Page 63 of Possession

“Lucas,” I answer, not even having to think about it. All I want is to get back to him in our safe, private space where nothing else exists.

TWENTY-ONE

Lucas

This room is amazing. This whole house is amazing. I didn’t really take it in that first night when Vitali questioned me. Then, if anything, the size and grandness felt threatening. But now I’m curled up in a huge plush armchair in a library. A whole freaking library.

I could spend hours here. Maybe I already have. When I decided to break Roman’s … rule, I guess I should call it, my plan was to get a look at the whole house. I started to. I saw some of it. But the second I found this room, I got sucked in.

This is where Roman has been getting all the books. There must be thousands of them. I could spend days here, and not just because of the books. I love the old-fashioned feel of this room with all the dark wood and leather furniture, the fireplace and the lamps with colorful glass shades.

Libraries are sanctuaries for people like me, people who don’t belong anywhere.

In high school, I used to spend all my lunch periods in the library. Outside of wrestling season, I used to spend all my afternoons in the public library. I had no real friends, and I hated being at home, shut up in my room so that Frank could pretend I didn’t exist.

I know that Roman has been keeping me closed up for a different reason, but every time he leaves, I get that heavy, awful feeling that I used to have all the time living in Frank’s house.

Tonight, it was creeping in again. I found myself curled up in the bed, quiet and still like I used to be, but somethinghappened. It was so abrupt that I was completely unprepared for it.

All of a sudden, I wassoangry. I threw the covers aside and launched myself from the bed. I snatched up the bedside lamp and hurled it across the room. Something about the way it hit the wall and shattered broke something loose inside me.

I recalled, abruptly, that I stabbed someone to death not long ago. I realized that if I was capable of that, then I was certainly capable of opening a door that wasn’t even locked.

So that’s what I did.

As I stormed down the hallway, my angry stride checked at the sound of someone running up the main staircase. The man halted when he saw me. I recognized him from the night Roman and I arrived here. He was big and intimidating, and I braced myself to refuse any order to return to my room.

That order never came. Not only did he back off, I detected a hint of approval in his eyes. I kept walking, heading down the stairs that he had just run up. Though he trailed me through the house, he kept a good distance between us and never spoke to me.

I don’t know where he is now, but I haven’t seen him since I entered the library.

When I hear a door somewhere in the house, my heart skips. When I hear voices in the distance then footsteps, I fight the impulse to scurry back to the bedroom like I would’ve done in Frank’s house. I know Roman will be angry but—

I jump when he appears in the doorway. His face is blood splattered—and furious. His eyebrows are drawn low, his dark eyes burning.

“What are you doing?” he demands.

The impulse to get defensive rears up inside me, but I make myself reply simply, “Reading.”

His nostrils flare. “I told you to stay in our room.”

One thing I’ve learned from Roman is that sometimes silence is more powerful than words, so I don’t reply. I know he told me to stay in the room. This is me saying that’s not okay.

He growls and starts stalking my way.

As I face his anger, I’m struck by a certain irony. Roman is far scarier and infinitely more dangerous than my stepfather. But where my stepfather’s approach would have cowed me, Roman’s doesn’t.

Frank made me feel small and unwanted. Roman makes me feel the opposite. It’s Roman who’s made me believe that I deserve to take up space. It’s Roman who’s made me feel loved.

So when he looms over me and wraps his hand around my throat, I do not submit to him. When he starts to squeeze, I do not fear him. I know he won’t hurt me—because I know that he loves me.

His love is dark. It’s intense. It’s possessive.

It’s everything I need.

On a certain level, I even like the fact that he wants to contain me, that it’s so important to him to possess me. But I can’t let him. I cannot yield. I will not. But I know, I know absolutely, thathewill.

And he does.

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