His to Keep by Lydia Goodfellow
Chapter Fourteen
My first kiss was with a boy from church, but it didn’t feel like this. Lips warm against mine, his taste a bittersweet combination of blood and tears. My heart races, stomach twists, and toes curl. Heat consumes me when he kisses me back, lips moving against mine, slow and careful and so, achingly deep.
But the moment comes to a crashing end when he breaks the spell and pushes me away with his arm. Falling back onto my bum, I blink up at him in shock. He glares at me, the blue in his eyes formidable. That’s when it hits me. I kissed him.
The same question I have for myself blares in his eyes, and even though I wish he wouldn’t, he asks it. “Why did you do that?” His voice rattles with an emotion I can’t decipher, even with the demand in the back of it.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, shaking my head with utter confusion. “I wanted to make you feel better.”
The lines between his eyebrows deepen as my words sink in. Pushing himself up, he succeeds this time, despite his body swaying unsteadily. Reaching out to help him once more, he knocks me back. “Just stop.”
Shrinking back, the cold burn of rejection spreads through my chest and stabs into my stomach. A tear falls from my eye and drops between my knees. He watches it, glare wavering slightly. Jaw clenching, he staggers into the bathroom and slams the door shut. Like he’s taken a part of my soul with him, I sit there with tears running down my cheeks. I shouldn’t have kissed him. What was I thinking? He’s in pain and suffering, and I kissed him. Something he clearly didn’t want and hated.
Hearing the familiar trickle of water from the shower, I imagine his struggle, and I don’t want to sit here this time. I don’t want to let this go. Not having Callum here has made me realize how much I need him. He’s survived Father Aaron this long; maybe he could teach me how to withstand this life.
At least, I tell myself that as I make my way over to the bathroom. I know I’m treading on thin ice but refuse to give up even with the risks. Heat caresses my skin as I peek inside. Standing in the bathtub, hot, steamy water pelts against his clothed body. Walking closer, I expect him to turn and glare at me again. Demand I get out. He doesn’t. Staring ahead, his eyes are ghosted with something that makes my insides ache.
Water spits at me as I get closer, and my dress clings to my skin from the humidity. Water streams down his face and body, washing away the grime and torture he’s been through. Opening my mouth to say something, he finally looks at me, and my voice dies.
Once again, there’s nothing to say.
Lifting my dress to my knees, I step into the tub and stand in front of him. What I’m doing, I have no idea. Someone could walk in and catch us. We’d both be punished then. Yet, I find myself reaching to unbutton his shirt, and like I knew they would, his hands capture my wrists the moment I grab the material between my fingers.
“I won’t touch you,” I try and reassure him, thinking it’s the reason for his caginess, but he only stares back at me. The heat from his touch is hard to ignore. Something I know isn’t from the shower.
Pushing on, he keeps a firm grasp on me as I undo his buttons, only letting go so I can peel the destroyed shirt off his body. I gently pull it down his arms, careful not to touch him, the back of my throat going bone dry when it falls to the floor of the tub.
His body sags with relief, and I gasp when he leans into me so water can get to his back. He grunts, lips sealing together to suppress the yell of agony I know is there. I take the opportunity to inspect the damage. Large black and purply bruises cover his chest, some lashes of the whip here too, though nothing compared to the state of his back. I go to shift around to see, but he blocks my way.“Let me look.”
He shakes his head. “It’s not as bad as it seems. I’ve had worse.”
I inhale sharply when he retakes hold of my wrists, fingers so tight around my skin, I know he’ll unintentionally bruise me. He presses me up against the cool tiles, trapping me in, and I lose my breath completely.
“Stop pitying me, Ava.” It’s the first time he’s said my name out loud, and his tone is back to angry. “Why did you kiss me?”
My body trembles. “I don’t…I wanted to take your pain away.”
Even as I say it, I know how stupid it sounds. How could a kiss help him? How could I think anything I do would help him? How stupid. Childish. Now he thinks I did it out of sympathy, and maybe I did, but he’s right. I shouldn’t pity him—I should pity myself for being ridiculous.
“I don’t believe you,” he says as I lose sensation in my fingers. “You felt sorry for me. It’s right there, in your damn eyes.”
The back of my throat aches. “Callum, I—”
“I wonder if you’d feel the same if I told you I did this to myself. Would you have kissed me then?” His expression drowns me, and I’m all too aware of the fire between us. “Would you have kissed me if you knew I liked it?”
“B-but Father Aaron, he—”
“Enjoyed the show. Now, get out.” When I don’t move, his fist crashes into the wall next to my head. The impact reopens old wounds and makes his hand bleed. He looks down, breath quivering with rage. “Get. Out.”
“I’m—I’m sorry.” Frightened, I stumble out of the bath and run from him.
Retreating to the bedroom corner, I slide down the wall and wrap my arms around my legs. I stare ahead at nothing, but inside my head is a different story.
What just happened between us?
