His to Keep by Lydia Goodfellow
Chapter Twenty
It’s weirdly peaceful right now. You would think, after all that’s happened, everything would feel unsettled and chaotic. But the house is quiet. Even my thoughts have cleared from the noise. Coming to a numb realization that some things aren’t meant to be understood.
When I think of my life, I envision two paths. One is bright, almost magical, like something right out of a fairy tale. Like the ones in town, Willow trees drape over golden bricks like something out of Wizard of Oz, forming an arch with wildflowers spilling on either side. It’s inviting, enchanting, and I want to go down it where a happily ever after awaits. But I’m forced down the shadowy, sinister one instead. All gray and black, except for the little red candles dotted on the uneven, moss-covered terrain. Tall, leafless trees with branches so sharp they’d cut you. And this is the path I’m down, one I didn’t choose—no happy ending in sight.
I’m trying to make sense of it, but I’m not sure why. I’m sixteen. Here I am, lost in the dark, fearing for my life at every wrong turn, instead of basking in sunshine and happiness. Stuck in survival mode and still dying inside. It’s tiring. Exhausting. In the end, I know there’s nothing I can physically do about this hand I’ve been dealt, so why am I torturing myself like this?
Callum leaves the bathroom sometime later. He doesn’t look at me as he sits at his desk, and although he pulls out his sketchbook and opens a new page to fill with misery, he doesn’t lift the pencil to draw. He just sits, waits for night to come, and I go to bed. When I fall asleep, he relaxes then. That’s what I imagine and usually do, though I don’t feel like making it easy for him tonight.
Grabbing fresh clothes from the basket, I go into the bathroom and turn on the shower. After scrubbing my teeth three times with toothpaste to rid of the taste of blood lingering in the back of my throat, I get under the hot stream to wash away the dirt from running through the woods. I sigh as the water hits my skin. It feels nice, even when some areas sting from where branches snagged me. I even welcome the slight pain. For a life in this house feels like a bad dream, and the welts snap me out of it.
After washing and dressing, I go back into the bedroom, unsurprised to see Callum still at the desk, looking like he hasn’t moved at all. Instead of pulling back the blankets and getting into bed, I sit on top of it. That’s when he glances over his shoulder, eyebrow arching upward behind his hair at the change of my usual routine. “Are you not going to bed?”
“I’m not tired.”
“You should rest—”
“Why?” I argue, agitation burning through me when his jaw clenches and he turns away from me. I know I’m being bratty, but I don’t care. It inspires an idea, and I go over to him. He closes his book as I slip onto the table near the end but close enough to where he sits. “I thought we could get to know each other. Like how we were before. Remember?”
He clears his throat, and I think he’s bemused by my sudden energy but also trying not to look at my legs. How the skirt of my nightdress has ridden up my thigh a little bit. Not intentionally—the dresses are getting shorter. Still, a buzz of excitement nestles in my lower stomach, and for once, I truly feel like a sinner. “You don’t want to?”
He puts the book back into the drawer and slams it shut. “What are you doing, Ava?”
“What?” I ask coyly, knowing what I’m doing. Intruding on his personal space on purpose because I’m sick to death of all this distance. He lied to me before. Other times, I saw his desire for me, and I guess a part of me doesn’t want to let him away with it. “Why do we have to be so serious all the time? Can we not be friends?”
“Friends?” His eyes narrow with suspicion.
“Your father said I’m to be here with you for a while. At least until he moves me to that other horrible room, and I don’t want to fight anymore.”
“I don’t either,” he admits, looking tired himself, which relieves me. “Look, I’m sorry about what I said. I don’t know how to be around you. Not after tod—”
“Forget today,” I murmur, which pains me to say because I don’t think I can forget. “We can start again. And you can begin by telling me about you all.”
“Is that why you asked to be friends? So you can pump me for information?”
Yes.
“Of course not.” My face flames when his eyebrow curves at my lie. “I don’t know anything about any of you. It might make me feel better to know things.” Learning more about the people I’m being forced to live with wouldn’t hurt. For knowledge is a powerful thing, and I need some power right now.
“What is it you want to know exactly?”
“Tell me about you first.”
“I’ve told you all there is to know about me. I’m nobody.” Reaching out, I poke his arm, ignoring his wince from my touch.
