by Tara Hart
He focuses on my lips again before he tears his eyes away and stands up.
I can’t hide my disappointment, it’s written all over my face. He dangled the carrot and I was ready to pounce, but now he’s gone and I miss the contact already.
Callum paces the length of the bed as he runs his fingers through his hair.
“I can’t give you what you want, Leila,” he says the words so softly that I have to strain to hear them.
Play dumb, I tell myself. Innocence suits you. “Wha—What,” I stumble. “What is it that I want?”
“Something I can’t give you,” he says without looking at me.
My heart thumps deep in my chest, if I concentrate, I can hear the blood thrashing through my veins.
“Why?” I half cry, half whisper.
He stops pacing and looks at me, his hands resting on his hips. I can see his jaw working overtime as he ponders my question.
“Leila, he is my father.” He points to the door. “That man is my father.”
“And?” I feel the tears brimming in my eyes.
He comes to the bed once again, sitting on the edge, taking my hands in his as he strokes my skin tenderly.
He swallows roughly. I watch his jaw unclench and the words tumble out of his mouth. “When you’re with me you’ll think of him.”
I shake my head. That’s not true.
“Do I remind you of him?” he murmurs softly.
I have to truly think about the question, does he remind me of his father?
I answer with certainty. “No.”
“Really?”
He doesn’t believe me.
“You are nothing like him,” I say and mean it.
“But I am his son.” His eyes glaze over as if he’s about to cry. He blinks and the tears are gone.
“He made you, but that doesn’t mean you’re the same person,” I tell him. “He is a disgusting, evil man and you are nothing like him.”
His gaze holds mine. I see it in his eyes—the heat, the passion. Callum wants me in the same way I want him. I close my eyes and lick my lips, waiting for him to close the distance between us and kiss me.
I hear him take a deep intake of breath, the air sucking between his teeth and then there is nothing. Silence greets me like a slap in the face.
I open my eyes and he’s staring at me. He hasn’t moved an inch, no closer to kissing me than I imagined—than I hoped.
My breath comes in short bursts. I want him, but I don’t think I can handle his rejection.
His eyes study my face, his lips parted slightly.
I slump my shoulders and lean back against the pillows. The pain from my back has subsided, superseded by a pain deep in my chest.
“Leila,” he whispers.
“It’s okay. I get it,” I say.
I don’t get it. I don’t understand anything in this moment, but I don’t want to set myself up for a broken heart.
He offers me a weak smile before he stands and walks over to the other side of the bed. He slips underneath the covers fully clothed.
“Are you sleepy? Do you want me to turn the light off?” he asks, his voice now soft and husky.
“No, I’m not tired at all.”
It’s the truth. Sleep is the last thing on my mind with Callum in bed next to me. I try and ignore the fact that my heart is now racing a million miles an hour and I feel like I’m overheating, not sure if it’s because of the oversized hoodie, or for want of a man that is just inches away.
He lets out a long exhale bringing his hands to rest under his head.
“Tell me something about yourself,” he says thoughtfully. “Tell me all about Leila from Brazil.”
I’m not sure what to say. I don’t know who I am anymore much less who I was.
“What do you want to know?” I feel my lip quirk up at the side. A giddy feeling settles within. He wants to know more about me.
“How many boyfriends do you have waiting for you?”
His question makes me laugh. For the first time in years I know what it’s like to laugh. “None,” I answer easily.
“No boyfriends?” He gives me a sideways glance. “I don’t believe you.”
“There is only one man in my life,” I say, letting the comment hang in the air. “My brother, Luiz.”
I feel a smile touch my lips at the thought of my baby brother, Luizinho.
“How old is he?”
“He is ten. He was ten,” I correct myself. “He was ten when I left. Now he would be…” I pause.
“Thirteen.” He finishes for me. “He’s in high school,” he adds softly.
“Yes.” I smile at the thought.
“Kissing girls,” he adds cheekily.
I clasp my hand to my mouth. “No. He is much too young for girls.”
We both chuckle, mostly because I’m in denial.
“Does he look like you?” he asks.
“Yes, but he will be tall. A tall, handsome gentleman.” I smile shyly. “Much like you,” I add without looking at him.
Silence falls between us and I feel my cheeks warm. It’s not that Callum isn’t handsome. It’s just an awkward thing to say aloud, and it obviously made him feel uncomfortable.
“Where did you live before?” I ask in an attempt to change the subject. “You said you weren’t in this town. Where were you?”
“I lived in Italy.”
He stops talking, that one statement, then silence.
“What did you do in Italy?” I prompt.
“I worked as a writer.” He pauses. “As a foreign correspondent for a U.S. newspaper.”
“Why Italy?” I feel as though I already know the answer. The reason he would move to the other side of the world.
He sighs, stretching his legs out beneath the covers in an attempt to get comfortable. “We’re doing this now?“ he asks, a touch of humor in his voice. “You’re asking me twenty questions?”
I nod my head as I giggle. “You asked me questions. Why do I not get to question you?”
