Page 133 of Yours to Keep
No. Not now.
I know this feeling. I’ve been here before. My mind is trying to save me, running somewhere warm, somewhere safe. Strong arms wrap around me in my memory. A deep voice murmurs against my hair. I can almost feel rough stubble brushing my forehead, almost smell cedar and coffee, almost hear the quiet laugh that always settles the storm inside me.
CJ.
I reach for him, but I can’t quite see his face. The memory slips through my fingers.
My stomach drops as a finger brushes gently across my cheek, shattering the illusion. Even after everything, my body still remembers what comes next. The touch glides along my jaw before trailing slowly down the side of my neck, and every muscle in my body locks.
Those fingers. Once so familiar. Once capable of making me believe I was loved. Now they only remind me of pain.
His hand settles around my throat, not tight enough to hurt, but just tight enough to remind me that he can. Just enough to remind me who he believes I belong to.
“Elijah.”
My eyes snap open. The darkness disappears, and reality crashes back into me.
Adrian is crouched directly in front of me. He’s real.
His hand circles my throat, tightening slightly while that same gentle smile rests on his face. The smile that used to come before the bruises. Before the apologies. Before he whispered that he loved me while teaching me another lesson. His fingers tighten again, just enough to steal another breath. Not punishment. Possession.
Every nightmare I’ve spent months trying to outrun comes flooding back at once. I feel phantom bruises blooming beneath my skin. I hear every apology I ever whispered, every lie I believed, every time he convinced me that the pain was my fault, that if I’d just been better, quieter, more obedient, he wouldn’t have needed to hurt me.
My vision narrows until all I can see is his face. Smiling. Waiting. Watching me break.
The darkness rises again, swallowing the room piece by piece. This time, I don’t fight it.
* * *
I come to slowly, my mind sluggish as it struggles to remember where I am. Threadbare carpet scratches against my cheek. My hands are still bound behind my back, my shoulders ache, and every breath burns somewhere deep inside my ribs.
Then I remember.
Finn.
Panic slams into me so hard I almost choke on it. The last time I saw him, he’d been unconscious on the basement floor when they dragged me upstairs. Terror twists through mystomach.Please, please let him still be breathing.Losing Finn would break something in me I don’t think I could fix.
Adrian is standing in front of me. He smiles. “There you are.”
His voice is warm, almost relieved, as though I’d simply wandered into another room instead of trying to escape him.
“Look at you, sweetheart.” His eyes travel slowly over me. “You’ve put on a little weight. We’ll fix that.”
Nausea rolls through me. He says it so casually, like we’re catching up over coffee instead of sitting in the house where he’s imprisoned me. As though he hadn’t ripped Finn and me off the street. As though he hadn’t torn me away from the man I love.
I’d spent months planning my escape. Months learning how to breathe without him. Months believing I’d finally found freedom. And now, my body betrays me.
The moment Adrian steps closer, panic crashes through me. Every instinct screams for me to get away, but there is nowhere to run. My muscles tense anyway, preparing for an escape that doesn’t exist.
He crouches in front of me. “You’ve changed.”
I don’t answer. I refuse to give him anything.
His eyes wander over my face, lingering on my hair before settling on the scar through my eyebrow. The scar his coffee table gave me. Something disturbingly affectionate softens his expression, like an artist admiring a favorite piece of work.
“You’ve gotten older,” he smiles to himself. “But you’re still mine.”
The words settle inside me like ice. He isn’t threatening me; Adrian is stating a fact. Goose bumps prickle my skin as I realize that’s the part that terrifies me. Adrian completely believes it. And there is nothing more dangerous than a man who thinks his delusion is love. In his mind, none of the beatings happened the way I remember them. None of the manipulation. None of the years he spent convincing me I deserved every bruise.
