I was six months away from getting my master’s degree. Six-months. All that hard work, all the hours studying, all of the late-night phone calls with my dad to try and understand what the hell I was doing, and for what?
Because the thought of leaving this bed is too much. It’s safe here. I never want to open the door to the outside world again. This bed is warm, it is comfortable, it is safe. No one can hurt me here.
I turn over onto my back and wipe my cheeks with my hands, staring at the ceiling as if the fan has all the answers. The blades spin and the air conditioning comes on, letting the temperature of the room drop to freezing, which I love because I can cuddle in the blanket.
“Heather?” Jolie’s calls for me from the other side of the bedroom door that I keep locked. I don’t trust anyone. I don’t think I ever will. “I brought food. I thought you’d be hungry and some orange juice. That sounds good, right?”
I stay silent, curling up in the bed, and turn on my right side. I look out the window, watching the fog get thinner as the sun rises through the trees and peeks through the clouds. The waves crash against the rocks, creating a beautiful lullaby, and the seagulls sing to one another as they wake up.
I’m thankful I’m staring at such a gorgeous view with trees that disappear into the sky instead of a dirty, blood ridden floor and rusted stirrups.
“He’s dead. He’s dead,” I say out loud to myself, so I can hear the words on an exhaled breath. “He can’t hurt you here. You’re safe.” I clutch the down feather pillow and hug it to my chest.
“And then maybe after you eat, I can call the doctor for you? You really need to be checked out and make sure everything is okay,” Jolie says gently, sighing as she waits for me to say something.
I’m too tired to speak, and I don’t care about what the doctor finds or what they have to say. A part of me wants to die. I’ve never felt like this before. I have had an easy life, privileged, up until my sister died, and even after that, I had everything I wanted because my parents felt like they had to give me more. I am their only daughter now. They wanted to give me the world.
I was so naïve about the world and about horrible people. Bad things didn’t happen to girls like me. I was constantly protected, had all the money in the world, all the things a girl could ever want, I had.
Besides my sister and without her, it was hard to appreciate what I had left.
And now, what do I have?
My life?
I scoff and shake my head, pressing it against the pillow. What fucking life? I don’t want this life. I want to die because I don’t feel like myself, and if I want to be honest, I haven’t felt like myself since Grace died.
“Heather? Please, talk to me.”
“I don’t want anything.” I don’t even sound like myself. My voice is unrecognizable, monotone, like a robot. I don’t take my eyes off the ocean, crashing along the cliffs with early morning ease.
“You have to eat and drink something. Please, Heather. I’m worried about you.”
Worry all you want. I don’t want anything to do with being helped.
“Heather—”
“Just leave me alone!” I scream at her, grab the pillow, then throw it at the door. “Go away.” My lip trembles when I feel another burst of emotion wanting to escape. “Just go,” I break, curling into a ball once more.
“Okay, I’m just going to set the food by the door, okay? I’ll leave you be and check in on you later. I know you don’t want to talk. Believe me, I know. I’ve been there, but if you ever want to talk, I’m here for you. I know you know that because we talked yesterday but don’t ever think I won’t get tired of hearing about what you have to say.”
We talked twice, and suddenly she thinks I want to always talk to her?
Okay, that isn’t fair. I know she’s trying to be nice, but I don’t want kindness. I want to be left alone.
I want to turn back time and pretend none of this happened. I want to go back to the day I got out of bed and decided to go visit Grace. It wasn’t even a day I should have went to her grave. I had already been that week, but I missed her so much that day, and now…
Now my parents will have to live without either of their kids.
“I don’t care. Unlock the door,” I hear someone say, which makes me jolt up in a panic. My heart starts to pound and race, making my blood pump with anxiety and the itch to run.
There is nowhere to go.
“You can’t just barge in there, Heaven. You have to respect her space.”
“Get the fuck out of my way, Sebastian. I know it’s her. Did you watch the news? It can’t be anyone else. It has to be her. Let me in!”
