by Jamie Canosa
“Shit.” Her brother nudged open the door leading to her small bedroom. After the hospital discharged her, we brought her back to her apartment. She hadn’t left her bed since. “I’m sorry, Syl. Did I wake you?”
“No, it’s alright.” She started gagging and Frank grabbed the bucket we kept on her nightstand.
I rushed over to pull her hair back as she vomited. Again. When she’d finished, Frank passed her a washcloth and a cup of water, and disappeared into the bathroom to deal with the bucket while she cleaned up.
”I’m sorry.”
I shook my head. “No apologies, Syl.”
“Is everything okay? I heard yelling.”
I wanted to take her hand. Hold her. Shield her. She hated yelling. She’d always hated yelling and with good reason. But that was Frank’s job, now.
He returned the bucket and perched on the edge of her mattress, cupping her small hand between both of his. “No, I wasn’t yelling, just talking loud. Everything’s alright. Don’t you worry about anything.” He smoothed some damp hairs from her sweaty forehead as I excused myself from the room. “I’ll take care of it—of you—I promise.”
“I know you will.” She smiled up at him, sleepily. “You always have.”
“That’s right.” He bent to place a kiss on her cheek. “And I always will. That’s what big brothers are for.”
Her eyes began to droop. Frank sat quietly, holding her hand until she was out again. Then he left the room, shut the door, swiped my phone from the end table and started dialing all over again.
*Present day*
I’d had the air punched from my lungs more times than I cared to remember, but nothing left me as breathless as Fi did when she looked at me that way.
“I’m here now.” But she was right. I hadn’t been there when it counted, so what the hell did it matter?
A steadying breath brought with it the sweet scent of coconut shampoo. The towel lay discarded by our feet, her bare back on display framed by the gaudy golden mirror on the wall. This side of her looked just as damaged as the front. Bruises in shades of purple, blue, and black looked garish against her fair complexion. A long scratch ran parallel to her spine, which protruded from her skin like a tiny mountain range. I knew she was short, but I hadn’t realized how small she was—how vulnerable—until I had her in my arms, overcome by the desire to surround her like a goddamn shield and feeling as though it might actually be possible.
“I know he’s your friend and you care about him, but . . .” Her hands fisted and she pressed her face to my chest, muffling her quiet words. “There’s something wrong with him, Sawyer. There’s . . . There’s a monster inside of him.”
I could barely recall the fight I had with Frank. Neither of us had been present. It was a bloody battle between the beasts that lived inside each of us. The monsters our fathers were. The monsters they tried to cultivate in their image. The ones we kept caged most of the time.
Christ, the minute I’d set foot in that stall I’d lost sight of everything but her. Cowering on the dirty floor, cast in Frank’s shadow . . . The fear in her eyes scarred me, but it was the blatant pain that threw me over the edge. Erased any thought but the gut deep need to defend.
Seeing the kind of destruction those monsters were capable of outlined on Fi’s body—the kind of destruction I was capable of—made my stomach knot in ways that made me regret the gas station sandwich I’d eaten for dinner.
“There are monsters inside all of us, Sparrow. But you don’t have to fear them.”
She moaned, her head rocking side-to-side against my chest. “How can you say that?”
“Because . . .” She fought me as I attempted to lift her face, but eventually gave in and her watery eyes met mine. “I will slay monsters for you.”
I would. I would have done anything in the world to make this up to her.
Her slight weight leaned into me. It hadn’t escaped my notice that she wore nothing more than a pair of panties, but my gaze remained locked on her face. Her eyes were this incredible shade of blue, almost aquamarine. How had I never noticed that before? She leaned closer still and it felt as though I could dive into those eyes. Drown in them. And that would be alright.
Water dripped from her hair, streaking down my chest. My skin felt so overheated that I was surprised it didn’t evaporate on contact.
“Ophelia,” I whispered her name not really sure what it was I was asking for. I already held her in my arms, but the desire to have her even closer was more than I could resist.
