His to Keep by Lydia Goodfellow

Chapter Eleven

Weeks pass. I don’t know how many, and it annoys me. I should be counting and know how long I’ve been locked in this Hell. Most days are blurry moments of staring at the walls and out the window, each day coming with its own problems to battle. But I’m always the one suffering. Heartache, bursts of anger, and pain. That’s the worst—the pain. Reducing me to tears and tormenting me for hours, making me want to scream and yell, I want out! Let me out!

Whatever Father Aaron wants from me, he’s taking his time revealing it, and I’m embarrassed by how twisted my thoughts are becoming. Some days I would do anything to get out of here. Like the days I hate Gran so much, I’m close to telling him to do whatever he wants to her. Because she doesn’t deserve my protection. She believes Father Aaron’s lies and knowsI’ve never left home before. Never left her. It’s sick. I’m sick. Grandpa would be ashamed of me.

Insanity would’ve come and taken me long ago if Callum wasn’t here to distract me. He’s a comfort that confuses me, as it’s not like he’s done anything to make me feel safe. I’m sure he would stop me if there were a chance to escape, which should make him an enemy, yet he doesn’t feel like one.

I know if he wasn’t here, it’d be worse, especially on the days when he speaks to me. It’s not much and never for long, but it’s something I grip onto and spend my day hoping it’ll happen. When he does talk to me, it’s usually late and after I’ve gotten into bed. He’d be drawing or staring at the wall when he’d turn suddenly and ask me the most random of questions.

Like last night, he talked to me, and it was different—the reason why he’s lying beside me right now, asleep as the sun rises outside. His face is peaceful when he sleeps. Lying on his back, his breaths are deep, his raven hair falling messily around his face. It’s the first time I’ve ever laid next to a man, and it’s completely an accident he’s here.

After dinner last night, John took us back upstairs. I used the bathroom first and showered. After washing and drying myself, I put on another dress and brushed my hair and teeth. When I came out, Callum went in to do the same. While he washed, I gazed out of the window—something I find myself doing every evening. As I went to lie on the bed, Callum returned, his hair damp and skin flushed. When he sat, I expected him to sketch, but he turned to me instead. “What’s school like?”

I’d blinked at him like a deer caught in headlights. “You’ve never been?” I regretted my words instantly by the look on his face. Obviously not.

Tucking my hair behind my ears, I tried to think of a way to describe school. I’d never given it much thought before and thinking of it only reminded me of how reclused I was with no friends or experiences to talk about. Yet, for some reason, I wanted to give Callum something. Even if it were an altered version of the truth. “Different than you would think. It’s mostly boring. I don’t have a lot of friends. Just a few.” My face charred when he seemed surprised by this, and I felt guilty for lying.

“Why not?” His question caught me off guard. “I would’ve thought you were popular or something.”

I snorted and felt further ashamed by the noise I made. “No, not popular. And I don’t know. Small town, I guess? Anyway, there are classes for different subjects. My favorites are art and literature. Some teachers are nice, like Miss Nixon. Others, not so much, like grumpy Mr. Jackson who has stale coffee breath.”

He smiled. “Who are your friends?”

Were my friends.

“Melissa, and a couple of other girls,” I said and hated the nervous pang in my stomach. “Though, in the last year or so, we drifted apart.” Not entirely a lie.

“How come?”

“My Gran. She doesn’t want me around boys, and Melissa likes being around them.” I bowed my head, realizing how bad that sounded toward her. “Not in that way. She’s just way more outgoing than I am with open-minded parents who don’t mind her being friends with boys. Although, there was this new boy. In the last week, before I um…came here, I had to show him around school, and we hung out after church on Sunday.”

“You like him?”

“Oh, no.” I flushed. “I barely know him, and Gran’s strict. Liking boys is out of the question. It’s how girls end up in Hell—” I pursed my lips, not meaning to have told him so much.

“It seems like you do. Like him—I mean.” My body shifted uncomfortably, and he shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For making you talk about this. It’s stupid.”

