Page 4 of Teach Me to Laugh

“I didn’t say I was going to tell anyone . . .”

“But you’re thinking about it.” The little space that existed between us vanished as he took another step. He towered over me, and I knew—I knew the power his body had over mine. I knew I was no match for him. “I know you, Amara. I know everything about you.”

“I’m not thinking about it.” I insisted, praying to a God who never seemed to listen that he would just leave me alone.

“I just want you to know what will happen if you do.” He said, and I knew the soothing tone wasn’t to give me ease. Oh no, he wasn’t about bringing anyone ease of thought.

“I won’t.” I promised. I hated him more now than I had ever hated him before, and that was saying something. It was saying a lot.

“You’re so pretty, Amara.” He murmured. Lifting his hand, he touched his knuckles to my cheek, trailing a path of ice down my neck and to my collarbone. “You know you’re mine. You’ve been mine since they gave you to us—and you’ll always be mine.” His mean eyes flicked over my face as though searching for fight I didn’t have, before landing on my neck. He always said I had a pretty neck. Pretty and delicate.

Every chance he had, he reminded me of just how delicate I was. Small. Weak. Incapable of fighting off the sick and twisted in the world. At first, I thought he was my savior. My protector. My friend.

And then things changed. Things got weird, and scary.

He became possessive and obsessive. There was never a moment where he didn’t take the chance to remind me that I was his; still in one piece because of him. He never denied the chance to remind me that my virtue was still mine, because he allowed it. He was saving it. He was in control.

Never me.

“I swear, I won’t tell.” I said again.

“I know.” He smiled, and there was a softness to it that wasn’t sincere. This was the manipulation of the worst kind of predator. “I did it for you, Amara. I did it for us.” My body turned stiff as horror sliced through my veins. He didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he didn’t care. “I’m doing what you asked. I’m waiting for you. But a man has needs . . .”

I blinked as the memory faded into the ice of my guarded heart. I was shaken, but the vision of Maddy’s thoughtful face encouraged me to straighten my spine and fight my weakness.

Weakness. My constant helplessness was why I lifted weights. It was why I had a membership at the gym. It was why I worked so hard, and so often, to strengthen my small,delicate,body.

In an attempt to ignore the heavy burden that was Maddy’s concern, I shifted. The workout had been great. Killer even. I was getting stronger. My muscles felt achy and I could feel a much-needed bubble bath with lavender Epsom salts scribbling itself into my agenda for tonight. But first I had a long day at the Library I worked at with Raina.

I loved the Library. Books and the peaceful quiet of the space were my haven. Nobody tried to spark up frivolous conversation in a Library. I could tell people to shut their traps (politely, of course) without seeming like the anti-social nutcase I might actually be.That’s still up for debate.

I’m not a people person. I don’t even try to be. I don’t want a life filled with people, because with people comes emotions, and with emotions comes hurt. It’s inevitable and in my opinion, it’s just not worth it. So I don’t make connections unless those connections come with Raina. She’s the exception to the rule.

And Raina comes with more connections than Lego.

So I’ve suddenly found myself in a life where I have connections. And I haven’t decided if I liked it yet.

“What’s on your agenda?” Maddy asked as I leaned against the driver’s door of my totally awesome car. Little cars like mine said things like “don’t even ask for a ride home, I barely have enough room to put my purse on my passenger seat,” and “Yes,I like my space big enough for me and me alone.” Anyway, that’s how I liked to think of my car.

Still, though, Maddy had a wicked awesome Audi SUV. I’d be jealous, well—I am kind of jealous. Except I’ve made my peace with the fact that I’ll most likely never live a day where I’m financially capable of giving myself that kind of a car. Because of that, I’ll also never be the one voted to do the driving when it came to group situations, something I also liked.

Regardless, it’s a beauty, and I’m real enough to admit that.

“I work until four,” I announced, getting back to our conversation. “Then I’m going home and cracking the gallon of paint I bought.” Winking at her, I opened my car door. “Then I’m relaxing in a bubble bath.”

See? Lavender Epsom salts and bubbles have been officially scribbled in stone.

“You’re painting?”

I paused, door still open. “Sure am.”

“Does Beckett know this?”

“No.”

“Do we think we should tell him?”

See? The girl was pathetically responsible. It’s so overpowering it’s almost gag-worthy.

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