by Lannah Smith
Reaching back, I grabbed my hair, my hands fisting in it, trying to figure out for myself how I could get out of here. I had to go and get out of here.
Far, far away from Christopher.
But then it suddenly hit me.
Why?
My heart hammered inside my chest.
Why did he search for me for eight years when I never gave him a reason to do so?
Why was he so adamant to keep me here?
And how did he take me away from my father?
As those questions raced inside my head, I happened to glance at the mirror. At the damage that was still there on my face.
And that thing inside my chest just exploded out of me.
Knifing up my seat, I grabbed the stool and threw it with all my might at the mirror. The glass shattered but I wasn’t done. I struck the lamp off the bedside table. I threw anything I could get my hands off, the knick knacks in the room, the paintings on the walls, anything. I didn’t care what they were, I just grabbed them and threw, trying to force out the pain that gripped my heart and gut and mind so tight, it was killing me.
I didn’t want Dan to die.
I didn’t want to make his wife a widow.
I didn’t want to make his child grow up fatherless.
I didn’t want to be here.
I didn’t want to see Christopher again.
I couldn’t go anywhere.
I didn’t belong anywhere.
My breath was coming in quick bursts as I surveyed the destruction inside the room. My breath caught in my throat. I took a step back, an odd feeling rising within me. It always did, when I was staring at shattered things. An urge to get to my hands and knees and clean everything. Stack the broken pieces back together and make them whole again.
But I couldn’t.
My back hit the wall as I stepped back and I drifted down, clutching my head, my nails ripping through my hair painfully because I needed the pain, down until my bottom hit the carpet.
Then I cried.
Chapter 15
It was only when the room became quiet did Christopher turn the knob and open the door.
He took a step inside. And stopped when he saw the destruction.
The bedroom was in complete shambles. And he didn’t think there was a single piece of furniture intact. How a tiny woman like her could overturn the dresser, he didn’t know.
For a moment, he stared silently at the remains of what used to be the nightstand.
Then he looked around and found her.
She sat on the corner of the bedroom, her face buried in her knees, gripping her head tight.
How strange.
He'd never seen her like this.
Even when they were children she rarely cried. Even when they stopped talking in middle school, she had always seemed formidable. Even when confronted by the hatred of everyone in East Private School, she lifted her chin up and even laughed at their faces.
So this confused the hell out of Christopher.
What the fuck happened to her?
Christopher walked towards April. Got down on a knee. Put a hand on her elbow. And felt her freeze.
“April,” he murmured.
She let out a sob and he felt the sound of it lance painfully through his chest.
“What’s wrong?”
Her head slowly lifted but she didn’t look at him. Her hair was like a curtain, framing her face, framing the expression of complete devastation on her beautiful face. His heart squeezed in his chest. He wanted to wrap his arms around her. All he wanted to do was comfort her. All he wanted to do was love her. But he needed to let her speak.
“You need to let me go,” she mumbled to her knees.
“No,” he whispered.
Her blank, tear-filled eyes met his. “You need to let me go.”
“Not now. Not ever.”
“Why?” she exhaled shakily. “Why are you doing this?”
Brows drawing together, he told her, “You don’t know why?”
“Are you...” she swallowed and looked away. “Is this your way of getting back at me? For all the things I’ve done to you?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes slightly widened.
He clasped her head between his hands and leaned his forehead against hers, holding her gaze as she spoke quietly, “Because you’ve done something to me that no one else did. And that was to make me fall for you.”
She tried to push him away but he held firm.
“I didn’t—,” she started to say but he cut her off.
“You did.”
She shook her head as her voice rose in pain. “We were children—.”
“But I knew what I felt for you was real.”
Frustrated, she glared at him. “You just hated the fact that I was the one who got away,” she hissed.
He shook his head. “And until now, I don’t know why you went away.”
She squeezed her eyes closed for a long moment. Then she shoved her face back into her knees, ending the conversation on her own. He felt his mouth get tight as he stroked her head.
They needed to have words, not now but later, when she was herself again. She was tired. She had just suffered at the hands of her own father. She didn’t need this shit weighing heavy on her mind. But they’d definitely have words later.
Now he needed to let her rest. To heal.
Then a loud sob broke the silence, cutting through the air and stabbing Christopher straight into his chest. It was as if years’ worth of grief and sorrow had erupted from her soul. He listened to her cry. Quietly. While curled in a protective ball. Quivering under his hand and at the same time, shying away from his touch.
