Page 27 of Vermilion Desire

I sniffle. “No, I don’t want to talk.”

I kiss the space between his neck and his shoulder; the muscles under my lips are hard and straining.

“We talk, or I’m leaving.”

I choke; a flare of anger eats at the erratic tempo of my heartbeat slamming against my ribs. I shove him away and crawl away from him, but his hand is faster and stronger than me as he drags me back into his lap.

His arms are iron cages around my wiggling body as I struggle to break away his hold and yell at him to stop touching me. I don’t want to be forced into doing something I don’t want even if he’s Mr. Wolf and the man I would do anything for.

“Get off!” I push his arms, but they won’t budge. The futile efforts of breaking free soon become a weak attempt when my strength leaves my body. My body and my strength can’t be compared to the sheer power Mr. Wolf carries under his muscles.

“Are you done?” he asks in an impatient voice.

I bitterly bite out, “No!”

“Don’t make me tie you down, baby.”

I begin to struggle out of his arms once more, and all of this is just to annoy him. I’m angry at everything; him, this room, the air, Braxton Berkshire. Just about anything makes me livid, and I don’t know where this irrational vehemence comes from.

He doesn’t say anything else or does much. His only goal is to keep me in his arms and rip the seed of anger from my chest. Mr. Wolf calmly waits for me to settle down and let the anger seep out of my skin.

“I’m not going to ask about Berkshire, but I want you to tell me what the hell happened yesterday.”

Berkshire’s case is self-explanatory. He threatened Mr. Wolf and Uncle Cal, so I retaliated with the café scene and the recorded message. The restraining order was what I wanted from the whole thing, but I don’t know where it had gone wrong to the point Mr. Wolf became this angry with me.

“You were scratching, baby. It’s not the first time, is it?” He runs a calloused hand over the still aching rawness in my skin.

I peer at the pink lines from my nails. The familiar lines give a sense of déjà vu from the past, but I couldn’t care less about it.

“No,” I answer him after a moment, voice hoarse and low.

“Tell me,” he whispers, urging me with a gentle stroke down the pink lines.

Mr. Wolf knows that I can’t hide anything from him. When he asks me to do anything, I wouldn’t think of the consequences and do it without a single thought.

I tell him everything. The plan to teach Berkshire a lesson for threatening him and Uncle Cal, the irrational fear of being abandoned by him because he hadn’t spoken to me after the court trial, and the origin of the scratching that comes from the program for gifted children.

Anyone slower than one tempo will get knocked down and tossed aside, and those children who succeed will be given the opportunity to be someone great.

I was a child with nothing left for me other than a grandmother with dementia, but we aren’t that close. The program was all I had, and I didn’t want to lose it to anyone. Now I have Mr. Wolf and Uncle Cal, the stakes of being the best of the best are on the line because of Braxton Berkshire’s existence.

I end up murmuring, “I was selfish, I’m sorry.”

Mr. Wolf, being a kind-hearted man, pets my hand with his bigger one. The comfort of being gently held by him soothes the maddening desire to make this right.

“You were just trying to help, baby.”

He adds, “But you can’t blame others for things that are happening to you. You have to take responsibility.”

I chew on my bottom lips. “I know, I’m sorry.”

He hums, the vibration going deep into my bones. “You’re still young and learning. I can forgive you for anything as long as you learn from it.”

“Are you mad, Mr. Wolf?” I tread lightly.

He laces our fingers tightly. “I’m more worried than angry with you.”

“I’m sorry.” I cast my eyes down on my lap and find his big fingers swallowing my smaller ones. “I wanted to protect you and do something for you since you’re always taking care of me.”

---