“Oh, look at that—a somebody,” I say with a smile, and he rolls his eyes, though I spy a possible smile he’s trying to hide in the corner of his mouth. “Tell me about your mother and father. How it happened.”
He pushes his lips together grimly, and I know he’s hesitant to go there. Maybe it’s too much to ask, and I’m about to say forget it, but he lets out a long sigh. “My father and mother’s parents were extremely religious. So religious that they wanted their sons to become priests and their daughters to be nuns. They pushed my father and his brother through school and then college, forcing them to study philosophy and biblical studies. It wasn’t long before his brother rebelled and ran, and I guess as a way of preventing that from happening with my father, his parents sent him to serve the Brothers.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s a society of priests. Mostly large houses in the countryside. He was sent to one to live. But years passed, and he ended up failing his Master of Divinity. He was kicked out because the priests there doubted his devotion and celibacy—said his path was one of evil.”
My eyes widen. “Father Aaron’s not a priest?”
“Not on paper. My mother told me he changed when he went to that house. There was a priest there who was different from the others. Filled his head with corruption and extreme beliefs and notions. He got distracted by him and molded. But before failing his degree, he’d gone to his parents’ house to visit. Mother was the youngest and just turning fifteen. He saw her beauty and innocence and wanted her in a sick way. When suggesting to his parents that she live with him, they were appalled and told him no, that she was to soon join the convent. Then when he failed at becoming a priest, and he’d been kicked out of the house, they were furious and disowned him. A week later, they died by his hand, and he took my mother in the most beastly way a man can take a girl on the day of their funeral.”
Swallowing hard, I try to keep my breaths even so Callum doesn’t hear how uncomfortable I am listening to Father Aaron and Penny’s past. Father Aaron killed his parents to get Penny. Even the way Callum glossed over that part makes my stomach twist. That death is such a plaintive reality in his life. And Father Aaron, not being a priest makes so much sense and doesn’t at the same time. “I’m confused. How was he able to take over the parish here?”
“Forged documentation and references. Provided from his mentor from the Brotherhood. There are others like my father out there, right now, who are holding people captive in fenced communities or houses for the same beliefs. Each of them acting like kings of their domain and making people believe they’re being saved by them. I’ve sometimes overheard him on the phone to them.”
My throat tightens. Others? I don’t want to imagine that—not at all. It’s too scary. “And you don’t believe in his beliefs?”
“No, I don’t.” He shakes his head, disgust curling his lip. “It’s a lie that covers what they’re really doing. My mother may have done many bad things because her head is twisted by him, and I know she was the one who told you to run today. Still, before he made her truly go crazy, she’d often tell me of how life really is out there, and this isn’t it.”
“No, it’s not,” I mutter. “Life outside of here is beautiful.” I was limited to so much since Grandpa died, but I know how life is supposed to be. This world is nothing but crooked and disturbing, created by a man who is nothing but an extremist making up his own rules. How did I get so unlucky to fall into this web?
“Don’t cry,” he says, reaching out and wiping a tear that I hadn’t realized had fallen. I close my eyes to his touch, and he breathes out deeply, dropping his hand. “Come on.” He stands up and takes my hand in his, tugging me off the table. “Maybe that’s enough for tonight.”
“I’m not tired,” I yawn as he takes me over to the bed and pulls back the blanket for me. “I want to know more. Please?”
His wary eyes soften. “I will if you get into bed.”
“You’ll lay next to me?” I ask, and noticing his hesitation, I quickly add, “Just to talk, like last time? I miss that.”
“Okay. Just to talk.”
Getting into bed, I watch as he goes to the other side. After kicking off his shoes, he lies beside me, letting out a breath that makes my chest prick with sadness that he doesn’t have a bed to sleep in because I’m using it.
“When were you born?” I ask, thinking of Father Aaron and how much hate he possesses for his own son. How could anyone hate their child so much that they coax them to whip themselves on their birthdays?
“From Penny’s recollection, after their parents died, the inheritance was split between her and her sister. My father and his brother got nothing. They were written out of the will, and as you can imagine, my father didn’t take the news well. He concocted a plan to steal my mother’s money by keeping her under his thumb. He stole her and her money away to a town called Viewmont. A month later, they discovered she was pregnant, which wasn’t part of his plan. It was careless as she was only sixteen. He had to lie and say she’d gotten pregnant by a random boy back in their old town.”