“No, get the fuck out of here. You have no idea what she has been through. She needs space, and when she is ready, she will come out—”
“No, I need to know she is okay. If she has been under our roof for the last few days and I didn’t even know…please. I know her, Sebastian. I know her.”
I don’t know anyone here! That man is crazy, even if his voice sounds like smooth velvet and a tad bit familiar.
“How do you know her?” asks the other man; I think his name is Sebastian.
“I don’t want to get into that with you. I need to know if it is her. I can help her get home if she wants. Please, let me see her.”
“No, I’m sorry, Heaven.”
I get out of bed for the first time in three days and creep toward the bedroom door instead of going to the restroom. My feet patter against the floor, the black wood cold to the touch and making me gasp for air. Every move I make, I feel the ache in my joints and muscles, but I do know his voice. I can’t remember where I have heard it.
I place my hands against the door and lean in, laying my ear against the wood to see if I can hear more of their conversation.
“Please, Sebastian,” the man begs again, and his voice breaks. “I haven’t seen her…” he stops speaking, getting choked up, which only confuses me. “I haven’t seen her in years. She hates me, but I need to tell her—”
I stumble back from the door when it hits me who it is.
That’s impossible.
Out of all the places for me to be, there is no way I am in the same house as Asher Haven. I hate him.
I loved him, but I hate him more.
Not thinking and letting the rage fuel me, I unlock the door and swing it open so fast my hair breezes over my shoulder. I’m staring at broad shoulders and a wide back. A man with dark hair is blocking the path to Asher.
I think it’s Asher.
No, I know.
The man, Sebastian, turns his head over his shoulder and stares at me wide-eyed. He’s surprised that I opened the door.
Yeah, me too.
He steps out of the way, and I’m bombarded with the past when Asher’s face comes to view. He got taller, broader, and if it were possible, better looking, and it makes me hate him more. His dirty blonde hair is kind of long, wavy like he brushes his fingers through it too much. He has stubble on his face, which is new because when he was seventeen, he barely had peach fuzz.
His beauty is holy, something that deserves to be praised, but someone so pleasing to the eye can only promise one thing: sin. And I’ve had enough of that for a lifetime.
Asher’s lip part, and when he sees me, he smiles in relief. “It’s you. Oh my god, Heather. It’s you. It’s really you.” He charges at me, arms out to pull me in a hug, but I lift my hand to stop him from coming any closer.
All I see is him covered in my sister’s blood.
I know he didn’t kill her. I thought he did, I tried to convince myself that he did for the longest time, but as evidence came forth, and his character came into play, I knew he didn’t. Asher Haven was a lot of things, but a woman beater and killer was not one of them.
I can’t speak for who he is now. For all I know, he kills women in his spare time, which is something I don’t believe, but I’m not feeling all too kind right now.
“Heather—”
he says with a broken voice, staring at me with watery eyes as his cheeks redden. He rubs a hand over his mouth as he tries to pull himself together. “Heather, I…I am so sorry.”
I hold my palm in the air to stop his apologies. I don’t want them. I step forward, leaving enough space between us that I don’t feel bombard by his presence or melted by the strength he exudes. Asher always had that effect on me, and it’s why I kept my distance.
I knew him back then. I knew what he liked to do. He wasn’t the kind of man to settle down and have a girlfriend. He fucked who he wanted to and left all of them wanting more. And I know the kind of woman I am. I would have wanted more from him, more than he was able to give. So I turned my love into hate, and it’s something that’s been boiling over ever since.
Then my sister…
He went to prison for a crime he didn’t commit but never complained once. He took his punishment, served his time, and he got out.
One letter.
I wrote to him one time, and I never heard back.
My love would never be reciprocated, so it’s easy to hate him.
“Everything okay here?” Sebastian asks timidly.