She pressed up on her toes, bringing her face closer to mine and I stopped breathing. Plump, pale lips lifted and I was certain she’d reached inside my chest and seized my heart.
Her eyes slid shut with the first brush of her lips.
Holy hell. She tasted like sunshine and honeysuckles and all that other light and goodness crap I’d never once experienced in my entire godforsaken life. She felt like warmth and softness. And she smelled like fucking coconuts.
My tongue sought more, tracing the seam of her lips and when she opened them to let me in all my senses went haywire, frying my brain cells one after the next. This girl, this little Sparrow, she completely obliterated me.
My knees sagged, bringing me closer as I continued to devour her. My arms tightened, crushing her to my chest. I was desperate to inhale her, to imprint her on my skin and make her a permanent part of myself. I’d craved her like a drug right from the very beginning and now I was a junkie getting his first hit after far too long. Every cell in my body was strung out on her. I needed to take her and make her mine in every way. I needed to—
A tiny whimper slipped from her mouth into mine and my thoughts snapped back like a rubber band, slapping sense into me.
Oh, shit. I’d have done anything for her. Anything she asked. Anything at all. Except that.
“Wait. Stop.” I pulled away, planting my hands on her shoulders when she tried to follow.
Her sweet mouth formed a perfect little O. “What’s wrong?”
“I can’t.” I wanted to. Dammit all to hell. I wanted to more than I’d ever wanted anything in my entire life. And that was the problem. Retreating to the opposite side of the bed, I struggled to put more space between us before I did something we’d both regret. “I can’t do this to you.”
“Do what?” Her words were sharp, striking like a whip against my suddenly cold flesh.
“This. I can’t . . . I won’t . . .” There were a lot of things I found difficult to live with, but this? No. “I won’t rape you.”
Chapter 16
~Ophelia~
Was he kidding me with this bullshit? I finally let go of my fear, stopped worrying about what everyone else would think, and just went after what I wanted . . . and he pulls this crap? “It isn’t rape if I want it, Sawyer. I think I know the difference.”
“That’s just it.” His eyes flared and even in the dim light, I could see the emerald fire in them. “You think you know the difference . . . but what if you’re wrong? What if you wake up tomorrow, or next week, or ten years from now, and realize this isn’t what you wanted? That it’s just some Stockholm bullshit? Or PTSD? That you were scared and hurt and willing to do anything to placate the one person you thought could help you?”
“Don’t you dare turn this around.” I wrapped my arms across my chest, humiliated to be baring myself to someone who didn’t want me. “If you don’t want me, you should sure as hell be man enough to—”
“Not want you? Jesus Christ, Sparrow, how the hell could I not want you? You’re beautiful, and sweet, and sexy as hell . . . I’ve wanted you since I spotted you dancing with your girlfriend at that party. You have no fucking clue how bad I want you. But not now. Not like this. Fi, you’ve just been through a trauma. This entire thing has been traumatic. You’re confused.”
He was wrong. I wasn’t confused. Stupid, yes, but not confused. Not anymore. Of course he didn’t want me. Especially after everything I told him. I was damage
d goods. A means to an end. Period. What in god’s name was I even still doing there?
Snagging the shirt he’d left behind on the bed, I shoved my arms into the sleeves. They dangled past my fingertips, but the hem hung low enough to reach mid-thigh. “I’m leaving.”
“What?” Sawyer took a wise step to the side, placing himself between me and the door.
“I’m leaving. If you want to stop me, you’re going to have to force me. Tie me up, gag me. I’ll scream, I swear it.” We weren’t in a deserted field anymore. There were other cars in the lot. Someone would hear me. “Anything you want from me, you’re going to have to take it. I’m done playing the good little captive.”
Sawyer stepped back. “Don’t do this, Fi.”
“Screw you. I should have done exactly this right from the beginning. I never should have trusted you!” The strike hit its mark and Sawyer flinched.
“Fi, you’re hurt. You can’t possibly get past me. Don’t . . . Please don’t make me do this.”
“Why should I make it easy for you? What have you done to make any of this easier for me?”