“And that’s why he hates you? Because you weren’t part of his plan.”
“He wanted Penny to himself. When I was born, she had to tend to me, which he loathed. And then there’s my grandparents’ will. The first grandchild to be born from their daughters would receive a hidden inheritance when they turn twenty-one. I’m the first grandchild. My father thinks they’re giving me his money. He’d have abandoned me if it weren’t for that. My grandparents have kept me alive.”
Like mine did.
“Is John not older than you?”
“John’s illegitimate, and despite him calling me it, is not my real cousin. My uncle married a woman with a child from a previous marriage. That child was John. When they died from a car accident when he was nine, he came to live with us. He didn’t have any other family, and his real father was in prison. The state wanted to be done with him, and we were all that was left.”
“Do you think if John hadn’t been given to Father Aaron, he wouldn’t be the way he is now?”
He turns on his side to face me better. “I never thought of it that way. Maybe. Although John was strange when he first arrived. My father only encouraged his behavior. He always saw John more like his son because of the similarities between them.”
“Have you…” I bite my lower lip, wondering if I should ask the following question or not. I chance it. “Have you ever thought about getting out?”
“No.” He gazes down, expression hardening. “All I know is this. That’s why I thought about ending it. For if I die, so does the money, and then there’s nothing I have that he wants. Until he stole you like he did my mother, and I couldn’t.”
“I’m glad you didn’t.” The thought of Callum killing himself depresses me. Shuffling closer until the arm he’s leaning on rests beneath me, I press my face into his chest and breathe in his scent. He smells of soap and detergent and him—a combination that both relaxes and warms me. He lies back down on the pillow and curls his arm around my neck, not pushing me away like I think he might, but pulling me closer. Lifting his other hand, he rubs the tip of his finger against my cheek.
“I don’t think friends do this,” he whispers, and I smile, which he stares at. Eyes on my lips, which I consciously dampen with my tongue.
“I’ve never had a friend like you.”
“You should go to sleep now, Ava.” His tone is serious.
“Why?” I ask, my heart thumping in my chest—his doing the same beneath my palm—Thump, thump, thump. Closing the gap between us, he kisses me again. Lips so gentle and soft and warm it steals my breath away. We’re purposefully complicating things, yet it’s like we can’t stop ourselves. It takes only seconds before something ignites between us, turning such a soft kiss harder. Needier. Like the barrier has dropped, and there’s no going back. His tongue enters my mouth and touches mine, and there it is again, that hellish feeling that sparks between us.
Tingles spread through my body, overwhelming me enough to moan a raspy sound that doesn’t sound like me at all and grip onto him even tighter. He moans against my lips. “Ava—we shouldn’t.”
“Stop then,” I whisper back, leaving it up to him because there’s no way I can. When he kissed me, all my willpower went far away.
Pulling me closer, he deepens the kiss instead, arms wrapping tightly around me. Putting my leg over his, I feel him again, his male part pressing hard against me. Removing his mouth, we catch our breaths, gripping tightly onto each other like we’re afraid one of us might fade away. “Ava…”
“Yes?”
“Has anyone ever kissed you? Touched you like this?”
With a mind of their own, my fingers run through the back of his soft, thick hair, and I think I could like this, his breath hot and heavy against my lips, him holding me. “Only a kiss—last year. I hated it. He sliced my lip open with his tooth.”
His eyes dance with amusement as he breathes a laugh. He puts his thumb against my bottom lip, strangely in the very place. I’m damp between my legs. Hot. I shudder. “You truly are innocent.”
“I’m not,” I say, so caught up in him and this, it’s like everything else has melted away in flames.
Letting out a sigh, I think of frustration; he rolls onto his back and runs a hand down his face. “Friends?”
Sitting up, I hazily smile down at him as I move a piece of black hair that’s near his eye. “Friends.”
Forcing himself off the bed, he stiffly goes over to the bathroom. Before he enters, he glances over his shoulder. “Go to sleep.”
“Goodnight,” I whisper, knowing he’s right and I should sleep, even though I could spend all night kissing him. Touching him, like I know he’s about to himself.
“Goodnight.” He closes the door, and I flop back against the pillows. Stuffing my nightdress between my legs to ease the throbbing, I’m losing my mind as I try not to listen and force myself to sleep.