Page 38 of Bittersweet & Strange

When he moves closer, I immediately dart around the opposite side of the table. I don’t want to let him close the distance between us, especially when I have no idea why taking an apple seems to have made him angry.

“I’m sorry,” I say again, frantic now as I watch him. “I won’t go back in there.”

He tosses the apple toward me before turning around and heading for the doorway. “Come with me.”

I catch it against my chest but remain exactly where I am, staring suspiciously at his back. “Why?” I ask. “What are you going to do?”

He doesn’t answer, and the silence makes me nervous enough that I tighten my hold on the apple. When I remain behind the table instead of following him, he makes it several steps before realizing I’m not there, then stops and turns back to me.

“Come,” he repeats.

I clutch the apple so tightly that my fingertips dig into its skin, but my knees still feel too weak to carry me anywhere.

He already told me he would stop bringing food to my room, and after everything that’s happened, neither of us needs reminding that he can overpower me whenever he chooses. Images of that door locked for days flash through my mind, and suddenly I have to concentrate just to remain standing.

“I’m scared,” I whisper.

One dark brow lifts slightly. “Why?”

His face begins to blur around the edges, the sharp lines of his features swimming together until I blink and feel moisture gather on my lashes. I blink again, faster this time, trying to force it away while staring at a face that belongs on anything other than the beast standing in front of me.

“Are you bringing me back to my room?”

“Yes. I won’t hurt you.”

I stare at him, trying to decide whether those words mean anything when he has promised me nothing before and taken whatever he wanted anyway. I hold the apple tighter. “I don’t want to go back to my room. Can’t I just stay with you?”

He goes completely still, his eyes narrowing on me.

“What?”

“You’re going to come back in here, right? Make dinner?” I glance around the kitchen before looking at him again. “Why can’t I stay in here? I won’t bother you. I promise.”

He doesn’t answer, and the longer he stands there staring at me, the harder my heart pounds. Since this can only go one of two ways, I force myself around the table, close the distance between us, and grab his arm before I can lose my nerve.

“Please! I hate it up there, and I don’t want to be alone.”

He looks down at my hand on his arm and stays that way long enough that I become painfully aware of what I’ve done. I slowly pull it away.

“Alone,” he repeats.

Something changes in his expression, subtle enough that I can’t make sense of it before it’s gone. His hand closes around my upper arm instead, fingers digging painfully into my skin as he yanks me forward until our fronts collide.

“Stay out of my greenhouses,” he snarls.

I stare up at him, too startled to answer immediately, then nod.

His grip remains locked around my arm as he drags me from the kitchen and up the stairs, forcing me to stumble after him through corridor after corridor until we reach my room. He shoves me through the doorway hard enough that my hands and knees strike the floor, and before I can push myself upright, the door slams behind me and the lock clicks into place.

I stay where I landed, staring at the floor while my hands begin to shake. Eventually, I crawl toward the bed, grip the mattress and use it to pull myself upright before sinking onto the edge.

A tear drops onto the back of my hand, then another. The apple is still clutched tightly in my other hand, its skin bruised where my fingers dug into it, and seeing it makes me cry harder.

15

Rhys

I listen to him cry, every broken sound carrying through his room and penetrating the thick wooden door between us. For a full five minutes, I remain standing there with one hand curled at my side. Only when the sounds refuse to stop do I finally push away from the door and head downstairs to do exactly what he said I was going to do.