by Lannah Smith
He stood there, watching me take a few more sips. Then, when he was satisfied, he turned to leave my bedroom with his laptop.
I brought the bottle down to my lap, staring at him. My heart felt heavy with another realization. All those mornings that I kept waking up to with a sore, painful throat… was it because I had kept screaming all night? And had Christopher stayed watch over me all those nights to soothe me every time I did?
A pleasant feeling weighed on my gut which I immediately tried to push out.
He was really stupid.
"Why?"
I didn't know I had asked the question out loud until he stopped and looked at me, his hand on the door knob. His brows furrowed in confusion. My temper flared now and I glowered at him.
“I hurt you. I humiliated you. I pushed you away. So many times. Why did you look for me? Why do you still want me?”
Regarding me for a long moment in silence, his hand fell from the knob and he turned to sit on the edge of my bed. His side to me, he shook his head and let out an exhale.
“I hated you.”
I stiffened at the pain that lanced through my chest.
“I hated you so much, April.”
“Then why—?”
“But I didn't. I thought I did but I didn't.” Turning his head and sliding his gaze to me, he said, “I just missed you so fucking bad that I thought I hated you.”
I looked away, my jaw tight, my gut twisting.
“You did hurt me. Because you gave me hope only to yank it away from me again. You were the first person who shone the light on me but you were also the same person who made it dark again.”
“Stop talking,” I muttered.
“You humiliated me, yes. At the cafeteria. Because you ignored me and I was fucking desperate. Stupid too. I put you on the spot. But you had to go and break me.”
I returned angry eyes to him. “Stop talking, Christopher.”
“And you pushed me away,” his voice was now soft. “You pushed me away and I still don't why. Or where everything went wrong. Or if I did something to make you throw me away.”
“I said stop talking!” I screamed, cupping my hands over my ears to drown out his words. “Stop it, stop it, stop it!”
Then he was in front of me, grabbing my wrists and pulling my hands from my ears. I didn't look at him as I struggled, trying to pull myself free, trying to back away from me.
“Even now you're doing it. And until now I want to know why.”
I shook my head. Kept shaking my head.
"Is this about your father?”
I didn’t answer him. I struggled harder this time, desperate to be away from him. He released me then for fear of hurting me. Then he grabbed my arms again to check on my burning wrists. Even in the semi-darkness I could see they were turning red.
"shit," he clipped.
"Let me go!" I snapped.
He released my arms again. Then he stood up, exhaling sharply through his nose.
"I'm—."
"Don't you dare apologize," I gritted out.
His eyes moved to me. "Then I won't."
"Get out of my bedroom!"
He shook his head. "Not until you sleep."
"Then I'll leave—."
"The moment your feet touch the floor, you'll be sleeping with me next to you, April.” His eyes glittered in the dark when he made his threat. "And trust me, we'll be doing more than just sleep."
I felt this a few days ago, and I felt it now.
He was strange. Unpredictable. Like a stormy weather and I knew a lot about strange, unpredictable and stormy weathers because I used to sleep with one. But not this. This was the kind that brought chills to your spine. And this made me feel something funny fluttering around my heart because this wasn’t the Christopher I knew.
I pulled in breath sharply. "You're an asshole."
"We've already established that. Now go to sleep."
Saying that, he picked the laptop from the sheets and yanked the chair that was near my bed, pushing it next to the window. Then he sat down and opened his laptop.
Furious and frustrated, I glared at him, knowing that there was nothing I could do at the moment. Knowing that I shouldn't prick his temper, knowing that he wasn't the same Christopher before. He was typing on his laptop, not giving me any of his attention anymore. Resisting the urge to put my damn feet on the floor and rile him, I pulled the sheets over my body and laid down on the bed with a huff.
"How will I sleep knowing you're here?" I muttered darkly.
"I promise to wake you up if I decide to rape you," he deadpanned, his eyes never leaving the screen. "Now go to sleep."
My body jerked when I heard him say that terrible word. Swallowing, I turned away from him and saw the crumpled letter on my bedside table. Dan’s letter. He'd never told me he wrote this. But he'd been prepared, devastatingly prepared for the eventuality that he might die, or rather be killed, someday.
I didn't know how many times I've read his letter over and over again until I memorized every word. Every stroke of his handwriting. I closed my eyes, remembering all his written words.
April,
If you're reading this letter, I'm sorry. I'm so, so fucking sorry. Because if you're reading this, fuck, I hope you never get to read this but if you are, then I'm probably dead.
