Page 15 of The Last Feast
Stop crying.
The notion that rape is a feminine struggle is the one that made him question his identity. What else could he do when thisthingthat had been done to him—this thing that had altered his life—was a lie due to being a boy?
So, he remains silent as Hana massages his chest, finding comfort in the silence. She has her own demons, although she wouldn’t use that word, not given her upbringing in the orphanage and the learned connotation that the devil is bad. Not when she’s always believed that the devil is lonely, waiting to find a friend who won’t shun him just like her.
As she watches Odette cry, there’s a thought she can’t keep back. “Is she your girlfriend?” she asks, holding him tighter.
“No,” he answers easily. “I’ve never had one before.”
That makes Hana pause her glaring at the suspended woman. She turns her head, looking at the man who caught hereye when he showed kindness to a dead animal. “Why? You’re not ugly.”
He coyly laughs at her version of a compliment, his heart racing under her fingertips, a faint blush staining the apples of his cheeks. With his heart in his throat, he softly admits, “You’re the first person to interest me. I saw you.”
It’s Hana’s turn to breathe harder as she fears he saw her in the forest. If he followed her, he’ll know her aunt and uncle. It’s just like they said—they’re important people who’ll be able to find her if she ever tells anyone about the abuse.
But he sets her at ease as he gently caresses her cheek with his nose. “Outside. Your face paint got my attention, like you’ve crawled out of a grave. And the ax in your hand made it look like you did it to make those who hurt you pay for their sins.”
The deep analysis of her costume makesherblush. Hana has never had a reason to blush; it’s something innocent, yet the longer he voices his examination of her, the more heated her cheeks become.
“Then you followed me in here, and I felt something other than apathy when you pressed your knife to my back. I’ve never had that before. It’s like you’d ripped through my chest and you were massaging my heart to make it beat faster. There’s something about you, Hana.”
“What?” she squeaks.
“I don’t know, but it scares me that you help me breathe a little easier.”
She knows what that fear is. She feels it too, since she’s questioning the goal she’s had for the last eight years. If Hana had a guarantee that the next eighty years would be as exhilarating as the last few hours, her decision would be made. But there is no guarantee, and she’s only glamorizing the moment because it has an end.
Cupping the back of Auguste’s head, she pulls him down to lay on top of her as she relaxes into the floor. “Shh, enjoy your break.”
10
AX GOES WHERE?
AUGUSTE
I’ve said too much. I didn’t think or even use common sense before I allowed my verbal vomit to leave. Of course, this isn’t anything deeper than a crazy woman enacting her wildest sexual fantasy on someone she’ll never have to see again. I’m reading too much into it.
And. I. Told. Her.
The unease of allowing my thoughts free makes me search for anything to replace that I admitted I want her. I look at the knife sitting above her head and ask, “Did you kill the deer?”
Obviously, she did. Why else would she feel possessive of the weapon? But it’s better for her to think I’m an idiot with no deductive reasoning skills than be left with my emotions lingering in the air.
My overthinking and anxiety slow time, only to spiral into overthinking even more as she looks up at the knife. In reality, it’s only been a second or two, but in my head, where everything turns to shit? It’s hours until I hear her voice again as she wraps her arms around me.
“Yes,” she says softly.
“There was…” I’m unsure how I bring up that there was a bite mark in the torn out heart.
Instead of forcing me to spit it out, she grows angry and squeezes me. “Shut up, or I’ll wrap your pathetic dick in wires so you can’t come.”
I smile into her cheek as I place a chaste kiss on the patch of skin I’ve rubbed free from paint. Her skin is flawless, with small freckles at the top of her cheekbones that make me even more curious about how far they travel over her skin. Do they paint the bridge of her nose? Or both cheeks?
“Do it again,” she softly orders.
I kiss her cheek again, allowing my lips to linger.
“Again.” She relaxes further.