“I don’t mind.” And I didn’t. It beat thinking about how drastic my life had changed. Talking to him felt normal. Even when neither of us had felt normal in a long time.

“If you’d have known him longer, and if there were no rules, would you have said yes if he asked you to be his?”

Would I have?

My thoughts shifted to the memory of Adam blowing Vanessa off to walk with me. He was friendly, and I was sure that’s all it meant. Yes, I thought him good-looking, but I didn’t feel anything other than awkward and shy toward him. “I really don’t know. We weren’t even friends. And I didn’t feel a…a spark.”

He breathed a laugh, and I raised my eyebrow questioningly. “You believe in sparks?”

“Don’t you?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Love at first sight, singing birds and butterflies? It’s all fake.”

“I agree it’s not always like a fairy tale but having a deep connection with someone isn’t fake. How can it be? It’s probably the most real a human ever gets to feel.”

“What are you? A whimsical fairy?” he mumbled, and we both laughed, which was wrong. Forbidden. We both remembered where we were, and our smiles dropped.

My chest deflated as I secretly looked at him. He was handsome, the candlelight highlighting the parts of his face I found most attractive. It was cruel he hadn’t experienced anything. Not school or liking someone. Maybe not even sharing a kiss. But then, I knew nothing about him. He isn’t like Adam—a light that draws you in the second he walks into a room. Callum’s a darkness that threatens to encase everything in shadow, and it’s the darkness I’m most curious about. We always want to see what we can’t.

“Tell me more,” he eventually said, breaking my trail of thoughts.

Nodding, I told him everything I could think of about school. For those few hours, I was a typical teenager, or so I pretended to be. Telling him stories that weren’t mine, just ones I overheard in girl bathrooms and hallways. And maybe I liked that. Telling him about prom and parties I never went to but saw plastered all over social media. Those things were as alien to him as they were to me. He listened, soaked in every word with an indescribable expression on his face. It was a good distraction for us both. Better than drawing in a sketchbook or staring out of a window. Our world was stifled with demons at every turn, and yet, we had this.

Eventually, he yawned, and I mimicked the action. It was the early hours of the morning, and I didn’t know where time had gone. Sometime during the conversation, as it got later and our voices had to be quieter, he’d moved over to the bed and laid beside me.

“I’ll probably never get to finish school now,” I said, unable to hide the pain in my voice. I hadn’t meant to end the conversation on a sad note, but I couldn’t help it.

He didn’t reply, and quietness drifted around us. My eyes grew heavy, and as I was about to fall into oblivion, my hair was brushed away from my face.

I woke this morning before him and have been staring at him since. We talked, and I liked it, but he’s still a mystery. I shouldn’t speak to him. My guard dropping must be prompted by loneliness. Sighing, I look away from him.

He’s your enemy. Stop it!

Just as I’m about to get out of bed, my heart stops dead when the door flies open. It’s so sudden, I don’t have time to move and run into the bathroom.

“What have we here?” John laughs. Behind me, Callum bolts upright, eyeing his cousin with half-awake wariness. “My, my. You dirty sinners.”

John steps toward me, and my body freezes when he strokes a finger down the side of my face. Jerking back, I don’t miss the flash of anger in his eyes as he turns to Callum.

“Did you fuck her?” I lose my breath at his disgusting words. “Bet you did, didn’t you?”

He laughs as Callum’s face darkens with anger. “Stop.”

“Did she bleed?” His eyes shift to the sheets.

“Enough, John!” Callum clenches his fists.

“I don’t see any blood, unless…” Murky eyes swing to me. “You’re not really innocent? Uncle did say boys had started taking an interest. Maybe you snuck out in the middle of the night and fucked them all? Perhaps our Lord should’ve checked before bringing you here. But he never listens to me.”

“Stop it!” I yell, and with a look that could kill, he suddenly grabs my hair. I scream as he tugs me forward and pulls me out into the hallway. Before Callum makes it, the bedroom door slams and John quickly locks it.

Coldness sweeps down my spine, and I cry out as he yanks on my hair again. “How about I show you what a real man is like, whore.”