I'm sorry. I promised I'd take care of myself and I promised that I'd take care of you until you're safe and happy yet I went off and got myself killed. I'm sorry for making you cry. I'm sorry that I have to leave you behind. I know you're blaming yourself. Please don't. I'm begging you just don't. It's not your fault. It's never your fault. I don't want you to go on thinking that you failed me, that you're responsible for my death. I want you to live your life without any guilt. I want you to think about the happy memories we shared instead of mourning for me. I want you to be happy. Because you might think that you don't deserve to be happy but you do, April. You fucking do. Don't give your father the satisfaction of losing yourself to him. Please don't.
I have so much that I still want to write but you haven't returned since you went to find some stones in the creek for your garden. You're probably lost, are you? I should go rescue you now.
Don't despair, April. As short as my life may have been, you've given me purpose when I thought everything was over for me. I love you. And I'll always be watching over you. So please. Be healthy and happy. Please. Do it for me.
Until we see each other again.
Dan.
Be healthy and happy.
Those words kept repeating in my head.
Be healthy and happy.
His last wishes.
A tear slipped from my eye.
Dan wanted me to live without any guilt. But how do I live knowing it was entirely my fault that he died? And what about his family?
How the hell did he expect me to live then?
But that was what Dan wanted for me. And I had to try. For him. Only for him.
I wasn't sure about happy but I was going to try and be healthy. I needed all the strength that I could gather to escape from this hellhole Christopher had me trapped in anyway.
Be healthy and happy.
I drifted off to sleep thinking about those words.
Be healthy and happy.
Chapter 21
There was fire in April’s eyes.
Sitting at the counter table in her new clothes, she stared, no, glared at him as he worked around the kitchen.
“Stop glaring at me,” Christopher told her with a chuckle.
If anything else, that only made her glare intensify. He sighed. She was most likely still angry that he dragged her out of the bedroom and carried her down the stairs.
He moved to the fridge and pulled out a box of juice and gallon jug of milk. Pouring her a glass of the juice, he set it on the counter, hoping the sweet drink could make her, well, sweet.
"Drink up."
Without waiting to see if she was going to drink it, he turned to
his bacon on the skillet and cracked two eggs into the side. Then he walked to the cupboard and pulled out a box of oatmeal. Scooping some into a bowl, he picked up the gallon jug, and poured the milk without measure into the instant oatmeal and spooned sugar four times into the bowl after. When he glanced at her, she was looking at the bowl in disbelief.
"What?" he asked, lifting his brows.
She pressed her lips together and shook her head in what seemed to be disbelief. Deciding to let that go, he put the oatmeal into the microwave and moved back to the skillet where he dumped the eggs into his plate and pulled the bacon out as well.
"Aren't you going to drain the grease off?"
His head twisted toward her. Her face was expressing disgust at the plate.
"Why would I do that?" he asked.
Now her face was expressing a lot more of disgust, mostly aimed at him and not at the plate anymore.
The microwave beeped. Setting down the plate on the counter, he got the bowl out and put it in front of her.
“The bacon is for me,” he told her, dropping a spoon into the bowl. “Oatmeal’s for you. Doctor’s orders. But if you ask nicely, I might give you some of my bacon.”
She didn’t ask nicely.
Nor did she eat her oatmeal.
Instead, she lifted a hand and swiped the bowl down the counter where it broke into pieces on the floor.
“Damn it, April,” he sighed in annoyance. “That’s the second bowl that you broke." She had thrown the bowl of soup last night too when he delivered her dinner in her bedroom. "I’m beginning to think you were a cat in your past life.”
Her icy gray eyes went to him.
"I'm not hungry," she declared.
"Honey, you haven't eaten since dinner last night."
"I'm not your honey," she hissed across the counter. "And I can't stomach food with you in my sight."
"So you're going to starve yourself to death?" he asked, lifting a brow. "Because like it or not, we will be eating together. Starting now."
"Like hell—."
"Are you going to break your promise to Grant then?" he cut-in.
She inhaled sharply at that.
"He wants you to be healthy and happy. You can't be healthy if you don't eat, April."
"You did read his letter," she said accusingly.
He shrugged. "Jackman told me."
"All of it?"
"Every word," he said in a wry tone. "He has a photographic memory like Rohan."
Instantly, she leaned in, her eyes narrowed and she shrieked, "How dare you intrude on my privacy!"