I don’t know, to be honest. I want to slam the door in Asher’s face and crawl back into bed. I want to go back to feeling sorry for myself and scared of my own shadow. I want to move on too and figure out a way to live my life again. I want to hug Asher. I want to slap him.
I want to scream and punch. I want to cry.
But I just stand here because I’m too tired to do anything.
I search his blue eyes, which have not changed. He always spoke volumes and a million stories with one look. If Asher is one thing, it’s honest, and he wears his heart on his sleeve. He makes himself transparent for everyone. He doesn’t hide himself.
Seeing him breaks something inside me. It’s been so long since I’ve seen a friend. A sob breaks free when reality hits me. My knees buckle, and I fall toward him because all of my strength to fight vanishes. His arms wrap around me, cupping the back of my head with one hand as I lean my cheek against him.
“Yeah, everything is okay, here,” Sebastian says from my left, and his footsteps echo down the hall in his departure.
“I got you, Heather,” he whispers, kissing the side of my head. “I have you.”
“Ash…er,” his name breaks in my throat. I’m sobbing so loudly, I know I’m going to wake everyone up, but I can’t stop. The dam broke, and the water won’t stop rushing.
“I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.”
I clutch my fingers into his shirt, tugging them to bury my face further. He smells…he smells like breakfast? The odd scent has me pulling away from him and staring at him oddly.
He brushes my tears away with his fingers and bends his head down to peer into my eyes. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“You smell like muffins and it surprised me.” I take a step away from him, away from his arms and embrace so I can think.
I cross my arms over my chest and cage myself in.
He notices the action and respects the space I need by taking a step back, leaning against the wall, and waiting.
I hate that about him too.
Always so damn patient.
“Muffins have been my go-to lately. Blueberry are my favorite right now.”
The moment of weakness is gone, and now when I stare at him, all I see is the seventeen-year-old boy who was taken away in cuffs who didn’t deserve it. A man who didn’t fight hard enough for his freedom. A man who never wrote me back.
And a man who used women.
The haze of undeniable irrationality blinds me when all I see is a man. Without thinking, I lift my hand and slap it across his face. His head turns suddenly, and the feet echoing down the hall come to a stop, then quicken back.
Heaven doesn’t do anything. He straightens and stares at me in acceptance, which only makes me angry because he is so damn calm. I slap him again, a whimper leaving me, and his cheek turns a brighter, angrier shade.
He stands there.
I want to fight.
I want to punch. I’m ready. I’m so fucking mad. Someone fucking fight me.
“Don’t just stand there!” I scream at him, a tear dropping onto my cheek.
His eyes soften around the edges, accepting my anger.
I shove his chest, pushing him against the wall harder. “Say something! God, you never say anything. It’s how you ended up in jail for six years because you never said anything.” I slap his chest, still crying uncontrollably as I let the pent-up aggression unleash. I punch, slap, and yell, pretending he is my abuser. “I hate you. I hate you! Why did you do this to me!? Why? Why!” My throat hurts as I push my voice to the brink.
Arms wrap around my waist and pull me away from Asher. “Why did you do this to me? I hate you. No! Put me down. Put me down!” I kick, trying to get free of the hold, but the more I fight, the tighter they squeeze.
“Sebastian, put her down. It’s okay,” Asher says, which only makes me angrier.
It’s okay.
It’s okay!
Typical Asher, shrugging everything off like it doesn’t matter.
I stretch my arms out, wanting to wrap my hands around his throat, but I can’t reach since Sebastian is keeping me at a distance. I hate him. I hate his stupid good looks and his charming personality. I can’t stand the patience he has for life. How did he make it through prison? A place he didn’t belong but seemed to take in stride. Why? Did he believe he deserved it? Maybe I’ve been naïve the entire time, and maybe he did kill my sister.
My problem is, I have too much faith in humanity. I trust when I shouldn’t and love when I’m not meant to.
“Let me go. I said, let me go!” I rear my elbow back and plunge it into Sebastian’s core, hoping it bruises a rib so he can let me go.