“Fair enough.” He lets out a breath before speaking again. “I met a girl here in Virginia. She was Italian and we started dating. After a few months she moved back to Italy and I followed.”
“You loved her?” I’m surprised by my brashness, but for some reason, I need to know.
“I thought I did, but now I’m not so sure.”
“Why are you not sure?”
He laughs and then playfully nudges me with his foot. “So many questions.”
I keep my gaze fixed on him, letting him know that I’m awaiting his answer.
He sighs loudly. “Do you know what entitled means?”
I furrow my brow, telling him that I do not understand the meaning.
“It’s like when you expect things to happen for you, just because of who you are.”
I nod my head, yes.
“Well, that was Sofia. She was always so entitled. She expected everything to happen for her just because of who she was.”
It’s the first time I’ve heard her name and I repeat it in my mind. Sofia. Such a beautiful name and I find myself jealous of a woman I’ve never met.
“Do you miss her?” I hold my breath, waiting in anticipation for his response. I don’t know why, but his answer means something to me.
“I don’t know. I haven’t given her much thought, so if that’s any indication then no. I guess I don’t miss her.”
He clears his throat before continuing. “At the time, I thought she was what I needed, but in the end she was the opposite of what I wanted. One day I woke up and realized my heart wasn’t in it, so I ended things.”
I place my hand between us. I want to cover his hand with mine, but my courage wavers and I pull my hand back to my own lap.
“She was upset, no?”
He cocks his head to the side and looks at me for a long moment. “She was, but she will be okay.”
I wonder what this Italian girlfriend looks like. If she’s tall like Callum and
if she has beautiful blue eyes to match his.
“My father isn’t happy that we broke up. He liked her.” He shakes his head. “He liked her family.”
“Her family?”
“Her father was a powerful man in Italy.”
“A bad man?” I ask.
Callum chuckles. “He’s a politician, so I guess he could be considered a bad man. Her mother was nice though.”
“What about your mother,” I question. “Was she a good woman?”
He nods his head, but he doesn’t comment.
“I want to ask you, and I understand if you don’t want to tell me, but where is your mother?”
I watch multiple expressions cross his face. Surprise. Sadness. Anguish. I don’t mean to dampen his mood, but it’s something I’ve wondered about for all these years. Who was Emmy and where did she go?
“She had cancer,” he croaks out.
“I’m sorry.”
He offers me a somber smile. “It was quick, she didn’t suffer long.”
“You miss her, no?”
He nods his head. “I do.”
He looks sad for a moment, his eyes meeting mine. “In the same way your mother misses you.”
“You think my mother still thinks about me?” I ask.
“Every day,” he answers softly.
“She would have given up on me.”
“Never.” His fingertips graze my arm in a completely innocent gesture, but goose bumps still rise on my skin in response. “I’m sure she knows you’re alive. She can feel it.”
I don’t think about home often, it hurts too much remembering. The memories trigger an ache deep inside my chest.
“What was your mother like?” I ask. “Was she kind like you?”
He looks at my face, his lips turning down at the sides. Maybe my question was too much, too personal, but then he starts talking again.
“She was a good mom, but a better wife. She was married to the town too.” He swallows, his eyes focus on a piece of lint he’s been rolling between his fingers. “She liked that my father needed her, but there was always something missing, some sadness that I sensed.”
“Do you think your father used to…” I can’t finish the sentence.
“I don’t think so.” His eyes meet mine. “I don’t think she would have stuck around.”
He is silent for a long moment, as if he’s really thinking about things, analyzing the past few years of his mother’s life.
“But who knows, Leila. I wouldn’t have thought my father would lock a woman in the basement and hold her against her will, but here we are.”
I offer him a weak smile. Here we are.
“I’m sorry this happened to you.” He takes my hand in his. His fingers dance across my skin, stroking me softly. He lightly grazes the inside of my wrist and then his eyes flash up to mine.
I turn my wrist over and watch his eyes widen as the shocking realization crosses his face.
Chapter 11
Callum
A long white scar lines the inside of her left wrist. I reach forward with my other hand and run my fingertips along the uneven, raised bump. She flinches at first, but when I continue stroking, she doesn’t pull away.
“You did this?”
Her eyes shy away from my gaze, dancing around the room as if searching for an escape.
“Leila?”
“I wanted it to end. I tried to end it all,” she murmurs.
“While you were here?” I don’t need to ask. I already know the answer.
She nods her head once.
“How?” my voice croaks out of me.
“In the shower with my shaver. I didn’t do it right. I didn’t cut deep enough or something. I sat in the shower all night, waiting to bleed out—waiting to die. He came in the morning and found me. He sent some doctor to stitch me up. I thought the doctor would save me, but he didn’t acknowledge me as a human being. He just stitched me up, gave me some drugs and left. He wouldn’t even look at my face.”
“Fuck.”
I shudder when I think about that night and what Leila must have went through. She sat in the shower, waiting for death to take her in. I never want her to feel that way again—to feel as if there’s no way out.
