose clothing comforting. It smells like him, like clean laundry and a whiff of his woodsy cologne, and I tuck my head into my chest, breathing in the scent to try to calm myself. He’s taking me somewhere safe, and I feel safer with him, but the terror of the night hasn’t fully passed.
I can’t stop seeing the lust in Desmond’s eyes, hear the clink of his belt as he undid it, feel his weight on me, and the hot slide of his cock, as he came within a breath of taking what I’d decided I didn’t want to give him yet.
I can’t stop seeing his face as he ran after me. He was going to finish what he started. If he finds me, he still will. I know it.
I’m not safe yet. But I’m safer than I was before.
The engine's steady hum mingles with the sound of rain pattering against the windows, creating a cocoon of white noise that makes my eyelids heavy. I should stay awake—should be alert, watching for danger—but exhaustion pulls at me like a riptide.
"Sleep, Annie," Elio's voice is soft, barely audible over the storm. "We have a long drive ahead."
I want to protest, to tell him I'm fine, but the words won't come. My body feels foreign to me now, like it belongs to someone else. Someone who was touched by hands that had no right to touch her. Someone who fought and ran and barely escaped with her dignity intact. I want to be held by someone who I know won’t hurt me, and at the same time, I don’t ever want to be touched again.
The car takes a turn, and I slide slightly across the seat.
I breathe in again, leather and the scent of Elio on his clothing.
Running away together like this feels like being a teenager again, stealing glances at him across the dinner table when he lived with us.
It makes my chest ache with longing even now, when I should be thinking of nothing but survival.
It makes me ache for him in a way that has nothing to do with desire and everything to do with a different kind of need.
My eyes drift closed despite my best efforts to stay vigilant.
I'm back in Elio's penthouse, but this time everything is different. This time, we’re in a bathroom—his bathroom, maybe. He kneels beside the tub and reaches for the washcloth, his green eyes dark with something more than concern.
"Let me take care of you," he murmurs, his voice rough with desire.
The water is warm against my skin as he trails the cloth along my arm, washing away the dirt and blood and fear. But his touch lingers, fingers tracing patterns that make my breath catch. When he reaches my collarbone, he sets the cloth aside and uses his hands instead.
"Annie." He breathes my name like a prayer, like something sacred. His thumb brushes across my lower lip, and I part my mouth instinctively. "I've wanted this for so long."
"Then take it," I whisper, trembling for a different reason now. "Take me."
His hands slide into my wet hair, tilting my head back as he leans down to kiss me. It's nothing like Desmond's demanding mouth. This is reverence and need and longing, years and years of it wrapped up into a moment where I came to him when I had nowhere else to go.
When he pulls back, his eyes are hot, needy. "Are you sure?"
Instead of answering with words, I reach for him, pulling him down into the water with me. He comes willingly, his white-shirt clinging to his chest as he settles between my legs. The bathtub is too small for both of us, but somehow we make it work, our bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces.
His mouth finds my throat, pressing hot kisses along the column of my neck while his hands explore every inch of skin they can reach.
My clothes have vanished, my skin bare, and I arch against him, desperate for more contact, more of this feeling that's washing away every terrible memory from tonight.
"You're so beautiful," he murmurs against my ear, his accent thicker than usual. "So perfect."
I want to tell him I love him, that I've loved him since I was a teenager with stars in my eyes and dreams of fairy tale endings. But before I can form the words, his hand slides between my legs, and all coherent thought abandons me.
The dream shifts and changes, becoming more vivid, more intense.
In this fantasy world, there's no Ronan to disapprove, no family politics to navigate, no danger lurking in the shadows.
No Desmond or Gia or complications. There's only Elio and me and the longing that's always existed between us, finally allowed to burn as brightly as I always wanted it to.
I grasp for him, pulling him toward me, seeking more, more…
but the dream shimmers and wobbles, fading before I can have what I want.
I'm dimly aware of the car stopping, of strong arms lifting me from the backseat.
The rain has stopped, and cool night air brushes against my face as Elio carries me toward what looks like a small cabin nestled among tall pine trees.