The bastard.
He holds on tighter.
What is it with these people?
“I deserve everything she’s given to me, Sebastian. Let her go,” Asher says calmly, tucking his hands in his pockets. He acts as if this is just another day, but it isn’t. We are face to face for the first time in seven years, and the least he could do is yell at me.
After all, it’s my fault he served six years in prison because I stood trial and said I believed Asher Haven was the man who killed my sister, who beat her senseless, who raped her. I was angry. I was so angry, and it wasn’t right what I did. I know that. I tried to appeal the judge's decision; I tried to make it right, which is why I wrote him in prison, but nothing worked.
My appeal got denied.
And so did any hope of making things right for him.
Yet here is my chance and the last thing I want to do is make it right.
“Let her go,” he orders Sebastian.
“Your funeral,” Sebastian sighs in discontent, lowering me to the ground. “I need you to relax,” he whispers into my ear. “You’re safe here.”
Safe.
What a misconstrued concept. What’s it mean? What am I safe from?
“No one is here to hurt you.”
My feet hit the ground, and I lean against the wall, completely spent. I’m exhausted. I couldn’t fight anymore even if I wanted to.
I give up.
I concede.
“Heather—”
“—Don’t,” I warn Asher, my chin wobbling from the threat of another outburst. God, I want this all to end. Why can’t I feel anything other than complete devastation and anger?
“Do me a favor?” he asks, pushing off from against the wall. He lifts his hand to my face, and I flinch, rearing away from him when I think he is going to hit me. He frowns, drops his hand a few inches, but decides to go for it. His massive, calloused hand cups my jaw, his thumb landing on the apple of my cheek, brushing the heated and wet flesh with the pad of his finger.
As much as I want to enjoy it, I’m scared.
I’m frozen in place, locked in a trance. I know I should jerk away,
slam the door, lock it, and crawl back into bed where it is safe, but I can’t move.
My mind is yelling not to trust him or anyone in this house, but my heart is saying something else: to give an inch to someone, so I can feel a small amount of peace.
That tiny headway should go to Jolie, and while I can relate to her, I don’t have the same history as I do with Asher. After everything he and I have been through, trust is the last thing on the list that I need to worry about with him. That’s going to take forever to build. The thing with Asher, or at least it used to be, was trusting him with your life was simple. No question. If you needed someone, he was there.
Was he ever the person to trust with your heart?
Absolutely not.
And I doubt things have changed.
I take a step back, crossing the threshold of the bedroom, and the space causes his hand to slip away from my cheek. I stare at him from the other side, peering through an invisible barrier that separates us. What is it about a bedroom that makes it seem forbidden? He could easily walk into the room; it’s his house after all.
He doesn’t.
Like typical Asher, he keeps his space from me, and his shoulders sag when his hands drop to his side. He lifts his arms out to the sides and grips the crown molding of the trim. “Please let the doctor check you?” he asks, licking his plump lips with his tongue, wetting them, which causes a sleek shine against the yellow light of the chandelier.
My hand lands on the door handle, and the cool touch of the metal has me inhaling a desperate breath. “What?” I snap. I’m being nasty for no reason. I don’t want to be. I have a lot to figure out and work through, but I’m not mad at him or anyone.
Maybe I am.
I’m mad at the world, at the universe for doing this to me. I’m allowed to feel that, right? To have all these mixed up emotions bombarding me all at once?
“The doctor,” he repeats. “Let the doctor see you.”
“I don’t see why you care. I’m fine.”
“You are far from fine. You and I both know that and for a good reason. Health-wise, you need to make sure you don’t have any sexually transmitted diseases from him.”
“I don’t want to.” I don’t want to face more bad news. Mentally, I can’t handle what else that evil man has in store for me. I know Asher is right, but I’m not strong enough to face the truths yet.
Cruel Captivation: A Dark Romance (Underground Kings Book 5) Page 3