It was horrible, fucking horrible to see the woman he loved like this.
Eventually her sobs quietened, turning into little shudders.
Then he wasn’t anymore when she fell unconscious.
fucking hell.
She still hadn’t had food in her system.
He wrapped his arms around her. Her skin was cold so he pulled her against his chest. Asleep, she huddled close to him, seeking his warmth. Gently, he pulled her up his arms and straightened from the floor. She fought him but only for a second or two before he felt her surrendering. Her limbs were soft and pliant and her face rested against his shoulder, her hair massing around in soft waves over his arm. He tried not to think about how good she felt in his arms as he walked past the wreckage that was her bedroom.
Alec was waiting outside. When he saw them he opened his mouth to speak but Christopher shook his head and he pressed his lips together, looking extremely unhappy. Still, he opened the door to Christopher’s bedroom at the other side of the hall before he left them alone.
Laying her down on his bed, Christopher placed a pillow under her head. Like a ragdoll, she let him.
Then he sat down on a chair by the bed and watched her, unable to tear himself away from the girl who filled his every thought and every waking moment.
Wishing she'd let him in.
◆◆◆
“Take me to the meadow with the yellow flowers.”
Those were the words that sealed his fate.
“You still owe me. You made me bleed. I have a scar on my head now because of you. I’m a girl. I shouldn’t have scars. But you gave me one, Christopher.”
So he took her there. He took her where she wanted to go. Begrudgingly. Because he felt guilty for hitting her with the rock. And so that he could get her off his back and have the rest of the woods to himself in peace again.
He thought she’d be happy. She wasn’t. There were tears in her eyes when she looked around the meadow, whispering that this indeed was the right place, the place she and her mother had made many precious memories before her death. After a few moments, a tear did fall down April’s cheek.
“I miss her,” she mumbled. “Every day, I miss her.”
It hurt, looking at her.
It hurt even more, because he could understand what she was
feeling.
His gaze dropped to the grass.
Then he said in a scratchy voice, “I miss them too.”
It had been the first time in five years since he’d last spoke. Startled by the sound of his voice, by the ability to speak when he thought he couldn’t any more, he started to cry.
Boys don’t cry.
That was what his grandfather always told him.
But April didn’t give a damn what boys do or don’t. Even though she was crying hard herself, she pulled him in her arms and soothed him.
But it didn’t end there. Somehow, she kept finding him every day when she couldn’t even find her own way home.
She kept ordering him around.
Bullying him until he finally relented to her demands.
Bullying him into treating her as a friend.
And when she was, she wormed herself into his confidence.
And then, into his heart.
Chapter 16
My throat was aching when I woke up. It always ached whenever I opened my eyes and briefly, I wondered if there was something wrong with it before I let those thoughts disappear. Feeling wrung out, I closed my eyes and let out a soft sigh.
Then I opened my eyes, my gaze focusing on the ceiling to realize that I was not in the same bedroom that I was before.
I decided to close my eyes for another minute to think about what happened last night. I had completely unraveled, I remembered and tried to blank the memories out, including the flash of blood and death from my mind. Opening my eyes, I looked around the room, taking in the masculine design and vibe, the stone wall panels and dim lighting create a mysterious impression. It was rather a large bedroom. The master’s, no doubt.
Again, Christopher was sitting on the chair next to the bed.
And again, he was sleeping.
But this time, as if he felt me staring, his eyes opened, flying immediately to me.
For a moment, I thought about closing my eyes. But I couldn’t feign sleep and avoid him forever.
“April?”
I didn’t respond. Instead, I looked away from him, lifting a hand to pull my hair away from my face. He sighed
“So you’re not going to talk to me anymore?”
I kept my mouth shut and kept my eyes averted.
When I heard footfalls, my body tensed but he didn’t come to the bed. He went straight for the door and went out of the room.
When he was gone, I tried to lift my head but I just didn’t have the energy. I needed to get out of here. Get some clothes on, find the keys to a vehicle and just get out of here. But then I decided I’d do that after I closed my eyes just for a bit. I didn’t know why but I was exhausted. Even after all that sleep, I was so exhausted.
Then, I guess, I passed out. Because the next thing I knew was Christopher shaking me gently awake.
“April, wake up.”
“No,” I mumbled, not opening my eyes.