Sawyer straightened and at his full height he made the entire room seem to shrink around us. “I beat the one person who ever gave a damn about me unconscious tonight. For you. You know what I’m capable of. Do not test me.”
He was all bluster. He wouldn’t hurt me. If there was anything I was sure of anymore, it was that. I took a step forward, but he held his ground.
“If you do this . . . If you walk out that door, it’s all over.”
What was over? Didn’t I want this to be over? And what the hell was wrong with the nagging part of me insisting that, ‘no, I don’t’.
“Move, Sawyer.”
“No.” He shifted his feet, planting them shoulder width apart. “I won’t make it easy for you, either. Not this.”
We were at a stalemate. Physically I didn’t stand a chance, but emotionally, I thought we stood on fairly even ground. Then again, he’d turned me down, so maybe not.
“What then?” I threw my hands up in exasperation. “If I don’t leave right now . . .” If I chose to stay everything would change. I’d no longer be a victim but a willing participant in . . . what? “What happens then?”
“For tonight?” He stepped toward me and when I didn’t retreat, I knew right then and there that I’d already lost. “We sleep.”
Sawyer turned to pull back the covers for me and a strangled sound pushed from my lips. Stripes of jagged, puckered skin covered nearly every inch of his back, some curling over his shoulders, others disappearing below his waistband. A brutal reminder that I knew almost nothing about this man.
Acid burned at the back of my throat and I swallowed hard.
“Don’t.”
Without realizing it, I’d reached out to touch him. Hand hovering in the air between us, my gaze traveled upward over his shoulders to meet his, reflected back to me in the mirror.
“Don’t,” he repeated, more gently this time, but there was still an underlying strain making his voice tight. “Don’t you dare pity me. Don’t forget who the victim is here. It sure as hell isn’t me.”
With that, he threw back the blanket and moved aside.
Sleep seemed impossible. Too many thoughts buzzing around my brain. Too many questions. Things were moving fast, racing toward some unseen finish line. I didn’t know where we were headed, but I was onboard until the end, now.
Sawyer flipped a switch and the room descended into darkness. Only the flickering light from the lamp in the parking lot cast an eerie glow through the curtains. The cot had been a tight fit, but when he lay on the opposite side of the queen-sized bed, the space between us felt far too wide. I inched backward—hoping he wouldn’t notice, afraid he might reject me again—until my back pressed against his, and I felt him sigh. It wasn’t until the bedside clock read 1:43 that I realized my hands were free and Sawyer wasn’t holding onto me.
Testing my boundaries, I scooted away from the warmth of his body just to see if he’d react. His breaths remained deep and even. I could get up and go, and he’d never know until morning. Had he forgotten to restrain me? Been too tired? Or had I somehow earned his trust? And why did that make me feel all warm and fuzzy instead of like the world’s biggest fool?
Rolling over, I curled into Sawyer’s back and rested my head on his pillow.
Sunlight waged war on my slumber. I squeezed my eyes shut, but the backs of my eyelids blazed a fiery red. Groaning, I rolled onto my back and threw my arm across my face.
“I got coffee.”
The word alerted my nose and I inhaled the fragrant aroma.
“Coffee?” It was the motivation I needed to drop my arm and risk peeking open my eyes.
Sawyer sat at the small round table, two lidded Styrofoam cups beside him.
“You’re not much of a morning person.” He glanced up from his phone to grin at me.
His observation earned him a half-hearted glare as I struggled to extricate myself from the tangled sheets. Not an easy task when I ached absolutely everywhere. I pried open the tiny spout in the lid and lowered myself carefully into the chair opposite him.
“How are you feeling?”
Like I’d been run over by an eighteen-wheeler. Twice. “Fine.”
Sawyer rolled his eyes and returned to scowling as his phone.
“What are you doing?” The hot liquid coated my mouth with creamy, sugary goodness.
“I’ve been trying to reach Frank all morning. He’s not answering.”
Not entirely incomprehensible. “Well, you did kinda kick his ass last night. Maybe he doesn’t feel like talking.”
