35. Lia

35

LIA

"I'm in love with you, Caleb. I didn't mean for it to happen, and I feel awfully bad about it, but it has, and I want to know if maybe when this is over you could possibly love me, too."

Unlike the cranes, my words had taken flight, and once they were in the air there was no way to bring them back.

—Sarah, from One of a Thousand Wishes by A. R. McGeorge

I was too post-sex high to process what he'd said quickly—but then he slammed back, sitting on top of my hips again as he reached for my arm.

"Fuck you!" I shrieked, trying to yank myself back. "No no no no no!"

But he didn't care, he just held my hand, grabbed my sleeve, and shoved it down, exposing everything I'd ever done.

Thready white scars, going both directions, for the times I meant it and the times I didn't, the times I wanted to, and the times I hurt myself just to feel.

I felt him look at them, his hand around my wrist now squeezing unbelievably tight, as his head swiveled down to look at me. "I assume you've got a matched set?" he asked, his cold voice stabbing me like an icicle.

"Fuck you," I whispered at him.

"No, Lia—fuck you. For ever thinking that this was okay." The look he gave me was of such profound disgust that it made me hate myself. "If I could go back into the past, I'd be tempted to wring your neck."

"Give me my arm back," I said, yanking, but he wouldn't let me.

"No. It belongs to me." I struggled with him. I didn't understand. "If you can't be trusted with this body, I'm taking it from you. It's mine now. And the only person who gets to hurt any part of you, from here on out, is me." He roughly sent his other hand up my chest beneath my top to palm a breast. I gasped then hissed as he pinched my nipple, hard. "Just me," he said as I whimpered. "You ever sit around at night thinking about something stupid? You remember that this body is mine and cut it out. You need to get hurt just to feel alive? I'm just a text away and I would enjoy hurting you—so much, little girl, so very, very much."

He released my nipple and blood rushed back into it, making it burn.

"I. Own. You," he said slowly. "Say it."

He was hurting me, right now this very minute, and he didn't realize it—because he was giving me everything I'd ever wanted—and everything that would kill me if it stopped.

"Little girl," he warned, setting his jaw.

"You own me," I confessed. It was my deepest truth. "You do. You don't even know how much."

He made a thoughtful sound and released my wrist. "Take off your shirt."

My hands flew to the buttons of my pajama shirt and undid them before I shrugged it off, leaving me still trapped and naked beneath him, and him in his clothing. His eyes roamed over my body, his gaze a strange combination of lust and scrutiny. "You ever hurt yourself anywhere else?"

"No." If I'd had more sense between the ages of thirteen to seventeen, I might have. There were a lot of places in the world it sucked to have to wear long sleeves year round now. Thanks, global warming.

"Good," he said, then looked like whatever he said next would cost him. "I need you to be careful with yourself, Lia. I don't take owning things lightly. And if something happened to you, no matter the cause—I don't know what I'd do." He sat back on my thighs and looked around my room again. "I'm going to install cameras in here."

I rose up on my elbows. "What?" I asked, my voice rising.

"Yeah. Until I'm sure I can trust you with yourself—and, because I want to see you all the time." He dismounted both me and my bed and started inspecting my walls.

"Rhaim," I protested, sitting up.

He looked back at me, his expression cold and his inflection flat. "What part of me owning you do you not understand?"

I curled my hands into fists and put them to my face, like I was trying to stop from screaming. "You can't just torture me back to mental health, Rhaim. I'm trying—I'm trying so hard you don't even know, but it's just not a thing." I couldn't even meet his eyes, surely this was the part where he was going to turn and run away, because I was a fucking mess.

But the bed shifted as he sat down nearby, and he took my hands in his, slowly pulling them down, and then I didn't have any choice but to look at him. His expression, while still concerned, was softer now. "I know, Lia. But that's what I'm telling you—you don't have to try anymore." His hands squeezed my wrists, not with anger, but with kindness—which was somehow twice as cruel. "All you need to think about from here on out is one thing: does this make Daddy happy?"

His words sucked the breath from my body and stopped my heart—because that was what I truly wanted. I was never going to be able to chase away all the voices that taunted me inside my head—which was why I needed someone else's.

Just one echoing voice that I could trust.

I curled forward and started sobbing.

"Oh, little girl," Rhaim whispered, scooping me up. He pulled us to the top of my bed where he could set his back against my headboard, and I cried like I was shattered, plastered to his chest. His hands and arms were chaste, just rocking me, while he made soothing noises, and I cried like I had never cried before, pulling up all the tears I'd ever swallowed down to give to him.

I didn't know how long had passed, only that when I reached the bottom of that well, I was completely wrung out.

"Shhhh," he hushed. "You're all right. I've got you."

And I realized he'd been saying those exact words, over and over, for a while now, so that I'd hear them the second I stopped.

I twisted my face into his chest and clung to him, helplessly.

"Better?" he asked, bowing his head to mine.

I nodded into him. I should've been embarrassed. This entire process and the blubbering mess I'd become should've been humiliating. Any sane girl with a shred of self-confidence would've already jumped up and run away.

But I wasn't sane, and with him, I didn't have to be.

I sniffled against his chest and then looked up. "What makes you happy?" I needed to know, so that I could spend the entire rest of my life doing it.

"You being smart," he said, without an ounce of hesitation. His gaze was on mine and his eyes were so kind they almost made me cry again. "You being beautiful."

I nodded fiercely, prepared to dedicate myself to both those causes, like a monk in a Chinese drama going up into the mountains to learn Shaolin.

He brought his fingers to cup my chin and lift it up. "And the thought of you, at my side, taking on the world with me."

My lower jaw dropped, and I only barely stopped myself from asking "really?" in utter disbelief.

But I knew enough by now to know that would've insulted him.

Because he didn't say things he didn't mean.

Ever.

"I want all of those things too," I whispered.

He let go of my chin. "I know you do." He inhaled deeply and exhaled, like he was closing a book, and then shifted me off of him, so he could make his way to the edge of my bed.

It didn't hit me until that exact moment how naked I'd been, physically, and down to the center of my soul. I hurried to grab a sheet and cover myself up.

"Sleep in tomorrow. Skip work. Do something nice for yourself in the morning," he said, standing.

"Can I come in in the afternoon?" I asked, because I wanted to see him.

"No—that's when the camera installers will be by. You'll need to let them in."

"Oh," I breathed. I knew he'd been serious, but still— too late now though to protest. I crawled closer to him on the bed. "How did you know?" I asked quietly. "Did my father tell you?"

"Your dad doesn't tell me shit," Rhaim complained, then gave me a meaningful look. "But a beautiful girl like you? Unafraid to show her legs, but always wearing sleeves?" he tsked. "You're not the first sad girl I've wanted to fuck." I frowned, rocking back, until he continued. "You are, however, the first one I've decided to own. So tomorrow—you do as I say. You sleep in. The camera people will be here in the afternoon. And then I'll see you at work again on Friday." He made to leave my bedroom, then paused in the doorway. "One more thing, little girl—that's the last orgasm you have by your lonesome. You're not allowed to use that," he said, gesturing to the abandoned sex toy on my bed. "I don't care if you've got a Terminator in one of your dresser drawers—nothing touches your pussy from here on out but me and feminine hygiene products. Are we clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good," he said, and then gave me an intense look. "Do us both a favor and behave, Lia. Because I really want to fuck you."

I swallowed and nodded quickly. "Yes. Sir."