Page 86 of Once a Villain
Twenty-Five
Joan was barely aware of how they made it through the crowds.
Moments of clarity came to her like snapshots out of a blur: horses and guards parading down a road-blocked street. Rose petals in the air in a blood-like spray. The Oliver house, dour against the clouded sky; it wasn’t sunny anymore.
Joan’s brain wasn’t working properly. Because otherwise, all she could see was Nick. Falling and falling and dying. Over and over.
A strange, animal sound wrenched from deep inside her. She’d always believed that she and Nick would end up together. They’d belonged together in the true timeline, and they’d found each other in every timeline since.
She’d thought that the next timeline would be a new chance for them; a new beginning. They’d overcome so much to find their way back to each other, and in the next timeline, they’d have had the time and space to finally be together.
But there were no more timelines left. This was the last one, and Nick was dead.
In her mind’s eye, he fell and fell, and she was falling too,as if they’d tumbled into the void itself. Maybe she’d fall with Nick forever.
“Joan.” The shake in Aaron’s voice was so real—so uncharacteristic—that it drew Joan out of her daze. They were somehow in the opulent foyer of the Oliver house, marble busts of Olivers staring down. Above, the painted mermaids on the ceiling reached out clawingly, mouths twisted like they were drowning.
Joan felt like she’d been crying for hours; her eyes were swollen, her throat tight. But when she touched her face, it was dry. There’d been no tears; the whirl of emotion was all inside her.
Aaron released an uneven breath and waved someone away—one of the servants, Joan guessed. His other hand was clasped tightly around Joan’s, and she felt him shiver. He was trying to keep it together in front of the staff.
Are you okay?she wanted to ask him, absurdly. Because of course he wasn’t okay. And neither was she. They were in this sick, corrupted world, and now there was no way out of it.
Aaron led Joan through the beautiful rooms of the Oliver mansion, the carpet lush as grass under her feet. Joan ran her hand over the silky wood of the banister as she climbed the stairs.This is real, she told herself. She must have said it aloud because Aaron’s hand tightened around hers, pace increasing.
And then they were in his bedroom suite. Aaron leaned against the heavy wooden door and pulled Joan toward him. And finally—finally—it felt safe enough to cry. She pressed her face against the clean cotton of his shirt and sobbed. His arms tightened around her. He was saying something—Joan could distantly hear it—but she couldn’t make out the words.
After a time, she felt Aaron shift them so that her back wasagainst the door. He started to pull away, and Joan reached for him. “Don’t!” She was suddenly desperate to keep touching him. There was a whirlwind of misery inside her, chaotic and unbearable, and Aaron was the only thing anchoring her to reality. “Please,” she whispered. “I keep getting lost in my head! Please take me out of my head!” She didn’t even know what she was asking for. Only, this felt worse than any fade-out—she was so lost—and Aaron had always been able to bring her back.
Aaron seemed to understand what she was trying to say. He tugged her close again, into the curl of his arms.
She lifted her chin. “Aaron,” she whispered. His gray eyes darkened to slate as he focused on her.
A fine tremor ran through him, and then Joan leaned up, and they were suddenly kissing.
Warmth flooded through her as he deepened the kiss. For one perfect second, she was consumed by the furnace of his mouth, by how good he felt. And then he was pulling back, clearly shocked by what they’d just done.
“Joan—” His voice cracked. “You don’t want this. You’re not in your right mind!”
“I—” Joan heard her own voice crack. “Please.” There was too much space between them, and it was unbearable. If he left her right now, she really would be lost. She surged to find his mouth again, but he stopped her, his hands firm on her waist.
“You don’t want this,” Aaron said again. He sounded raw. “I would give you anything you wished for. Anythingin my power. But you don’t wantme. You wanthim.”
Joan’s mouth crumpled, and then she was crying again,everything rushing back. Nick was dead, speared through with iron stakes. Eleanor was going to cut off his head and display him on the turrets.
Aaron thumbed tears from Joan’s face. She hadn’t known his expression could be so achingly gentle.
He was right about Nick, but wrong about himself. Joan took a shaky breath. She always had a bad habit of suppressing difficult emotions.It’s not the right time to feel this yet, she’d told herself. But the horrors of today seemed to have torn her wide open. Every emotion she’d ever tried to push down had been forced to the forefront. Everything she’d ever suppressed.
She had feelings for Aaron. If she was truthful with herself, she’d had feelings for him for what seemed like forever.
“Idowant this,” she whispered to him. “I wantyou. I—Ihave for a long time.”
Aaron was still cupping her face, still stroking her cheek with his thumb. He searched her eyes. “You’re hurting so much right now. I couldn’t bear to be the cause of more hurt.”
“You’re the only thing thatdoesn’thurt,” she said honestly. It was like Nick’s death had made her understand whatbothof them had meant to her all this time. Then she found herself hesitating, uncertain suddenly. Maybe he didn’t feel the same way. “I don’t know if you wantme... .”
Something dark flickered in his gaze then—a glimpse of his own feelings. Joan’s breath caught at the depth of emotion in that glimpse. The intensity of it. He was still searching her face, though, his own feelings set aside, as if he needed to be sure of her clarity of mind.
