Page 33 of His to Keep

There’s silence for a few moments before he mutters, “It doesn’t mean I should’ve done it. But I can’t lie. You’ve done something to me. You’re different.” When he says nothing more, I know he won’t tell me what I’ve done to him or why I’m different. Though there’s no way I can leave the conversation like this—not trying to find out.

“Why are you never honest with me?” I ask, which comes out more like I’m begging him for the truth.Something. “If you had told me about the fence, I wouldn’t have risked going to get us help—”

“That’s your problem right there,” he interrupts fiercely. “That you want to help me when you don’t know me.” There’s that look again. The expression that makes me believe he truly hates his entire existence. He walks forward, minimizing the gap between us. “Trust me, you don’t want me to kiss you.”

He’s standing right in front of me now, and I look up at him slowly, at those blue eyes I can’t seem to get enough of. “Why am I not allowed to want that?”

“Because I don’t deserve it.”

“That’s not answering my question,” I whisper.

“But it’s enough.” It’s not. The things he says without explanations aren’t enough anymore. Not when he’s just kissed me and touched me like that. That wasn’t just a kiss. I’d felt every molecule of his need for me.

“Do you know what?” My voice is hoarse with emotion. Bitter. “I’mglad you didn’t tell me about the fence because then none of this would’ve happened. You act obedient and do everything they say, but after tonight, all I see are lies—yourlies. I see someone so desperate for life that it hurt you when I ran, and that’s why you kissed me. Because you wanted me to know that it means something. Whatever this is between usmeanssomething.”

“There’s nothing between us,” he snaps, slamming his hand against the basin. “Get it into your head. It doesn’t mean a damn thing.”

“It does.”

“It shouldn’t. You’re his!” His voice rises louder, and I try not to break down in front of him. But he’s making it so hard to keep control. My chest is already tight. Achingly heavy. “Don’t question why this can’t happen when it should be the last thing you should want.Especiallywith me.”

But I do. I’m confused by it and tormented. I don’t understand what these feelings are or why I have them for him. But here they are, and I don’t know how to stop or make them go away. I just want him to say that he has them too. That he isn’t the person Father Aaron forces him to be deep down.

“If you tell me why you kissed me…I’ll leave you alone,” I say to him finally, just needing him to confirm that my mind didn’t make all of this up. That I’m not going crazy. “Tell me, and I promise I’ll go.”

His shoulders lift and fall as he lets out a heavy breath. “There’s nothing to tell—”

“I don’t believe that. You want me out of here, then tell me something real.”

He turns his head to the side and stares down at the floor. He doesn’t want to, but the need to get me away from him must be stronger than his need to refuse. “I knew my father had plans to build the fence when we first moved here, but I didn’t know if he’d had it made or not. I didn’t know if you’d come back at all when I heard you’d ran. All I knew was that you left, and I was alone again. I could finally die.” I breathe out shakily.Finally?“That half-hour you were gone, I thought of all the ways to do it. Tear the bedsheets and hang myself. Throw the chair through the window and jump. Break the mirror and use the sharp edges of the glass to slit open my wrists. But then I saw him come back with you. Watched him carry you to the house from the window, and do you know what I felt?” I shake my head, speechless as I listen. “Relief. I was relieved when I saw him bringing you back. Back to this room that smells just like you even when you were gone.”

“It’s okay—”

“Nothing about what I just said is okay.” He shakes his head in exasperation at himself. “My father warned me—he said girls like you can get into our heads, and you’re in mine. What happened between us can never happen again. I don’twantyou.”

His words might have well been a slap. He turns his back on me, and I know I have to keep my promise and leave him alone. I do it slowly, my bottom lip shaking, so affected by what he just said to me that I physically hurt. Closing the door behind me, I sit on the bed, his words replaying in my head over and over.

You don’t kiss someone like that when you don’t want them. He’s in my head too, and after tonight, I don’t think he should be. He shouldn’t be at all.

Chapter Twenty

It’s weirdly peaceful right now. You would think, after all that’s happened, everything would feel unsettled and chaotic. But the house is quiet. Even my thoughts have cleared from the noise. Coming to a numb realization that some things aren’t meant to be understood.

When I think of my life, I envision two paths. One is bright, almost magical, like something right out of a fairy tale. Like the ones in town, Willow trees drape over golden bricks like something out of Wizard of Oz, forming an arch with wildflowers spilling on either side. It’s inviting, enchanting, and I want to go down it where a happily ever after awaits. But I’m forced down the shadowy, sinister one instead. All gray and black, except for the little red candles dotted on the uneven, moss-covered terrain. Tall, leafless trees with branches so sharp they’d cut you. And this is the path I’m down, one I didn’t choose—no happy ending in sight.

I’m trying to make sense of it, but I’m not sure why. I’msixteen.Here I am, lost in the dark, fearing for my life at every wrong turn, instead of basking in sunshine and happiness. Stuck in survival mode and still dying inside. It’stiring. Exhausting. In the end, I know there’s nothing I can physically do about this hand I’ve been dealt, so why am I torturing myself like this?

Callum leaves the bathroom sometime later. He doesn’t look at me as he sits at his desk, and although he pulls out his sketchbook and opens a new page to fill with misery, he doesn’t lift the pencil to draw. He just sits, waits for night to come, and I go to bed. When I fall asleep, he relaxes then. That’s what I imagine and usually do, though I don’t feel like making it easy for him tonight.

Grabbing fresh clothes from the basket, I go into the bathroom and turn on the shower. After scrubbing my teeth three times with toothpaste to rid of the taste of blood lingering in the back of my throat, I get under the hot stream to wash away the dirt from running through the woods. I sigh as the water hits my skin. It feels nice, even when some areas sting from where branches snagged me. I even welcome the slight pain. For a life in this house feels like a bad dream, and the welts snap me out of it.

After washing and dressing, I go back into the bedroom, unsurprised to see Callum still at the desk, looking like he hasn’t moved at all. Instead of pulling back the blankets and getting into bed, I sit on top of it. That’s when he glances over his shoulder, eyebrow arching upward behind his hair at the change of my usual routine. “Are you not going to bed?”

“I’m not tired.”

“You should rest—”

“Why?” I argue, agitation burning through me when his jaw clenches and he turns away from me. I know I’m being bratty, but I don’t care. It inspires an idea, and I go over to him. He closes his book as I slip onto the table near the end but close enough to where he sits. “I thought we could get to know each other. Like how we were before. Remember?”

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