“You need to wake up, honey.”
I tried to roll away from him but I still didn’t have the energy so I stopped trying and said, “Go away. I’m tired.”
I was nearly asleep again when I felt the bed dip next to me. Strong arms pulled me up to a sitting position and plumped a pillow behind my back. My gaze fluttered to an open. Christopher was leaning away from me, turning to pick up and bowl of soup from the tray on the table next to the bed.
He picked up the spoon, dipped it into the creamy liquid and brought it to my lips.
"Eat,” he ordered quietly.
I was too weak to resist him.
And too hungry.
I opened my mouth. Ever so carefully, he thrust the spoon into my mouth. It was hot, salty and delicious.
Licking my lips, I breathed deep, trying not to be overwhelmed by the rush of emotions inside me, still trying to blank everything out.
He didn’t gloat. Didn’t speak. Until the soup was gone. And didn’t look into my eyes anymore.
“Drink,” he ordered again, putting a glass to my lips.
I drank.
The glass went away and he picked up some pills from the try, “Take these.”
I did as I was told, swallowing them down with the water he offered me again, wincing when the pills went through my aching throat.
“My throat hurts,” I muttered, my voice raspy, closing my eyes.
I thought I heard him laugh. Though it sounded closer to a sad chuckle.
Opening my eyes, I narrowed them at him. “You find it funny that my throat hurts?” The words scraped through my throat and I winced again.
He set down the spoon and bowl back on the tray and looked back at me, his eyes finally meeting mine.
“No, I don’t. Do you want a bath?”
I didn’t say anything and kept glaring.
Nodding to himself, he murmured, “I’ll take that as a yes. I’ll prepare it for you so be good and stay here.”
“And what if I don’t?” I asked.
He paused to look at me over his shoulder. “Would you prefer a bed bath? Because I’m more than willing to do it.”
He wouldn’t.
“I’ll strangle you if you do,” I threatened, lifting the covers up to my neck.
Shaking his head, he stood, muttering, “You could have just said no.”
Christopher didn’t wait for my response. He walked into what seemed to be the bathroom, leaving the door open. Then there was the sound of rushing water and he was back in the room again.
“Should I carry you?” he asked, lifting a brow.
“I’d rather die,” I responded in an arctic voice.
Shaking his head, he watched me throw the covers back, toss my legs over the side of the bed and stand. Lightheaded, I gave myself a moment to adjust, knowing that he was close enough to catch me if I fell. I wasn’t going to let him catch me. Nor touch me. So I mustered all the energy that I still could and walked to the bathroom with my head raised high.
Angry tears stinging my eyes, I slammed the door behind me shut.
Cursing the fact that even with all the crap that was happening to me that I still wanted this stupid bath.
“I was afraid that last night’s episode would make her feel even more depressive,” Martha was telling him as she took the tray from him at the door. “It’s good that she’s up and fed.”
Christopher had been afraid of the same thing too.
“Are you sure she’s not trying to drown herself in the tub?” Alec said, appearing at the doorway when Martha turned and left for downstairs.
“Do you want me to drown you in the tub, Alec?” he asked softly.
Alec lifted the phone in his hand. “You need to read your emails, sir.”
Damn it. Maybe he should make Alec leave the house and go back home.
When he took the phone, Alec went on to say, “Rohan called.”
“What did he say?” he distractedly muttered as he scrolled through his phone.
“He wants you to call him as soon as he can.”
“He probably just wants to ask me if I can be his best man.”
Shrugging, Alec responded, “Highly unlikely. He didn’t sound happy at all when I talked to him. Hannah also called.”
Christopher’s gaze drifted to him. “What did she say?”
Alec lifted a brow. “You know I don’t answer her calls.”
“And you know that by doing that you’ll never get into her good graces?” he pointed out with a chuckle.
“I’ll live.”
The bathroom door opened behind them. Alec immediately took a step back.
“I’ll leave you alone,” he muttered then pointed at the phone in Christopher’s hand. “Make sure to read those emails alright?”
Then he turned and left.
“Who was that?”
Christopher turned his head.
April was leaving the bathroom, having finished her bath, and had changed into the clothes he’d set inside for her. A cream-colored sweater paired with blue jeans. Her hair wa
s in a loose damp braid over her shoulder and she was barefooted. She was still pale, too pale. But at least there was fire in her eyes as she glared at him.
