Page 17 of Claimed

He doesn’t hit me.

He prides himself on never hitting me.

He tells me so. When I ask him to be kinder he says things like, for fuck’s sake, Luna, you’re making me out to be a monster. It’s not like I hit you or cheat on you.

He brushes past me and strides upstairs.

I listen to his footsteps making the floorboards above my head creak.

I walk to the fridge, open it and peer inside, eyes still streaming. I blink and try to make myself focus. I pick out some sausages, tomatoes, onions.

When he returns, he’s wearing jeans and a scruffy T-shirt. He glances at the chopping board, the slices of onion and garlic, then at the sausages. “Great, pasta again.” He takes a beer from the fridge and disappears into his study. “Call me when it’s ready.”

I’m not crying anymore.

I’m not even sure I’m thinking.

As the memory fades, I realise I’m hugging the cushion so tightly it’s nearly folded in half. Pressed against my belly. I’m rocking a little. Back and forth.

“Luna?” Kim’s voice drifts over to me from somewhere. But I can’t see him.

It’s darker in here than it was a moment ago.

I narrow my eyes.

The whole room is dark.

The whole room is full of shadows.

I stand, dropping the cushion. They are swirling around me like dark wisps of smoke. I reach out my hand and they seem to dance and curl around my fingers.

“Luna?” Kim breathes again, and now I see him. He walks toward me slowly.

The shadows don’t hurt him or touch him, just part gently and let him through. Standing opposite me, he takes my hands. “Luna, what are you doing? How are you doing this?”

I blink. And when I speak, they disappear. Suck back into their corners as if they are retreating from the light. “I don’t know.”

I am suddenly exhausted. I sit down hard on the edge of the sofa, breathing quickly, gripping my knees. “I don’t know what happened.”

“Okay.” Kim rushes from the room and returns with a glass of water. He presses it into my hands. “Drink this. I’ll make tea. Tea with sugar.”

I nod. Letting him take care of me.

When he returns, he swaps the water for a cup of tea in a yellow mug. It surprises me that Lucien owns anything so pretty, then I realise it’s mine. From my house.

“I brought it with your clothes. Thought you might like something familiar.”

I stare at it for a moment, then take a sip. “Thank you.”

I stare at the yellow mug in my hands, running my thumb over the small chip on the handle. It’s strange how something so ordinary can feel like a lifeline to normality.

“Better?” Kim asks, settling beside me on the sofa, careful to leave enough space between us.

I nod, taking another sip. The tea is sweet; too sweet for my usual taste, but the sugar helps ground me. “I bought this mug after Steven disappeared.” I glance up at Kim. “You know about what happened to him?”

“I do.”

“He wasn’t a nice person.”