Page 54 of Eden's Deliverance

The Prince tries, I think, but it’s hard for me to accept and reciprocate when I’m always wishing it was coming from Broody and Casanova instead. Those two have their own prerogative, and while our interactions aren’t devoid of passion, it isn’t their priority. Torture is more their thing.

Skylar’s been honest about his feelings; he does want something from me and wishes I would return the sentiment. I may have shown interest in the moment, but not when it mattered most to him.

Not afterwards.

I’m completely expecting to find the living room empty, a sign that the failure to hold up my end of some unspoken bargain means he can do the same. But there he is, plopped down on the long couch with a pillow. He must have brought the bedding from his room while I was still outside, because another pillow and the comforter from his bed are lying on the adjacent couch for me.

He’s wearing a sweatshirt with the hood pulled over his head, his arms crossed against his chest to keep warm without a second blanket available. When I creep towards him, he turns inward to face the back cushion of the couch.

The TV is playing one of my favorite horror movies,The Conjuring, and I think it must be a coincidence. There’s no way he knows that about me.

Or it means I just fucked up really bad.

His eyesremain closed when I bend down to kiss his cheek. I only give him a small peck to show my appreciation, but he lets me. “Goodnight, Skylar.”

I wait a second, but he doesn’t move or speak. He’s likely not asleep, but I’m just thankful for him being here. I don’t need anything else.

The comforter and pillow almost bring me to tears when I settle onto the couch and tangle myself between them, my mind racing with all the possible ways I could have made tonight go differently. There’s so much I should have said or done, but it’s too late to go back now.

I’m cocooned in his scent, stealing a warmth that was meant for him—yet he chose to give it to me instead. The first tear falls when his soft voice murmurs across the living room.

“Goodnight, Red.”

I probably deserve that.

The weekend with Skylar crawled by as agonizingly slow as I thought it would, even before the secret sex. Dad and Gretchen were their usual cheerful selves while each of their selfish, spiteful children glared daggers at one another from across each room of the house.

I tried to make up for my shortcomings with him, but he didn’t care. After Wednesday night, he spent every single day sewing together the pieces of his cold, dead heart until he returned to his normal self. Any attempt I made at being friendly or apologetic was squandered immediately.

How do you even apologize for breaking someone when you weren’t aware you were doing it in the first place?

I continued calling him by his name, but he never stopped calling me Red. I tried to be cordial at dinner by offering him food and drinks, and he blatantlyignored me. If I came outside to smoke with him, he would promptly return to the house.

I can forgive all of it though, because despite the apathetic, blatant disregard for my existence during the day, he still slept in the living room with me.

Every. Single. Night.

That’s not something he would do if he truly hated me. Not that the way he acted was mature, likeat all, but being able to stuff it inside while we slept still meant something to me. I won’t forget it.

I don’t even think I dislike him anymore.

He may not have fully accepted my olive branch, we may not be friends, and he may not have any feelings towards me anymore—romantic or lustful—but I wasn’t missing them before, and I won’t miss them now.

I’ll keep showing my appreciation for his kindness by extending my own, and remain hopeful that one day he finally accepts it.

It's Sunday now, so Penelope and I are officially free to go back to our apartment and put this disastrous holiday behind us. There’s no point in telling her about my masked visitor showing up at my dad’s house; he’s basically a second parent to her, and she would probably be as pissed off as I am about it.

It’s why I can’t tell her about Skylar, either.

Sleeping with one’s stepbrother doesn’t really fall on the list of things a stable person would do, whether we’re actually siblings or not. She’d probably think it’s her fault for encouraging my sexual exploration, and it would lead to a guilty spiral about how far I’ve fallen from grace while under her watch.

Plus, what happened between us feels a little sacred after he revealed what it supposedly meant to him. I don’t want to soil that by spreading it around.

It’s just for us.

20

Julian

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