me.
But somewhere along the line, when the rage and helplessness gave way to exhaustion, I realized the true solution. To silence my dad, they had to kill Mara. They'd have had to kill me next. Then my mom. Only when no one was left, could he truly be free to speak. And so he never did. He never could.
I have no one. And they'll hear me roar, with no way to silence me.
They're all gonna pay for their crimes, if I have to write the check in my own blood.
Chapter Seven
Milla
It should be relaxing, Calder's fingers in my hair. But knowing he's seeing me like this... he's basking in it... it takes the joy out of contact that, at least on the surface, is intended to comfort. It reminds me of that first night, him sending me over the edge, feeling me come around him, after he tied me down. I finally gather my anger enough to meet his eyes, to dare him to see every way he'll suffer in my glare.
But there's nothing in his face but confusion and concern. No gloating, no smugness, or tightly-concealed enjoyment of my pain.
I should still shove him away. Just because he's a better actor than I gave him credit for doesn't mean I should pretend this is any kind of altruism.
He doesn't apologize, doesn't talk. But his eyes freeze me in place, stock-still under his hands, as he steals the bloodlust and anger. He sinks to his elbow, and then to his back, on the sub-floor, his eyes still locked to mine. Our faces a foot apart, my chin propped on my arms, and nothing left but us, peeping at each other's souls through the shutters.
My hair falls across his face and neck, and his hand drifts up to my cheekbone. I shiver at the gentility in his touch.
I open my mouth, ready to tell him to piss off, consequences be damned, and his thumb glides over my lips, sliding between them and brushing my tongue. “Shhh, Milla. You don't have to talk about it. I'm here anyways.”
I blink, my momentum hijacked by the new direction. He’s fixated on my lips, and it doesn't take a rocket scientist to realize why. Not with his pants tenting more by the second, and the pad of his finger against my tongue.
My body reacts to his closeness, to the protective tone, false though I know it is. His gentle rumble brings goosebumps to my arms, and sets my blood moving. “I don't need you here,” I grumble, as much of my real feelings as I dare let loose.
“I know. But I'm here anyways.” He arches his neck to bring the tip of his nose close enough to brush mine, before dropping his head back. But his thumb is still against my lips, and it's plain that the motion of me talking hasn't encouraged him to pull it away.
I turn my head to the side to shake him loose, but that doesn't help. The one side still puts us in each other's eyeline, or and turning my chin the other way makes me uncomfortably aware of how hard he is, just from my former proximity. Still, that's much easier to handle. I leave my chin pointed toward his legs, though my scalp still itches from his eyes on it.
His bare toes are comically knobby. That shouldn't be making me smile. It's nice knowing he has some rough edges; even with his hair disheveled and something more prominent than a five o'clock shadow, he's still retained some manner of magnetism.
“Can I come up there?”
“What?”
“I won't make a move on you. I promise. But things are shitty enough without you having to suffer alone. And there's not quite enough room for me down here—now I know how a Tetris piece feels.” It makes me rethink my earlier conclusion. What if he wasn't goading me about my family, and just truly does believe in us being a cohesive group? At the very least, I don't want him wary or upset, not for what I have planned. I can't turn him away.
“You won't make a move. Really.”
“No, silly. I won't.” Recognizing that he's already won the war, he gathers himself to stand. “Now scoot over.”
I obey.
He slides in next to me, shifting me slightly left of center in my rounded
But somewhere along the line, when the rage and helplessness gave way to exhaustion, I realized the true solution. To silence my dad, they had to kill Mara. They'd have had to kill me next. Then my mom. Only when no one was left, could he truly be free to speak. And so he never did. He never could.
I have no one. And they'll hear me roar, with no way to silence me.
They're all gonna pay for their crimes, if I have to write the check in my own blood.
Chapter Seven
Milla
It should be relaxing, Calder's fingers in my hair. But knowing he's seeing me like this... he's basking in it... it takes the joy out of contact that, at least on the surface, is intended to comfort. It reminds me of that first night, him sending me over the edge, feeling me come around him, after he tied me down. I finally gather my anger enough to meet his eyes, to dare him to see every way he'll suffer in my glare.
But there's nothing in his face but confusion and concern. No gloating, no smugness, or tightly-concealed enjoyment of my pain.
I should still shove him away. Just because he's a better actor than I gave him credit for doesn't mean I should pretend this is any kind of altruism.
He doesn't apologize, doesn't talk. But his eyes freeze me in place, stock-still under his hands, as he steals the bloodlust and anger. He sinks to his elbow, and then to his back, on the sub-floor, his eyes still locked to mine. Our faces a foot apart, my chin propped on my arms, and nothing left but us, peeping at each other's souls through the shutters.
My hair falls across his face and neck, and his hand drifts up to my cheekbone. I shiver at the gentility in his touch.
I open my mouth, ready to tell him to piss off, consequences be damned, and his thumb glides over my lips, sliding between them and brushing my tongue. “Shhh, Milla. You don't have to talk about it. I'm here anyways.”
I blink, my momentum hijacked by the new direction. He’s fixated on my lips, and it doesn't take a rocket scientist to realize why. Not with his pants tenting more by the second, and the pad of his finger against my tongue.
My body reacts to his closeness, to the protective tone, false though I know it is. His gentle rumble brings goosebumps to my arms, and sets my blood moving. “I don't need you here,” I grumble, as much of my real feelings as I dare let loose.
“I know. But I'm here anyways.” He arches his neck to bring the tip of his nose close enough to brush mine, before dropping his head back. But his thumb is still against my lips, and it's plain that the motion of me talking hasn't encouraged him to pull it away.
I turn my head to the side to shake him loose, but that doesn't help. The one side still puts us in each other's eyeline, or and turning my chin the other way makes me uncomfortably aware of how hard he is, just from my former proximity. Still, that's much easier to handle. I leave my chin pointed toward his legs, though my scalp still itches from his eyes on it.
His bare toes are comically knobby. That shouldn't be making me smile. It's nice knowing he has some rough edges; even with his hair disheveled and something more prominent than a five o'clock shadow, he's still retained some manner of magnetism.
“Can I come up there?”
“What?”
“I won't make a move on you. I promise. But things are shitty enough without you having to suffer alone. And there's not quite enough room for me down here—now I know how a Tetris piece feels.” It makes me rethink my earlier conclusion. What if he wasn't goading me about my family, and just truly does believe in us being a cohesive group? At the very least, I don't want him wary or upset, not for what I have planned. I can't turn him away.
“You won't make a move. Really.”
“No, silly. I won't.” Recognizing that he's already won the war, he gathers himself to stand. “Now scoot over.”
I obey.
He slides in next to me, shifting me slightly left of center in my rounded
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