by Nora Flite
“Yes,” I whisper. “I'll help you.”
I'll help her.
- Chapter 10 -
Laiken
My bare feet press onto the soft carpet. It takes me back to my first morning in this house. These soft fibers hugging my toes brought me joy. I'd run away from a maid, laughing from how mischievous it was, how amazing to just be running, even if it was inside these walls.
Then I'd crashed into Dominic. Our bodies had tangled, and I didn't know it yet, but our fates would be as well. Silas and Annie had been frightening, both of them such big, intimidating adults. Over the past years their grip on me had faded. I'd let myself think of them as flawed, but undeniably human.
After tonight, I know I was terribly naive.
“Laiken!” Kara is waiting by my bedroom. She's sitting on the floor in a long white sweater-dress, arms hugging her pointy knees. I halt on the carpet when I see her. She doesn't get up. She only stares at me with her eyes wide as can be. She seems so young, so scared.
We come alive at the same time, rushing forward until we clap together like thunder. “Oh, Kara!” I sob, crushing her in my arms. Her embrace is rough; she bangs her forehead on my cheekbone. I don't care. It's perfect, more than perfect—it's everything I've ever wished for.
Warmth soaks into my hair and neck. “Kara, don't cry,” I say, my voice breaking. “I'm fine. Nothing happened.”
“What didn't happen?” she asks, and somehow she clings even tighter.
I stare down the empty hallway behind her. I'm trying to figure out how to answer. Except there's no way around it anymore—I could pretend with Dominic that I was fine. He was the perfect distraction. Without him, I'm forced to relive the event inside Franklin's home.
Shutting my eyes gently, I breathe in until my chest hurts. “Silas and Annie took me to a business dinner. But the business wasn't what I thought. They handed me off to a sick man as a way to sweeten their deal, while they ran and hid like cowards.”
Kara's nails cut through Dominic's thick jacket. “They what?” She leans away so she can see my face. I don't know what she sees, but I have a front seat to the horror that rolls through her tear-filled eyes. “That's . . . that's . . .. Fuck, Laiken, did he touch you? I'll kill him, I'll kill all of them.”
“He didn't,” I say quickly. It's meant to comfort her, but truly, it's for my own relief. I need to remind myself that Franklin tore my dress, ripped my hair from its braid, but he never got close to his real goal. “He tried, but Dominic showed up. He stopped him.”
Some tension abandons her muscles. “Thank god. Oh, thank god, thank god, he got to you in time.” She's rambling; I cup her shoulders, squeezing until she focuses on me again.
“Kara.” I frown curiously. “Did you send him to help me?”
“I told him I was worried about you,” she says. “I saw you leave, I didn't see you come back when the others did.” The way she explains it, I get the feeling it's not the first time she's been watching out for me since she arrived.
“This place is so awful,” she moans.
Clutching her upper arms, I furrow my brow. “It is. But it can feel less awful. Kara, I don't want to treat you like you're a ghost,” I whisper sadly. “I want to be like this all the time.”
Her eyes bounce around the empty hallway. “People will see us being close. They'll know, they'll use it against us.”
“Why do you think that? There's no one here listening, do you really believe there are cameras in the walls or something?”
“It's happened before,” she mumbles, hyperventilating as she talks. “He knew everything I did. He had to be watching me.”
“Who?” I ask, a chill rippling up my neck.
Her eyes dart to mine. They're glistening, her pupils tiny dots. “Vahn.”
I lean away, scanning her pale face. “Are you telling me that Dominic's uncle spied on you?”
Kara turns away then takes my hand and pulls me towards my room. I follow her inside, remaining quiet as she shuts the door and tugs me to sit beside her on my bed. Our legs are bent lotus-style; we're facing each other, heads leaning close. It’s just how we'd whisper when we were staying up too late as kids.
Telling our secrets. Giggling nervously.
There's no laughter this time.
“I told you before that I lived with Vahn, and his son. I was in their house all the way up until you saw me at your little party.”