"Your privacy is actually the last of my concerns right now, April," he replied honestly.
She stayed quiet for a moment, glaring from her stool, seething.
"Now if you're done throwing a tantrum, I'm going to feed you now so you can be healthy and happy."
"I can't be happy if you still won't let me go," she countered.
"That's on me, then," he said with a shrug. "It's my job to make you happy. But it's your job to be healthy."
April didn't say anything to that so Christopher took it as his cue to make her breakfast again. And after a few minutes, he put the new bowl of oatmeal in front of her. Reluctantly, she returned her gaze to him. He sat down to eat his bacon and eggs which were growing cold. But just as he picked his fork up, April took the plate from him as well as the fork and began to eat his meal.
He let out a chuckle. She gave him a look, daring him to say something about it. Raising his hands, he admitted defeat and dragged the bowl of oatmeal in front of him. He was about to take a sip of his coffee when she too grabbed it from him.
Pushing the glass of juice his way, she said, "Drink up."
"Were you this irritable around Grant too?" he asked in amusement.
She scowled. "I don't want to talk about him."
"Bet you were," he mumbled, picking up the spoon.
"Stop it!" she cut in sharply, slamming her fork on the counter. "I said I don't want to talk about him."
Nodding to appease her, he watched her tense body relax. She picked up the fork again and finished the rest of his meal in silence. He shoved a spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth and flinched.
fuck. It was too sweet. No wonder she had looked at the bowl in disgust.
"You're such an idiot," he heard her mutter. She hadn't missed his reaction.
"We've also established that, honey."
He felt rather than saw her blood pressure rise. "I told you to stop calling me honey."
"I will when you stop being sweet on me," he said with a smirk.
Letting out a growl of frustration, she jumped off the stool and started to walk away.
"Where are you going?"
"I'm leaving," she informed him without looking back.
"And how exactly are you leaving?"
"I'm going to walk until I find someone who will take me home."
He started to laugh.
"Good luck with that," he told her. "Because before you find that certain someone you'll probably freeze or get hopelessly lost and freeze."
She swung around and stood there bristling. He had to bite back another laugh.
"This house is so remote it's far removed from the rest of the world," he grinned when he explained. "And it's snowing hard outside."
"You do realize what this is, right?" she demanded.
He kept grinning. "I'm ready to be handcuffed to your bed."
"You are such an—."
"Asshole," he cut-in. "Yeah, I get that already."
She narrowed her eyes on him and he looked at her innocently. His tactics were contemptible but at least she wasn't wallowing anymore. The fire was back in her gray eyes, anger making her breathtakingly beautiful.
She still stood there, bristling.
He took pity on her and said, "Come back here. You've finished my breakfast but you haven't finished my coffee. And you need to drink your medicine—."
She interrupted him before he could finish. "If you don't mind, I want to go back to my room now."
"I do mind. We've already agreed on having our meals together and I haven't yet finished mine."
"That can't even be called a meal," she snapped, gesturing to the overly sweet bowl of oatmeal.
"Just sit back down, April," he said with a chuckle.
She still refused to do so. Crossing her arms, she lifted her chin defiantly at him. He knew what she was trying to do. She was using pride as her last defense.
"I promise to leave you alone after this," he said to her. "Well, not until lunch anyway."
"Oh, God, I should have just killed myself," she mumbled.
He lost his amusement then but held on to his grin. "That would break Grant's heart then, April."
He's said that out of spite. But he didn't mean to break her heart. The ripple of pain that washed across her features made his stomach clench tight.
Averting her gaze, her arms folded across her chest tightened. Like if she didn’t look at him, he'd disappear from her presence. Like if she held herself tight, she couldn't see her life fall apart.
He sighed. He shouldn't have let his temper get the best of him.
"April, I'm—."
"If you're done playing dumb and dumber than can you come with me to the study, sir?"
Christopher glanced at the hall. Alec was standing there, staring at him, impatience written all over his face.
"I need you to read some emails," he went on to say.
Christopher let Alec see his displeasure over the interruption. "In a minute."
"Jackman, will you take me home?" April suddenly said, no, demanded, seemingly recovered from the hurt he had caused her. But she didn't fool them. He could still see how rigid her stance was and how she forced herself to relax.
Alec didn't know how to answer her. Rather, he did not want to answer her. He turned back to look at Christopher, hoping he'd give her an answer. Christopher stared at him in amusement, losing some of his anger, befor
e looking at April. She wasn't looking at him. She refused to look at him.
