His to Keep by Lydia Goodfellow
Chapter Twenty-Six
Iwake up lying on the bed, the room hazy from the film of blurriness in my eyes. Thoughts come back slowly, and when they do, I start crying. Three. Three lashes of the whip were all it took for me to fall headfirst into oblivion. Three to convince Father Aaron that I mean nothing to his son.
And don’t I feel like nothing.
It’s four in the morning—dark and cold. The only light source comes from the candle on the desk. The house is deathly quiet, almost like it knows. Simmering in dark delight, beneath the floorboards and behind the walls, something’s sniggering, sinners, sinners, sinners.
I know, even without having to look, Callum’s sitting at the end of the bed by my feet. I sense him, his presence, knowing that he’s looking ahead at nothing. Eyes transfixed, glazed, and haunted. I know because I’m doing the same, unable to look at him, at anything. Just feel all these terrible things inside of me.
A strong scent of blood hangs in the air from the whip’s slashes. My dress must be open at the back because a chill licks the wounds. He didn’t go easy on me. It may have been only three, but they go deep. As deep as the mess we’ve created.
The image of Callum’s expression right before he was about to whip me inhabits my thoughts, knowing he had to travel to a dark place to do that to me. To hurt me like how his father makes him himself.
I’m too afraid to look at him now, to see the anger I know he has toward me in his eyes. Though, as it turns out, I don’t have to.
“You turned me into him,” he says, probably sensing I’m awake. “You turned me into the one person I’ve been trying my hardest not to become.” His voice trembles, and it makes my chest hurt. But does he deserve my pain for not telling me about his history with another girl dressed in white? “I hate what I did to you.”
“You had to,” I rasp, tears stinging my cheeks. “Or I would’ve died.”
He shifts at the end of the bed. I still don’t look at him. “That’s if he’s even convinced. You could end up dead anyway.”
My bottom lip wobbles, and tears pool behind my eyelids. “Then we have to convince him there isn’t anything going on.”
“And how do you suppose we do that?” he asks, an edge to his tone. “When you can’t stop.”
This time, I turn in his direction, horrified by the words that have just come from his mouth. I try and sit up, but my back screams in agony, and I whimper. Arching his head, he stares down at me with a mixture of remorse and more anger.
“I’ll…I’ll stop if that’s what you want. I won’t talk to you again, just like how it was meant to be in the first place. I won’t be another Orla.”
“Good,” he replies coldly, between his eyebrows wrinkled. “You might actually live.”
With that, he gets up and leaves. He doesn’t go into the bathroom this time. Instead, he leaves the bedroom altogether, slamming the door behind him.
I lie there listening to his footsteps until they’re nothing more than faded thuds. A tear drips from my eye and falls onto the pillow, his words like daggers through my chest, the meaning stabbing me deeply.
Maybe this should be the end of him and me. To be alone just how it was always meant to be.
* * *
My back heals slowly,and it’s hell. The first week, any slight movement makes the drying wounds split and bleed all over again. Even though Callum and I aren’t speaking and haven’t since he whipped me, he tenses up whenever I cry out from any awkward movement. As if the memory of what he did comes back, and he relives it all over again. I know I do—every time. Even the second week is torture, and I think back to when he was whipped on his birthday. How did he deal with so many at one time? How he was able to move around the room without screaming in agony because that’s exactly what I feel like doing.
By the end of the week, I’m able to eat downstairs in the dining room, even though I can’t lean back and have to hunch over my meal. I’m not hungry and don’t want to eat. The atmosphere’s strained and silent. When dinner ends, Father Aaron straightens his back.
“I have something to announce,” he says as I roll a pea around my plate. “Tonight, we’re having a party. In which I expect you all to dress for the occasion. I’ve left something special for tonight on your bed, Ava.”
I swallow hard. It’s the first time he’s said anything to me since I was whipped. Would he get a dress for someone he intends to kill? Does it mean Callum convinced him? The relief is instantaneous. “Thank you, my Lord.”
Callum sags beside me, and I wonder if it’s relief also or something else. Does he know what this party will entail?
“We will talk alone,” Father Aaron adds. Unlike any other time that he’s requested my presence, all I feel is hollow inside.
After dinner finishes, John and Callum leave the table, Callum walking out without even a backward glance. While Penny clears away the dishes, I sit with my head bowed, knowing whatever Father Aaron says next will be a warning or a threat of some sort.
“I was meant to discuss the nature of your relationship with my son.” This is it. This is my chance to put any suspicion to rest—an opportunity to save myself.
“You’re right about me being wicked, my Lord.” I’m surprised by how convincing I sound. “I don’t mean to be. I don’t know that I’m doing anything wrong. Gran always said I’m like my mother. Corruption runs through my veins.”
“Hmm.” He stares at me for a while, drumming his fingers against the table. “This is why you’ve been put in my path. To save you from yourself. My son is weak. He has always been. Though I cannot blame him for being privy to your beauty, as I too have struggled to contain my desire for you. Brother Joseph was right about women like you and your devil ways. But I know you do not mean for it to be that way. You are still deserving. I hope your punishment has taught you to be less provocative.” I bite my tongue so hard, the metallic taste of blood pools in my mouth. I force myself to smile timidly through all the insanity. That is until he grabs my hand, and my smile instantly drops. “Besides, you’re soon to be mine. Once you are, you will never be anyone else’s.”
“Thank you, my Lord,” I say robotically, feeling nothing but everything. The emotions inside tearing me apart. “It means so much to me.”
I swallow vomit.
“Very well. You may leave to get ready for the party. But Ava, make sure you remember what I said. For if I ever find you with my son again, I will kill you.”