I put too much on him—never letting go of my suspicion and fear.
I wasn’t easy to be around. Hell, I hated being around me most of the time. I hadn’t appreciated how draining it would be to live with a mute all while she struggled to return to her sexuality while abhorring it at the same time.
I’d given mixed messages.
To him and to myself.
Don’t give him excuses.
I sighed, drawing a love heart on the back of my hand.
I wasn’t giving him excuses. I was beginning to live like a normal girl again. A girl who wasn’t just wrapped up in herself and her plight. A girl who would shoulder some of what’d happened because she knew people weren’t perfect. I’d locked up so much of my previous life that it took time to open rusty lids and pull out age-covered recollections. With each memory, dust clouds fogged up the attic of my mind, blurring everything for a time before slowly settling and leaving clarity.
I was finally seeing clear after being in that dusty fog.
I’d studied psychology textbooks that’d given insights into inconsistencies and screw-ups of the human race. I’d learned from experience that the worst members of society could be manipulated through subtle body language. I’d educated myself on how to pre-empt a person’s mood by their mannerisms.
It was time I used those skills and analysed myself for a change, rather than remain unwilling to evolve.
So what if my skin crawled when I wore clothing? It made other people uncomfortable to see me naked.
So what if music made my heart bleed and my mind burrow into hiding? Elder needed to play to quieten his own demons.
So what if I was still at his mercy, dependent on his generosity for however long he’d keep me? The time he’d already given had to be appreciated and valued.
I was done being the victim.
And I was through living this way. This scared, timid, unhealing way.
Ever since Elder had let me cry in his arms—giving me a safe harbour for my tears—he’d been the utmost gentleman. Once my panic had receded, he’d slowly disengaged, leaving my body and heart empty of him.
For so long, I’d hated any form of touching. However, wrapped in my sadness with Elder’s body inside mine, something had changed. His intrusion had added an unwanted but deeper connection to our strange relationship.
Not once did he move or try to claim his own pleasure. He didn’t thrust or come or even groan in frustration when we disconnected. He’d placed me on his bed as if I’d shatter.
Pulling up his pants, he’d wrapped me in his sheets then carried me back to my quarters.
I’d tucked into his arms and let him care for me. I didn’t speak as he’d placed me onto my bed and kissed my forehead with every tenderness I’d been missing.
Stay.
I’d wanted him to stay. Despite our first sexual encounter being one-sided and rushed and full of music decaying any pleasure I might’ve found, I hadn’t wanted him to go.
My first words had been condemning and judgmental. I was afraid he’d leave, and I’d never see him again.
Stay.
But he hadn’t.
He’d given me another sweet, barely-felt kiss, brushed aside my hair, and stared into my eyes as if searching for something—hate, loathing? I didn’t know.
His jaw had clenched. His black eyes heavy and depthless. And then, he’d gone.
That was yesterday.
I hadn’t slept all night and spent most of the morning and afternoon reliving his body inside me—the thickness, the warmness. With him filling me, I’d suffered a complex recipe of fear and power. Fear because of my past. Power because of the way he looked at me.
He’d let me drown in those emotions until he withdrew, transforming us from one person to two again.
We’d technically had sex, yet it was nothing like any previous sex I’d had. I hadn’t enjoyed pleasure—just like all the hated times with Alrik.
But that was a lie.
There had been pleasure.
Pleasure in letting go and speaking after so long.
Pleasure in crying.
Even pleasure in knowing I hurt him with my never-ending questions.
Scrambling toward the edge of the bed, I swung my legs to the floor and collected my pen and notepad. Elder had scattered all parts of me, ransacked my heart, and decimated my survival mechanisms. But what was left was so much better.
Holes, mistrust, and suicide no longer riddled me.
I was newly born and ready to be who I’d been before I was sold at that awful auction.
Composing another line to No One, I pressed pen to paper.
I’m willing to heal, No One. Will he give me that chance or will he expect to take me again next time we see each other?
The flow of ink was so much smoother than a pencil nib. The question darker and stained with permanency. I desperately wanted to know if Elder would remain courteous and give me the time I needed to willingly enter his bed or if he’d finish what he’d started last night.
Either way, I would survive because I’d finally made that choice to pick living over dying. I’d finally reached the pinnacle where I was ready to say fuck you to my past and hello to my future.
I’m going to talk to him, No One. After so much silence, I have so many questions. If I ask, I’m sure he’ll answer.
Somehow, a layer of judgment fell over me. As if No One wasn’t so sure—as if my imaginary saviour doubted my newfound conviction that Elder wasn’t just another monster.
I’d never felt anything but soothing support before. It unsettled me to feel myself at war.
If I asked Elder what he intended to do with me, I had no doubt he would tell me the truth. Or at least—his version of the truth.
But he never answered your previous question.
I paused, biting my bottom lip.
That was true.
He’d rocked and let me hit him, but he’d never given me a reply. No matter how many times I’d asked.
Where were you two years ago?
My shoulders hunched.
I should never have asked that. It was a terrible question because it wasn’t his responsibility. How could I dump that guilt on him? It wasn’t like he knew me then. I was nobody to him just like he was nobody to me. I couldn’t blame him for what’d happened because none of this was his fault.
Where were you two years ago?
His answer didn’t matter.
Not anymore. Not now, when I was more human than animal—able to analyse and ponder rather than rely entirely on fight or flight.
Sighing heavily, I scrawled:
His whereabouts two years is irrelevant. I was living my life, and he was living his. I can’t hate him because he didn’t stop Alrik from buying me. The pain I suffered is mine, not his. Just like his tragedies that I couldn’t prevent are his.
It was a relief to let go of things I’d bottled inside. I’d been so angry with Elder. I’d held him accountable for things he hadn’t done. I’d hated him for playing his cello. I’d fought him when he encouraged me to talk. I’d refused to dress. I’d punished him until he’d snapped.
Those weren’t excuses for his behaviour.
They were just facts.
And I refused to be so self-absorbed anymore.
I have to apologise.