My heart races as he pulls me down the hall and forces me into a room, one that isn’t far from ours. Booting the door closed, he turns to me with a wicked smile that peels back his lips.

The room is medium-sized and painted black. A large bed with ebony sheets sits in the middle of the room, all the other furniture pieces mahogany. A strange symbol is painted red on the wall above the bed, with crucifixes hanging upside down around it. My stomach turns, and I’m unable to breathe as my eyes connect with John’s. This is bad. I know I’m in trouble by the way he’s staring at me.

“Seeing as you give it to all the boys, how about you give me some?” My mouth falls open. “Don’t pretend to be shocked. I saw the way you looked at me yesterday. At dinnertime, don’t you remember?” He takes a step closer, and despite my fear, I’m rooted to the spot, too afraid to move. There’s nowhere to go if I do try and run. “I know how much you want me. You whispered it to me. I heard you.”

Stopping in front of me, he suddenly pushes me back. His bed touches the backs of my knees, and before I know it, I fall back against the mattress.

“You’re beautiful. Probably the most.” He fumbles with the lace on my dress, tongue dampening his thin lips and pupils dilating. His finger traces my neck and then over the mound of my left breast.

“No!” I slap his hand away, and his teeth bare. Grabbing my legs, he forces my knees apart. A scream tears past my lips when he climbs on top of me, his hand capturing my neck.

“How dare you hit me.” His fingers tighten around my throat. “Unbutton my pants, whore.”

My eyes bulge. “N-no—”

“Unbutton my fucking pants. Now!”

“Please, no.” I shake my head. “I don’t want to—”

“Do it, or I’ll kill you,” he growls, drool pooling in the corners of his mouth, and bits of spittle landing on my face. Sobbing, I reach to undo the front of his pants, turning my head away when he tugs them down and fumbles inside his boxers. “Look at it.” I shake with sickness. “Look at me. I’m fucking hard.” I squeeze my eyes as tightly as possible, which earns me a slap sharp enough to make my eyes water. “Look at my cock!”

I look at his horrible face, the greasy brown hair stuck to his forehead and lips too red in contrast to his oily, white skin. A putrid stench of sweat and salt wafts off him, and my stomach lurches. Dropping my gaze unwillingly, he tugs on his penis in an up and down motion. Gasping, I look away, face burning from the violation. He only laughs at my reaction.

“I’m going to come all over your tits.” Grabbing a mound of my dress, he pulls at the thin fabric until it rips. My teeth clench when he squeezes one of my exposed breasts, and then moans out loud as something wet and disgustingly warm splatters over my chest.

My bottom lip trembles as he leans back. Lying still with shock, I wait until he gets off me and cleans the whitish fluid off my skin with a tissue. As he rebuttons his pants, I sit up and wrap my torn dress around my body while tears pour from my eyes.

Clicking his tongue, he rolls his eyes. “Stop crying. You made me do this.”

Saying nothing because I want out of this horrid room, I decide I want to take my chances in the one with Callum—enemy or not.

John grabs my arm and takes me back into the hallway. I wish I had the strength to push him downstairs. Watch his body hit each step and break.

Once we’re back, he ruthlessly shoves me inside Callum’s room. The abruptness causes my body to fall forward, and I topple to the floor on my hands and knees. I don’t feel the impact. Not anything at all.

I briefly hear the door close and lock behind me. Callum’s not far away. Sitting on the floor next to the bed, his head hangs low. Crawling over to him, I touch his knee. He blinks when his head snaps up, as if he thought I wouldn’t be coming back. His knuckles are swollen and bleeding, and blood smears the wood when I look at the door. Did he try and get me back?

He opens his mouth to say something and closes it again. He has no words, and neither do I. As always, there’s nothing to say. Leaning into him instead, I rest my head on his shoulder. He stiffens, and I think for a moment, he might push me away. Thankfully he doesn’t, and I lie against him, trying to calm my racing heart. Every time I close my eyes, John’s there with a crazed gleam in his eye and the Devil on his shoulder.