The rape.
God, she’s told the story before, but hearing it tonight with no one else but us, it hit me harder.
She was just a girl.
We should have protected her.
We failed.
As hard as it was to hear the details again, it was harder to hear of her and Enzo.
How they kissed.
How she wanted him.
Could have loved him.
Maybe even would have ended up with Enzo if it wasn’t for his dad.
And I have no idea if it was all a lie or a truth.
She said she forgave him, but could never forgive me.
She shouldn’t forgive either of us.
Just like I could never forgive her.
That’s what I have to remember when my feelings spike again, being so close with Liesel. I once thought she was the only woman for me. Now, I can’t think of a worse human being on the planet.
I stop running, my lungs finally burning, finally reminding me of pain instead of the ache I feel for Liesel after her bearing her story.
“She’s a liar, Langston. Don’t believe a word out of her mouth,” I tell myself as I try to catch my breath.
I put my hands over my head as I walk through the forest.
She’s a liar.
Never forget.
As I walk back, the story replays in my head, and I realize that I don’t think that was the story she intended to tell, it just spilled out. She didn’t have a choice but to speak the words, which makes me think the beginning was true. Everything with Enzo—true. It was the second part she changed to try and hurt me.
I won’t let her see my hurt.
My pain.
When I approach the fire where she still sits, I’m stone—emotionless.
“Ready to punish me?” she asks into the darkness. She can’t see me, but she can feel me, just like I can feel the icy daggers she willingly flings in my direction.
I’m silent as I walk back over to my backpack and pull another bottle of water out. I drink it as I sit on the ground, leaning against the log. I stare across the fire at her.
“Rape me just like he did. Ruin me. Make me hate you,” she says.
“You already hate me.”
She bites her lip. “Do it. Prove to me once and for all—you’re the monster I always thought you were.”
Provoking me isn’t going to work. We both know I’m a monster, but the only way I gain control is if this happens on my terms and not hers.
“Come here,” I say.
Her lip slips from her teeth. She thinks I’m calling her bluff, but there is no fear. Liesel isn’t afraid of anything. She’s lived through hell—there is nothing worse that could happen to her.
Liesel stands and walks to me. She won’t fight me, just like she didn’t fight Mr. Black. She thinks this is the best way to survive. Get me to rape her, and then she doesn’t have to have nightmares about what might happen, she’ll already know.
“Sit.”
Liesel sits face to face, her eyes turning yellow as the flames reflect off her pupils.
“I didn’t bring a blanket. Keep me warm tonight.”
She blinks rapidly, her ears straining like she thinks I misspoke.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
I lie down on the dirt. I’m not the least bit cold, not after I ran a mile. The fire alone would keep me plenty warm.
But I want her to have to touch me all night. I want her to feel me. To lose control. To wonder if, at any moment, I might change my mind and have my way with her.
I must break her.
This will drive the first nail in harder than fucking her against the dirt ever would.
“Keep yourself warm,” Liesel spits at me.
I shake my head. “You lied. There are consequences. Keep me warm.”
“Or?” she asks, wanting to know what I’ll do to her if she disobeys.
“There is no ‘or.’ You will use your body to keep me warm.”
We stare at each other—a silent standoff.
The wind howls.
Liesel shudders.
I don’t know if she decides to follow my orders or if she’s looking to warm herself. Either way, she finally lies down on the dirt next to me.
“Liesel,” I warn when she doesn’t touch me.
She lifts an arm over my body. It floats in the air, refusing to touch me. It hovers there until her arm trembles, and she can’t hold it up any longer. Only then does she let it wrap around my shoulders.
The touch sends a million emotions through us both. It reminds me of when we were kids. Long before she knew Enzo, she knew me. It was my bed she snuck into, not his. It was me she longed for, not him.
“My legs are cold too.”
Her eyes shoot up to me, and she practically pouts.
I smirk, but I’m not sure she can see it, which is a shame, because I look irresistible when I smirk.
Her leg moves in a hard lump as she drapes it harshly over my legs.
I close my eyes with a smile. I’ve formed a tiny, almost unnoticeable crack in her shell. Tomorrow I’ll form another and another. I’ll torture her with tiny little cracks until she finally bursts.
I need her truth.
I need her answers.
I need her apology for what she’s done.
But I refuse to need her.
17
Liesel
Snuggling with Langston is torture.
It’s worse than anything Mr. Black did to me.
It’s worse than…okay, it’s not really as terrible as the worst thing that’s ever happened to me, but I imagine this is how it feels to be shot and slowly bleed out to death. Every drop is painful, and you just want to get to the end so it can be over.
Holding Langston feels like that.
I can smell the sweat from his pores that he worked up after he stormed off. It overpowers even the smell of the fire.
I can hear his gentle, controlled breath in and out, louder than the chirp of the bugs and hum of the wind.
I can feel his warmth—there is no way he needs my body to stay warm.
Why do I stay draped over his body, then?
Because as soon as I touch him—I’m his. I can’t turn away. Some part of me I thought I had long ago buried likes his smell, how he sounds, his touch. I like it more than I should. I like a man I hate—a man who wants to kill me.
I’ve always wanted Langston. He was the first boy I ever wanted. I wanted him before I wanted Enzo. I just don’t think about that time and wanting Langston was something I never spoke out loud. I never let anyone know, even him.
That could be the truth that frees me, but I will never admit it to Langston.
It was just lust, not want for the man beneath the muscles, the smug smirk, the light-colored hair boy who taught me how to hunt, to search for secrets. He was the boy who taught me to lie.
If I could separate Langston the man from Langston’s body, maybe I’d finally give in to my desires, and we’d fuck willingly. Unfortunately, the only way to separate the two is to kill him and then fuck him, and I’m not into necrophilia.
Langston starts snoring. He’s asleep. Now’s my chance—to break free of his arms, to run.
I don’t want to run, but I shouldn’t stay snuggled up against him.
I force my head to lift and my arm to slink off his chest.
But his hand grips my arm, gently pulling it back over his chest. He’s still snoring; I’m not even sure if he woke up or not.