A firework crackles through my brain. “That means you saw Dominic and Bernard when they came home from school on holiday breaks.” Kara glances at our tangled hands. My knuckles are white. “Sorry,” I say releasing her. I didn't notice I was clutching so hard.
She keeps staring at our hands. “Yes. I got to know them both.” She forms one big ball of fingers, shoving it against her stomach like she's in pain. “You asked about Vahn spying on me. I didn't know he was. Not at first. But after . . . Bernard died . . . Vahn went off the deep end.”
“What did he do?” I whisper, my nerves on edge.
The last color drains from her face. “There was no way he could know. I only told one other person, but somehow, Vahn . . .” She's trembling now. Her hands fly up, burying in her scalp, digging in as she grimaces. “Laiken, please, I'm not paranoid! I swear I'm not! But I was good, and sweet, and proper, and, and I did everything they asked me to. It wasn't that hard, they were all so nice to me. So nice, so caring.”
Tears boil from the corners of her eyes. “Kara, calm down.” I reach for her knee; she jumps, locking her stare with mine. She can't hide the trauma in her face. I've never seen her so exposed.
“It didn't matter how good I'd been,” she whispers, her voice crumbling. “Not after Bernard was gone. His uncle became a different person. It was just us in that house. It was a year of him alternating between ignoring me, then cornering me, abusing me. Sometimes he'd be sweet again, and we'd sit, and he'd talk about his son.” She smiles, but it's all the wrong shape. “It got worse before it got better.” Her fingers fan through her hair, teasing it. “I never told anyone but Bernard about our promise. How could Vahn know if he wasn't recording my every move?”
The world stops spinning. It has to in order for me to accept what she's said.
I finally know who chopped off her hair.
A shuddering breath rolls through me. My tongue is dry, while my palms are soaked. The pressure behind my eyeballs warns me I'm going to cry again, but it's like I don't have the strength anymore. There's nothing left in me.
When we were both little, our mother would slide our heads into her lap. One of us on her right, one on the left, and she'd play with our hair while she hummed a song. It was Heaven, lying in her warmth. Feeling so safe. So cared for.
“Laiken?” Kara asks, not fighting me as I press her down on the bed. Carefully I place her head in my lap, on top of Dominic's huge jacket, her body curled up beside my leg. She's shaped like a knot that can't be undone, and now I know that there are knots inside of her, too.
“Shh,” I hush. “It's okay. I'm so, so sorry you went through all of that, Kara. I really am. It's awful. We’ve both suffered more than anyone ever should but it's okay now.” Right now, you're safe, I think. I want it to be true. It almost feels like it is.
Her eyes shut. There's wetness on her cheek, but it dries, fades, the longer I stroke her hair. I play with the pieces, measuring them, imagining how long they were before Vahn cut them off. I wonder if her number of braid loops would have beat mine.
I don't know how much time passes. I think she's asleep, until she speaks under her breath. “I love you, Laiken.”
“I love you, too.” It's the easiest thing to say.
She puts her hand on the jacket zipper then looks up at me. “This is his, isn't it?”
“Yes.” I don't want to tell her what I did to the dress. Or what I did with Dominic after it was off of me.
Kara looks at it, touching the surface, dwelling on something. “He really did save you tonight.” She gla
nces up at me. “I'm going to be honest. I still don't trust him.”
My hand stills on her head. “How can you say that?”
“Laiken . . .”
“You just said he saved me.”
I feel her resigned sigh through my bones. “One good deed doesn't erase his sins.” She reaches out for my wrist, but I yank my arm away. “Listen to me. Would you forgive his parents, after what they did to you tonight, if they helped you tomorrow?”
I can't look at her. I study the blanket instead. “It's not the same.”
“It is.”
“It's not! Kara, Dominic isn't like his parents.”
Sitting up, she moves away from me. Instantly, I want to go back to touching her hair, to comforting her. “I'm grateful to him for protecting you.” She shows me her profile, her single eye hidden by a layer of lashes. All I can read is her tight frown. “But I'll never be able to forgive him for what he did.”
