Page 40 of Deviant Illusions

Not again.

My shoulders burn from how tightly I’m holding on to my safety. The bed usually moves with me, but this time it stays in place. It finally helps me. I don’t have enough hands to hold my pants up. Warmth flattens against my back, a forearm presses against my chest, and they pry me off my safety.

Like fucking always, I’m not strong enough and the burning starts again. It’s not physical. My body is reliving it in anticipation of the pain that’s to come.

19

KANE

“Breathe, little shadow,” Lennox whispers into my ear as my eyes open.

My head rolls back and the small stones carpeting the dirt road dig into my back. There’s something sticky on my hands, my arms, all over me. But I can’t lift my head and I sound like a vacuum with how harsh my breathing is. Cool air floods my face as Lennox carefully removes the mask and I mumble, “Are you going to punish me?”

He slowly shakes his head and strokes the tips of his fingers through my sweat-soaked hair. The soothing motion reminds me of my mom. She’d always use the tips of her fingers to stroke my hair back instead of her full hand. It was hesitant, like she knew that Asher would be angry if he saw her giving me the same care he received. But the small contact of the tips of her fingers weaving through the strands was enough to settle me.

Lennox disturbs it as he places his palm on my chest. “You’re okay, just breathe.” He pulses his fingers on my chest as though he has direct control of my lungs and says, “They’re dead. You’ll be okay.”

I watch the moonlight show the dark liquid coating my skin as I lift my heavy hands, then sit up, focusing on the blood. It’ll be red, nothing else. Just blood. Something clinks below me, and I look down to see the edge of my belt buckle. Undone.

Everything crumbles and I can’t close my eyes in time to stop the agony ripping through me. The humiliation is back and now the witness is my own uncle.

He remains on his haunches and grips my nape to pull me into his chest while I fucking cry. He strokes the back of my head as his hum vibrates through his chest and pushes warm nostalgia into mine. For some reason, that makes me sob harder. It’s like I’m a child again, only Asher hasn’t locked me in the pantry to prevent my parents from hearing me cry for help.

Lennox doesn’t tell me to shut the fuck up or that I’m an embarrassment. He lets me fucking cry like a kid and continues humming. Each sweep of his hand over the back of my head carries the tune as he delicately presses his lips to my crown.

“It’s okay now,” he whispers, slowly rocking side to side. “You’ll accept it all soon and it will be easier.” His voice lowers further, and he holds his breath before he admits, “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

The ominous tone doesn’t help my emotions. But he hums, flexing his control and soothing me after piling on more shit.

I don’t have any idea how long he rocks me for, with that soft hum still filling the air, and I don’t move as I slowly manage to regain control over myself. Extracting myself from his hold, I sit back and bring my knees up. An extra barrier is put up as I rest my forearms on my knees while he just fucking stares.

It’s the same stare every fucker has given me. The one that comes before their questions. Questions I can’t answer because the truth is even more fucking embarrassing. That’s one thing I wish I never knew about being pinned down. How fucking humiliating it is. The pain can heal, I can be sewn up, but losingall sense of dignity isn’t something that can be replaced. I can’t get it back and every fucking stare or question takes more.

Victim.

A word to describe the person wronged while putting a noose around their neck and robbing them of air all over again.

Victim.

A person who wasn’t able to help themselves. Powerless and used. I don’t want to be a fucking victim. I turn into the interrogator as I avoid his eyes.

“How do you know that song?” I grit out. “The hum?”

The smell of blood fills my nose, and dried flakes crumble off the edge of my gloves as I scrub my hand down my face to get rid of the moisture soaking into my skin.

“Your mother,” Lennox says before taking a fortifying breath. “She’d brush my hair and sing or hum to me.”

I look at him then. Not fully, just through the corner of my eyes. The melancholy on his face is the clearest thing I’ve ever seen despite the low light. He doesn’t stand up or copy how I’m sitting. He remains on his haunches with his forearms on his thighs, his fingers lightly clasped together between his knees, and in a suit that is more than the average person’s salary.

“She used to do the same to me,” I quietly confess. “It was the only time Asher didn’t come first.”

Lennox curls his fingers around my nape and dips his head so we’re eye to eye. His eyes are eerie as fuck due to how pale they are, but there’s a new warmth in them as he pulls me forward. “Because we’re the same. We’re both the reflection and she knew what that meant. She was all too aware of what being attached to you would do to her.”

I laugh. It’s low and weak, but I fucking laugh at the thought of my parents’ distance and cold shoulder being due to protection. They were the adults, and if they didn’t want to get attached to their own child, then they never should have had me.

“Tell me everything,” I demand. He doesn’t say anything, and my voice darkens. “I’ve just orchestrated a car wreck, kidnapped two people, and killed two others. Fucking tell me!”

“One,” he calmly corrects. “You killed one. The other wasn’t you.” He stands and straightens his clothes before going to the truck. The back passenger door is open, and the couple are still a tangled mess on the floor as my uncle reaches into his pocket and takes out two syringes. He doesn’t have any discomfort over drugging them, and acts like it’s a regular part of his day as he says, “I’ve already told you the tale. There’s nothing more for you to know. Yet.”

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