Because I told Daddy I’m going to build houses when I grow up.
Grey Eyes watches me closely but he says nothing as I grab his injured arm. Biting down my lip, I lay it on my lap and draw on the non-injured side.
Once I’m done, he studies my drawing. “What is that?”
“An arrow.”
“Why an arrow?”
“Daddy says when you feel bad, you should keep that energy inside.”
“Why inside?”
“So you can store it for later. Bad things happen for a reason.”
“Bad things happen for a reason,” he repeats, staring between the arrow and my face before a small smile breaks on his lips.
I love that smile.
I want to kiss it, not to make it better, but because I love it.
So I do just that. I lean over and press my lips to the corner of his mouth.
23
Elsa
Present
I startle awake. My hair sticks to the side of my face with sweat. Sitting in bed, I pull my knees to my chest like in that dream.
Only it wasn’t a dream. It was a memory of when Aiden got the scar on his forearm.
Raw emotions creep under my skin like creatures from the night, rough and mysterious.
The tattoos.
His arrow tattoos are inspired by what I drew back then.
He’s right. I’ve been under his skin for such a long time just like he’s been under mine.
Even though I don’t remember everything, I clearly remember that potent connection we shared in the basement.
Our story started there whether I like to admit it or not.
Back then, it was children finding friendship in each other. Truth is, we were and still are lost souls finding refuge in one another.
I check the time and it’s a little after midnight. Retrieving my phone, I type.
Elsa: Are you there?
Aiden has been absent from school since the scene at the pool three days ago. Apparently, Jonathan didn’t like the way he ended the engagement with Silver and he’s making him pay in the only way Jonathan knows how — taking him away.
They’ve been on some business trip to China. Aiden has been texting me sporadically whenever he finds the time.
To say I miss him would be an understatement and an insult to my feelings.
Just when I thought we could talk about our differences and have a real conversation, Jonathan has to ruin it.
No reply comes through.
It should be around eight in the morning in China right now, but he could be too busy to reply.
I’m about to try to go back to sleep when my phone vibrates in my hand, making me shudder.
Aiden: I’m always here for you, sweetheart.
My heart does that flip-flopping thing like it’s having a crush on Aiden all over again.
Aren’t we over that phase already, heart?
Before I can reply, my screen lights up with another text.
Aiden: Did you have another nightmare?
God. He knows me so well. Under normal circumstances, I would be fast asleep at this time.
Elsa: Half-nightmare. Half-dream.
Aiden: Do tell.
Elsa: It was about you.
Aiden: I told you, one day you’ll dream about me like I dream about you. Was it kinky?
Elsa: No.
Aiden: Half-kinky?
Elsa: What does half-kinky even mean?
Aiden: It means I tied you to the bedpost and fucked you for an entire day.
I bite the inside of my cheek, my temperature rising.
Elsa: No. It wasn’t like that.
Aiden: It wasn’t, huh? Funny because that’s what I dreamt about. We need to synchronise our dreams.
I suppress a smile. What type of magic does Aiden possess to make me feel better even through texts?
Elsa: If I ask you to tell me about the past, will you?
I expect him to think about it, to tell me I’m not ready, but the reply is immediate.
Aiden: Whenever you wish.
A stuttering breath heaves out of me. The type of breath which lifts some weight off my chest. Not all the weight, but the relief is there, as tiny as it is.
Elsa: Thank you.
Aiden: Don’t thank me until you know all the facts.
My hand turns clammy around the phone. In the back of my mind, there’s a giant box titled The Truth Isn’t Easy, but his words magnify that box, it’s becoming wider and bigger than what my head can contain.
Dad and I talked about my missing memories, alone and with Dr Khan. My shrink recommended that I remember it on my own without hearing retellings, and Dad complied.
The truth is a sneaky thing. Like a witch, it demands a high price before setting you free.
Life as I know it can go up in smoke — including my relationship with Dad and Aiden.
I squash that scary thought and type the question I’ve been asking since he left.
Elsa: When are you coming back?
Aiden: Less than a week.
Aiden: Why? Do you miss me?
I don’t even think as I type. I don’t listen to my paranoia anymore. Denying my feelings for Aiden only destroyed me from the inside.
Elsa: I do.
The phone brightens up with his name and the picture of our first kiss.
Shit.
I didn’t think he’d call.
Clearing my throat, I answer, “Hey.”
“Say it. I need to hear it.” The raspiness in his tone sends tingles racing down my spine. That voice is made to say dirty, authoritative things.
“Say what?”
“That you miss me.”
“I miss you.” My voice is low, sultry. I didn’t even know I had that range.
“Fuck, sweetheart. I’m hard.”
A wave of longing grips me by the throat. It tingles at the bottom of my stomach, pooling there. “You are?”
“Fuck right, I am.” His growl is rough, animalistic even.
God. I love his voice when he lets his real self shine through.
“You drive me fucking crazy, Elsa.”
“How crazy?” I ask because I can’t help myself.
“Crazy enough to jerk off in the bathroom when I should be downstairs.”
My cheeks heat as if they’ve been set on fire. My entire body is.
The desire in Aiden’s voice is contagious. It’s the type that grips you by the neck and never leaves.
“Talk to me, sweetheart. Let me hear your voice.” He pauses. “Scratch that. Touch yourself as if I’m there with you.”
My free hand is already travelling under my shirt, caressing the soft skin of my breasts. They’re heavy, aching.
“How do you want me to touch myself?” I ask.
“Remove your clothes.” His raspy order travels through my ear and hits me straight in my core. “Do it slowly as if I’m watching.”
Manoeuvring the phone between my shoulder and ear, I push down my cotton shorts. Despite their soft material, they create maddening friction across my heated skin.
I place the phone on the pillow and drag the T-shirt over my head, letting it fall beside me.
The cool air in the room creates goosebumps that cover my burning flesh. My nipples pucker, straining, demanding to be touched.
“Done,” I murmur as I hold the phone again.
A groan cuts through the other line. “Are your nipples hard?”
“Yes. T-they...”
“They what?” I can almost imagine the tightening of his jaw.