“Do you still want it to end?” I brace myself for her answer, but when her response comes it surprises me.
“I’ve lived three years in this hell, I can survive anything now.”
I let out a tense exhale. “Good.”
She holds my gaze when she speaks again. “Hope is all I have, Callum. Hope is all I have left.”
I knew there were more to her words than merely just speaking for the sake of it. I have given her hope. This new sense that she has a life waiting for her and it’s now within her reach. I can’t wait to give this girl her life back.
“Tell me about your happy place,” I say.
She furrows her brow. “Happy place?”
“The place you imagine when it gets too much. I know you have a place where you transport yourself to, where you dream of going again someday.”
She smiles, her lips parting slightly as she conjures the memory. “Where I am from it is called Maceió. The beach is so beautiful and the water is the bluest water I’ve ever seen.”
“It sounds perfect.”
“That is my happy place.” She closes her eyes, perhaps imagining herself there in this moment. “And there are monkeys,” she tells me.
I chuckle loudly. “Swimming monkeys?” I nudge her shoulder.
She screws up her nose. “No, silly. They don’t swim, they are on the beach.”
I smile. When Leila tries to convince me of something she becomes so passionate. I watch a crease settle between her eyes adorably.
“How many monkeys are there?”
“There are many, a whole family,” she says.
“And you can touch them?” I ask.
“Yes, you can touch them, no problem. And you can feed them.”
I laugh again.
“Why are you laughing, Callum?”
“Because in America if you touch a monkey people would worry about catching rabies.”
“Rabies?” she questions. “I do not know what this rabies is.”
I brush my thumb along the apple of her cheek. I can’t resist. “I love talking to you,” I tell her.
Her eyes dance from my lips, to my eyes and then back to my lips. Her breathing intensifies and just when she’s about to speak again, I hear a knock at the door.
Leila immediately sits upright, her body ready to move in lightning speed. Pain shoots through her body, causing her to wince, but she doesn’t make a sound.
“Callum,” she whispers. “Don’t let him take me.”
I slip out from underneath the covers and unbutton my shirt before ripping it off and throwing it to the bed.
I turn to Leila. “Don’t freak out, I’m making it look realistic.”
I unbutton my jeans and leave them loose around my waist as another knock sounds.
“Coming,” I shout, my heart hammering in my chest.
I rush to the door, opening it just a crack. My father is standing in the hallway. He looks me up and down and then smiles.
“Everything okay, son?” he asks.
“Great.” I give him my best just laid smile.
“Can I speak to you for a moment?” he asks.
Fuck.
“Sure,” I answer casually.
I step outside the room, leaning against the doorframe casually. “What’s up?”
“How is she? Good, eh?” He smirks.
“Sure is.”
“Her English is poor though,” he starts. It’s more of a question than a statement.
I chuckle. “Yeah, she hasn’t said a word. We haven’t been doing much talking if you get my drift.”
He laughs, the sound rippling through the corridor.
“So you’re going to be with her all night?” he asks and I get a bad feeling in the pit of my stom
ach.
I don’t know if he’s asking because he wants Leila to himself, but I know I can’t give her up after promising she can stay with me for the night.
“I’m not quite done.” I rub my fingers along my chin thoughtfully. “Would like another couple of hours with her if I could.” It’s not a question.
“No problem. Have her until morning.” He shrugs. “Try not to leave her alone,” he adds casually. “These girls tend to have light fingers.”
Fucking asshole. He is trying to tell me that Leila’s the one to watch out for.
“Sure.”
I exaggerate a yawn.
His lip quirks up as he slaps me on the shoulder. “I’ll let you get back in there. Enjoy, son.”
He turns and walks down the hallway heading toward his own bedroom. I head back into my room, closing the door and locking it behind me. I turn to see Leila standing at the edge of the bed, her face panic stricken.
“Is he taking me back?” she asks, her eyes wide with worry.
“No, not at all.” I walk over to her. Her gaze travels down my body and I remember I took my shirt off to answer the door. “We’ve got all night,” I tell her as I button my jeans again. Taking my shirt from the bed I slip it back on.
“I was just trying to look the part,” I explain. I feel her eyes watching my every move.
She steps around me and walks to her side of the bed, giggling as she does so.
“What’s so funny?”
I leave my shirt undone and slide back under the covers.
“You are,” she says without further explanation.
She lies on her side, facing me.
“Thank you,” she whispers as her eyes drift closed.
“For what?” I ask. I watch a soft smile grace her lips, but she doesn’t answer.
And moments later, she’s sound asleep.
***
I’ve been watching her sleep for hours. The slow rise and fall of her chest, every now and then a murmur escapes her lips. She looks at peace when she sleeps and that offers me some comfort. I need to get her out of this hellhole, and fast. That’s the only way I will sleep easy.
Every time I close my eyes I’m haunted by images from the party. The things they made Leila do, the things that were done to her—it was too much.
I look at her wrist. The long white scar that represents a dark day in her life. I wish I could take the pain of that memory away from her. I think of her sitting on the bathroom floor waiting for death to take her.