I can't understand how we can go from reconnecting seconds ago, to this cavernous distance again. Is it really because of Dominic? If I rejected him, could I have the relationship I long for with my sister?
The mattress springs rustle as she stands. Opening my door, she waits a moment. Her shoulders aren't slumped. Her voice is cool and empty. You'd never guess that she was sobbing in my lap a little while ago. “I really am glad you're okay,” she whispers. “But I'll tell you this one last time. Keep away from Dominic. His kindness comes with a price.”
- Chapter 11 -
Laiken
I can't sleep.
The long shower I take helps to ease my tortured muscles, but it's not enough. The things keeping me awake can't be washed away by water. They come at me when I stretch out in my bed, creeping from the back of my mind until they're attacking without remorse.
Vahn.
Wyatt.
Franklin.
Annie.
Silas.
Kara.
Dominic.
All of them give me insomnia. Lights on or off, eyes shut or wide, nothing makes them go away. Not even a second shower.
Rolling on my side, I look across the room, where my bathroom door is cracked open and letting light leak over the floor. On the handle hangs Dominic's jacket. I put it there before I cleaned up.
If I squint my eyes just right, blurring them, I can pretend he's in here with me, guarding over me, keeping me safe. He'd tell me to go to sleep, shut my heavy eyes, and just drift off, because he's here to keep anyone from hurting me again. It's comforting enough that I let my eyes close. Sleep doesn't seem like a pointless wish.
His kindness comes at a price.
Kara's cryptic warning keeps me from relaxing. I pop my eyes open again, forced to acknowledge that the jacket is just a jacket, and I'm all alone.
But I don't have to be.
A tiny flutter begins in my heart. Sitting up, I throw my blankets aside, put my bare feet on the floor. I'm wearing a pair of gray flannel pajama pants and a long sleeved top with black piping on the seams. It's meant for wearing under the covers, not fit for wandering around in public, but fuck it. I don't care who sees me in clothes like this.
Plus, it's the middle of the night. Who would see me? Dominic? He's probably sleeping. Then why are you bringing him his jacket? I ask myself, scooping it up. I try not to think it, but the words swim through my mind anyway. Because I'm hoping he's awake, like me.
He never came by after Kara left. I wanted to talk to him and find out what he said to his parents. I was ready to attack them when we walked in. I'm not sure I can continue to live peacefully with them in this house. But what other choice do I have?
As softly as I can, I wander the darkened hallways. The recessed lighting is on its lowest setting; it's enough for me to find my way through the house. Though I probably could do it in pitch-blackness, at this point.
The carpet guides me like a breadcrumb path. I turn the corner, walking until I enter the wing of the house that Dominic's bedroom is in. The mansion is dead quiet. When I reach his door, I lean close, preparing to knock.
Wait. What if he IS sleeping?
Imagining him like me, struggling to get himself unconscious, makes me frown. How awful would it be if he'd just fallen asleep, and here I am, about to rip him awake? Lowering my hand, I grip the jacket. I'm not sure what to do now. Maybe I can listen and hear something. Then, if he IS awake, I can knock without guilt.
Turning my head, I press my ear to the wood. I strain to listen for any hint that Dominic is as wide-awake as me. The surface of the door is cool. It sticks to my skin, my eardrum thudding, making every tiny sound funnel through to me.
Then I hear it - a faint, undeniable gasp. It's a terrible sound, but the next tortured moan is even worse. Dominic is in pain! Who's hurting him? Who would dare? Flaring with a need to protect him as much as he's protected me, I shove my way into his room.
It's dark, his small window letting in a bluish hint of moonlight. He's thrashing in his blankets like he's being attacked. Lines crisscross his face, his eyes crunched tight. “Stop,” he groans, twisting his body deeper in the blankets.
Perspiration glistens on his forehead and his naked chest. His teeth are bared in a grimace. He's having a nightmare, I realize. Starting forward, I grab his forearm. “Dominic,” I whisper. Then, louder, “Dominic! Wake up, you're having a bad dream!”