“Maybe.” Sawyer poked at the screen, lifted the device to his ear and waited a minute before slapping it down on the table. “Dammit.”
“What’s wrong?” I didn’t like seeing Sawyer lose control. Especially when he controlled my fate.
“Everything.” Sawyer swore under his breath. “This is all falling apart. We need to put an end to it before it’s too late. Before it can’t be put back together.”
I got the impression that it was me he was afraid would fall apart, unable to be put back together. “Put an end to it how?”
“The only way it can end, Sparrow.” He studied my face as though he were trying to commit every last line and feature to memory. “But first I have to go back.”
Chapter 17
~Sawyer~
*6 months ago*
“Hey, Frank?” I braced myself against the kitchen island, hesitant to tell him, but knowing he needed to know.
“What?” He sat on the sofa, scribbling furiously on a packet of paper.
“Sylvie’s almost out of her meds.” I shook the bottle of Diazepam that read ‘take 2 every 6-12 hours’. The last two rattled around the bottom.
“I know.” He flipped the page and continued writing.
Of course he knew. Frank knew everything—right down to how many ounces of applesauce she’d managed to keep down for breakfast—when it came to his sister. There just wasn’t a damn thing either of us could do about it. The hospital bills drained our bank accounts dry and we still owed money. I picked up odd jobs here and there whenever I could around town, but neither of us had been to our actual places of employment in over a month. I doubted either of us had real jobs to go back to anymore. We were running low on food, behind on all of Sylvie’s bills, and rent was coming due in a few weeks. After that I had no clue where we were going to end up.
Sylvie couldn’t travel in her condition, and when the medication ran out, that condition would only worsen. My eyes drifted to her door where I heard her coughing again. She wasn’t getting better. Panic flared in my chest. An intense, sharp pain that felt a lot like grief, but it couldn’t be grief because Sylvie wasn’t dead. She wasn’t going to die. Not now. Not when we’d finally gotten her someplace that was supposed to be safe. Life could not possibly be that unfair.
I focused my attention back on Frank. “What ar
e you working on?”
“Paperwork sent over by the lawyers at fuckin’ Paragon Gen. There’s enough here to destroy the goddamn rain forest. It’s bullshit. Busywork to keep me off their damn backs.”
He threw down one completed set of stapled pages and grabbed another from the stack at the end of the table.
I dragged a kitchen chair over and took the next packet. Line after line of legal mumbo-jumbo and obscure medical terminology. I could barely translate the line asking for her name. Frank was right, they were trying to bind and gag us with red tape.
“Sawyer!” Frank’s voice bellowed through the apartment, jolting me awake on the couch. “Sawyer, get in here!”
I jumped to my feet and bolted for Sylvie’s room. She was jerking around her bed. All of her muscles strained tight.
“Sylvie.” I lurched for the bed where Frank was watching her convulse.
He’d tucked a pillow against the wall to keep her from hitting her head, but there wasn’t much else he could do for her. We could do for her. Helplessness tore through me as I watched her eyes roll back in her head. I wanted to grab her, hold her, fix her. I fisted my hands in my hair to keep from reaching for her. The doctors all told us that touching someone in the throes of a seizure could only cause them more damage.
“Shit. Fuck.” Frank paced away from the bed and then came right back. “What do we do? Shit, Sawyer. What do we do?”
Frank handled feeling helpless about as well as I did.
“I don’t know.” My fingers pushed back through my hair and linked around the back of my neck. I couldn’t tear my eyes off her. “I don’t know.” I wasn’t a goddamn doctor. Cuts and bruises I could deal with, but this? This was entirely out of my league. “I don’t know.”
“I’m calling an ambulance.” Frank turned for the door, and suddenly . . . it stopped.
Just as quickly as it began, Sylvie fell still, slumped into the mattress, unconscious but drawing deep even breaths.
“Frank!” My hands flew where they needed to be. I held hers, caressed her cheek, swept the hair from her eyes. She was burning up.