Page 108 of In Darkness We Claim

We have explored things sexually that I didn’t even dare to dream about, and he knows my body intimately, as if I were created just for him. He has touched and kissed every inch of my flesh, learning which parts are sensitive, while marking me along the way.

There’s always at least one patch of skin that bears his mark, and not just the tattoo of his name that’s now healed and looks like it has always been there.

Even though I know he enjoys making me submit to him, or exploring every sexual fantasy either of us has ever had, that’s all I know. I have no idea how he actually feels. Given how often we fuck, he must like me a little. He’s just not someone who wears his heart on his sleeve, or his emotions on his face, and that’s left me guessing.

There are times when he lets his guard down around me, and those are the moments when I really fall for him, but they’re also the most confusing. He shows me a side to himself that nobody else sees, but I’m not sure that means anything. Yet when he smiles, it’s like he’s smiling just for me, and my heart melts for him.

I’m not sure if I’m reading too much into it because I want Lawson to like me as much as I do him. He’s always been honest that he doesn’t do relationships, and that I’m just his Prize, but sometimes, I’m sure even he can tell we’re so much more than that. Maybe he just doesn’t want to see it.

After everything Lawson has done for me, the freedom he’s given me, maybe I want to see something that just isn’t there. Because Lawson has helped me find a version of myself that I didn’t think could ever exist. He pushes me to not think about all the restrictions that were placed on me in the past, and to just be myself. It’s a privilege I never expected, particularly not through tying myself to him.

I can finally think for myself. I can wear whatever I want, and say whatever I want, even if that means swearing or voicing my opinions. Lawson encourages me to use my voice, to ask for what I need, and that’s something I never thought I’d have.

I thought that if I surrendered to Lawson, he would own and use me as he pleased, and I would lose the last bit of myself that I held onto after Dad’s arrest, when we lost everything. But the opposite happened. In my submission to him, I found a life I didn’t think was possible.

Don’t get me wrong, I still give myself to him in any way he chooses, but the difference is…it’s my choice. I chose Lawson. I choose to give him every part of me, so he can bend me to his will and ruin me in any way he wants—and I love every second.

But as my freedom has grown, my bitterness over the life I had before has continued to sprout its ugly head, and I’m starting to resent every time I see the number on my phone letting me know Dad is calling from prison.

I love my dad with everything I have; he’s the only family I have left, but I also blame him for forcing me into a box that I don’t belong in anymore. And each time we talk, I get the awful feeling that once they clear his name and release him; he expects me to go back into that box without question. Maybe that’s why I haven’t pushed Lawson to help me as much as I should have.

I’m standing in the middle of the university quad, staring at the number on my phone, trying to decide if I’m going to answer. I don’t get to speak to him all that much, since he spends a lot of his time in solitary confinement, where nobody can try to kill him. But the last couple of times we’ve spoken has ended with us arguing, and I hate that more than hearing how much he’s suffering in that hellhole.

A low hum of hurried footsteps echoes in the distance, a collective rush of students eager to escape the biting December cold that nips at their exposed skin as they hurry to class. Beneath their feet, a vibrant contrast of crimson and gold frozen leaves crunch softly on the grey concrete, adding a splash of warmth to the otherwise stark landscape of weathered stone buildings.

I take a deep breath and push the thoughts of our arguments aside as I click answer, listening to the automated message that plays every time, asking if I’m willing to take a call from an inmate. Once I select yes, I wait for the clicking noise that indicates we’ve been connected.

“Harper?” My dad’s voice echoes in my ear, and tears fill my eyes at the pain he’s trying to hide from me.

“It’s me, Dad. I’m here.”

“Oh, Harper. It’s so good to hear your voice. How are you?” I ignore the deep sadness that sounds almost like longing in his voice, as I try to stop my heart from breaking.

“I’m good. I have missed you, Dad.” As soon as the words leave my lips, I know how much I mean them. These short phone calls will never be enough. I want to see him and have him hold me, but we both know that’s not an option while he’s in prison.

“I miss you too, buttercup. I’m sorry for the way our call ended last time. It’s so frustrating being stuck in here, not able to help you at all. How are things with you?”

At the reminder of our previous argument, my nerves kick in, as I’m sure whatever I tell him will only lead us back to the same issue we have every time we talk. He might not be able to see the changes in me, but he can hear them, and he’s not happy.

“Things are good. Classes are going well. We’re just prepping for our end of term exams,” I say, hoping to use schoolwork to distract him from conversations about my personal life.

Unfortunately, Dad seems to be a glutton for punishment, and he doesn’t take the bait at all. “That’s good. I know you’ll pass easily. How are things with Lawson? Is he keeping you safe?”

I cringe, wondering what I can say to stop this conversation from going sideways like all the others have. “Yeah, everything is good. I haven’t had any run-ins with danger, so I can’t complain.” I try to keep my tone jokey, but it doesn’t work.

“It sounds like you’re spending a lot of time with him.”

My brow furrows as I reminisce over what I just said, wondering how he made that connection. “I never said that.”

Dad lets out a low groan that echoes through the phone. “I’ve heard that you’re spending a lot of time together. You were seen together at the Hawks’ Halloween Party.”

My mouth drops open in shock. “Wow, so you’re in solitary confinement, and still you’re able to hear gossip about my life.” I don’t even try to hide my annoyance. How is a man in solitary confinement capable of stalking me?

“It’s not gossip, buttercup. You’re my daughter. Of course, I want to make sure you’re okay,” he explains, but it does nothing to soothe the fury flooding my veins.

“It doesn’t sound like you’re making sure I’m okay. It sounds more like you’re keeping tabs on me and Lawson,” I snap.

He lets out another frustrated groan that does nothing to quell the annoyance growing within me. “Look, I know that being Lawson’s Prize means you have to do things that, quite frankly, I don’t even want to think about. But I need you to try to keep them behind closed doors. Do whatever you can to convince Lawson to keep things with you private.”