“Let me go!” he roars, curling his huge hand around mine where it touches him. My world spins; he's ripped me off the floor, tackling me on the mattress. I stare up into his frightening, but somehow terrified, expression. His eyes are wide open now, darker than the shadows inside a closed coffin.
He isn't seeing me.
“Dominic,” I whisper plaintively.
Bit by bit, the light returns to his eyes. He blinks, gaping down at me with as much confusion as my own. His chest rises in rapid waves. I can almost see his heart ramming against his ribs, eager to jump out of his skin. “Laiken . . . what . . .?” He sees his hands coiled on my wrists, pressing me flat under him in his bed.
He's awake, but the dream is still clinging to him. It makes his brow lower, his lips moving into a painful frown. Quickly he releases me, throwing the blankets aside so he can get free. He's wearing nothing but a pair of tight black boxers. Facing away on the bed, he plants his feet on the floor. He braces his face in his hands with his elbows resting on his thighs. They're the only things keeping him from collapsing forward. “I'm sorry,” he whispers. “I didn't know it was you. Did I hurt you?”
Sitting up, I draw my knees under me. I'm close enough to touch him. I'm worried what will happen if I do. The urge is strong, though. I have to grip the hem of my pajama shirt to keep myself under control. “No, I'm fine. Are you okay?”
I can't see his face well. I watch his hands sweep up and through his hair. “It was just a nightmare.”
My wrists still tingle from his powerful grip. “You sounded so scared. I've never seen—”
“Why are you here?” he asks, cutting me off. He twists around to stare at me. Moonlight glows along his naked torso, tracing all the parts of him that I want to. I've never been jealous of the moon before.
“I was bringing you your jacket.” Looking around, I see it on the floor. I dropped it when I ran inside. I climb off the bed, grabbing it, circling around to where he is. He's sitting, and it makes his eyes level with my chest.
He glances at the jacket. “You thought I needed this right now? It's got to be after midnight.”
I don't know what I expected from him, but it's not this cool attitude. Lowering the jacket, I let it dangle. My eyes move to the door; it's partly open. “You're right. This was stupid. I'll go, sorry.”
Dominic captures my upper arm as I start to move. “Wait.” It's comes out harsh. Like his mouth is full of sharp stones. He's staring at the jacket still. Carefully, he tugs it from my grip. Then he throws it across the room and pulls me into his lap. “I didn't say I wanted you to leave.”
The solid w
all of his chest muffles my gasp. His skin is scalding hot, still slick from his nightmare fueled sweat. I'm perched on his thick thigh with my legs hooked over his other one. Dominic has always been bigger than me, but being curled on his lap, he's become larger than life. “What are you doing?”
“Holding you,” he says, draping his heavy arms around my shoulders. With a firm, unrelenting pressure, he hugs me until I relax against him. It's a welcome embrace, stealing pound after pound of tension from my body.
With my ear on his chest, I listen to his heartbeat. It's consistent in its drumming. As if he didn't just wake up from a terrifying dream. “Why?” I ask softly. “You're the one who had the nightmare.”
His arms tighten. “I told you, it was nothing.”
“What was it about?”
“Nothing.”
Racking my brain, I realize why this feels familiar. “In the preserve,” I say, trying to look up at him, “you had a nightmare then, too. I wasn't sure. It woke me up. You were thrashing around next to me.” His arms constrict me, keeping me in place.
“That's not what you should be remembering about that encounter,” he whispers. His fingers glide down the outside of my arm. He goes past my elbow, the flannel making his touch harder to sense. When he reaches my cuff, he tucks his fingers inside, lightly brushing the underside of my wrist.
Shivering, I try to move my hand away. Dominic locks his fingers with mine, as if we're dancers on a stage. Scooping my hair off my neck with his other hand, he tips my chin up, rubbing his lips over mine in a whisper of a tease. Pleasure blooms between my legs.
“This is what you should be thinking about,” he says, staring into my eyes. “Focus on how wonderful I can make you feel. I want it in your mind all the damn time. I want to be the only thing you can think about.”