Placing my fingers against my lips, I shudder. Callum likes hurting himself? It makes me remember the time he came out of the bathroom with cuts on his arm. He likes self-punishment, and now I’m faced with a problem.
I liked kissing him.
I don’t think it’s butterflies you’re meant to feel when you kiss someone. It’s fire. Because you’re meant to burn. Burn in the depths of hell like all sinners do.
* * *
Callum spendsthe night in the bathroom. As the morning sun pokes through the gap in the curtains, he emerges, and sinks into his chair. But not before I see the shade of death hollowing his eyes, dimming the blue to a deathly gray.
Swaying, his face suddenly impales the desk. He passed out. I’m about to check that he’s okay when his exhausted snores fill the silence. With his back now to me, I take in the damage for the first time, and every part of me cringes. It’s terrible—worse than I thought.
Oh, Callum. What did you do?
While he said he’d done it to himself, I only believe it to be half true. The other marks and bruises covering him, he couldn’t have possibly done to himself.
Footsteps thud on the stairs, and my back stiffens. Somehow, I know it’s Father Aaron. Unlike John’s steps, his are more taunting, each hit of his heel on the wood his way of announcing he’s coming. A tact to inflict fear before he’s even arrived. And it works. His visits to the bedroom are rare, and after the way he was last night, I’m even more worried. When he reaches the top step, I turn to Callum, who’s still unconscious when he’s usually the first to hear someone coming.
“Callum,” I whisper anxiously, trying to rouse him. He doesn’t move. “Please wake up.” Don’t leave me alone.
My heart threatens to burst out of my chest the closer Father Aaron gets. Callum sleeps on, and my stomach knots as the lock turns. Father Aaron walks inside slowly, hands embedded into his pockets, two soulless eyes searching the room for me. When he spots me on the floor, he moves past Callum until he’s in front of me. His polished shoes nearly touch the tips of my toes, but I can’t move.
With a stoic expression, he offers his hand. “I want to show you something.”
Swallowing hurts. My throat’s too dry to speak. When I don’t move, he huffs out an impatient breath, and I know there isn’t any point in fighting. He’ll only force me if I don’t come willingly, and then punish me for it.
Lifting my hand, he doesn’t wait to snatch my wrist and drag me off the floor, his grip like an inescapable vice. As he takes me out of the room, I glance over my shoulder at Callum, wishing he’d wake up and come with me.
With anxiety causing havoc to my insides, I barely take in my surroundings as Father Aaron takes me down a long, narrower corridor. We remain upstairs; the house is much bigger than I thought. Soon, we come to a door at the end of a different passage, and he pushes it open, revealing a large room lit with candles. It’s a bedroom with dark red walls, a king-sized four-poster bed with drapes and rich satin sheets. It dominates the space, a vast, intricately detailed wooden crucifix of Jesus Christ nailed above it.
Panic prickles my neck as he stops me in the middle of the room and moves my hair off my neck, his fingers touching the skin there. I don’t know what he’s doing until he leans in close behind me and breathes in through his nose, sniffing my hair while his thumb grazes my throat.
“I must apologize.” His tone is hushed. “I haven’t been forthcoming as to what it is I expect of you now that you’re beginning to settle into the family.” He moves around me. though I refuse to meet his gaze. “Do you like what you see? The room?” No. It’s dull and dated, with dark wooden floors and a smell of must and burning wax. My body shakes brutally, teeth now chattering. “This room will be important.”
My heart stops, and this time, I do look at him. “W-what?”
“This is where you become mine in a joining ceremony.” My chest caves, and it feels like he’s just kicked me in the stomach. Putting my hand over my mouth, I almost get sick. “It’s the perfect room—right in the center of the house. It was my great Grandfather’s, this place. Passed down to my father, and now me. There are a few renovations needed to make it safer for you. All in due time.”
Safer.
“I—”
“I knew you were the one when I saw you. Your virtue called to me. You will serve me, Ava, and give yourself to me. It’s why God put you in my path.” I shake my head, but he ignores me. No, no, no. “But it must be right. Preparations will be made before the ceremony happens, so you must take this time to learn from my son how to serve and please me. For the next time you step foot in this room, we’ll become one.”
Sobbing, I lose the sanity I have left. I can’t do this. I can’t—
“Why are you doing this to me?” I plead, and his eyebrows knit together, like he’s confused. I can’t believe he doesn’t see how wrong this is. How bad he is. “Father Aaron, please. Let me go home.”
“You are home. And you are now to address me as your Lord whenever you speak to me, are we clear?”
“Y-yes.” I’m on the edge of a slope. Any minute I’m going to slip and fall and perish. And maybe I want to.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, m-my Lord.”
He visibly calms and breathes out deeply. “To fight this would mean you won’t accept God’s will and testament. But like the manipulative Eve, I know you can be disobedient creatures by nature, and he has instructed me how to teach you to conform. You will be mine, Ava. There’s simply nothing you can do about it.”