I should open my eyes fully, should pay attention to our surroundings, but the dream is still pulling at me, and I'm not ready to let it go.
"Almost there." Elio's voice is a low rumble in his chest, and I feel the vibration of it against my cheek where it rests against his shoulder.
The sound of his voice sends warmth spiraling through me, even in my half-conscious state. I want to hear it again, want to hear everything I imagined in my dream. I want him to carry me upstairs and wipe away all of the stains that it feels like Desmond left on my skin.
I hear the sound of a key in a lock, then we're inside somewhere warm and dry. Elio's footsteps tap against a wood floor as he carries me down a hallway. A door creaks open, and then I'm being lowered onto something soft—a bed, I realize, as my body sinks into a plush mattress.
"Sleep now," he whispers, his fingers brushing hair away from my face with infinite gentleness. "You're safe here."
The mattress dips as he sits beside me for a moment, and I feel the whisper of his breath against my forehead.
For one wild second, I think he might kiss me there, might press his lips to my skin the way he did in my dream.
But then he's pulling away, and I hear his footsteps retreating toward the door.
I want to call out to him, to ask him to stay, but sleep is dragging me under again before I can find my voice.
This time, the dream is different. Softer. We're not in his bathroom anymore, but in a bedroom I don't recognize. Moonlight streams through gauzy curtains, casting everything in silver and shadow. Elio is beside me on the bed, fully clothed but somehow more intimate than if he was naked.
"I should have protected you," he murmurs, his voice heavy with guilt. "I should have been there."
"You're here now," I tell him, reaching up to cup his face in my hands. "That's all that matters."
He turns his head to press a kiss to my palm, and the simple gesture makes my heart flutter like a caged bird. "I won't let anyone hurt you again. I promise."
"I know," I whisper, and I do. Despite everything that's happened, despite the danger we're in, I feel safer with Elio than I've ever felt with anyone else.
He lies down beside me, pulling me against his chest, and I listen to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It's the most beautiful sound in the world. I’ve never heard anything better, no music or poem, or story. This is everything I want. Everything I’ve ever wanted.
"Annie," he murmurs into my hair.
"Mmm?"
"I—" He stops, seeming to struggle with whatever he wants to say. "I care about you. More than I should."
It's not a declaration of love, but it's something. It's more than I ever dared hope for.
"I care about you, too," I tell him, pressing a kiss to his chest through his shirt. "I always have."
His arms tighten around me, and I feel him press his lips to the top of my head. "Get some rest, sweetheart. Tomorrow we'll figure everything out."
But I don't want to think about tomorrow. I don't want to think about Desmond or Ronan or the mess I've made of everything. I just want to stay here in this perfect moment, wrapped in Elio's arms, pretending that the outside world doesn't exist.
When I wake, pale morning light is filtering through unfamiliar curtains, and I'm alone.
For a moment, I don't remember where I am.
The bed is too small to be mine, the room too quiet even for the outskirts of Boston, the smell of pine and wood smoke too foreign.
Then it all comes rushing back—Desmond's hands on me, the struggle, running through the rain to Elio's house, the drive through the night to this safe house.
Panic threatens to tear through me, and I breathe in shakily, trying to keep myself from falling apart again. Slowly, I sit up, taking in the room around me.
It’s very simple. A full—maybe queen-sized—bed covered in a simple dark blue quilt, a pinewood dresser and nightstand, an armchair by the window with a plaid throw blanket tossed over the back.
Outside, I can see trees glittering with ice—it must have frozen overnight after the rain.
It’s mostly trees outside, and I remember Elio saying that the cabin was in the woods.
I sit up slowly, my body protesting every movement. I'm sore all over, as if I ran a marathon and got into a fight all in the same night, and I realize I’m still wearing Elio's clothing,
"Elio?" I call out, my voice hoarse from sleep and crying.
Silence.
Panic starts to build in my chest, a familiar tightness that makes it hard to breathe. Where is he? Has something happened? Did Desmond find us somehow?