Glint (The Plated Prisoner, #2)

by Raven Kennedy

Time changes with torment. It stretches on, lengthening seconds, extending minutes. I’ve learned that pain and fear have a way of prolonging. And as if that weren’t cruel enough, our minds make sure we relive those moments again and again and again, long after they’ve passed.

I still don’t understand why someone like him bothers with someone like me.

I think some questions can’t bear to face the light. It’s easier for hesitant words and feared answers to be given in the dark. At least then, we can hide them in the shadows—hide ourselves from them.

I promise myself right then and there, that from now on, that’s what I’ll do. I will always trust him, in all things, because he knows what’s best. He’s always right. I’m done with the ugliness of this world, and I want him to keep me safe from it. All of it.

Maybe ignorance isn’t a vice, but a reprieve. And a reprieve into ignorance is something I’ve done myself, many times.

There’s safety in loneliness, but there’s a lurking danger too. One that doesn’t come from anything other than yourself. The danger for me, of course, is the memories.

Life takes you on paths you don’t have a map for.

“We’re all captives of something, even things we don’t want to admit to.”

Cracks. So many cracks in the glass. How did that happen? How did I get here, when I thought I’d never have to look through broken things again? So long as my reflection was with Midas, I thought it would always be whole and good and clear. And yet, these cracks keep appearing, keep splintering.

“I can’t wait to see the rest of you. When you let it go, when you finally let that out, your fury is going to light up the spirit you’ve shadowed.” He looks like someone who’s won, boasting in superiority. “I hope you burn so bright that you scorch your Golden King down to ash.”

“You may not be behind bars anymore, but you’re still in that cage. And I think part of you wants to stay in there because you’re afraid.” My mouth goes hard, ribbons tightening like fists. “But...” he goes on, taking a single step forward, pressing into my space, his invisible aura licking off my skin like a testing taste before the bite. “I think another part of you, the part you repress, is ready to be free.”

“Stop thinking about everyone else. About him. About hiding.”

“Sometimes,” he murmurs, “things need first to be ruined in order to then be remade.”

Anger has a way of burning enough to keep you warm, but when you let it drain away, the absence of that heat leaves you bleak with cold.

“Kindness shouldn’t have to be earned. It should be freely given.”

“No, Auren. You’re the one that needs to burn. You need to spark to life and fight. Stop letting him dull you, stop letting the whole fucking world trample you,” he shouts, making me flinch from the vehement demand. “If you tried, you could shine brighter than the fucking sun. Instead, you’ve chosen to sit back and wither.”

Disappointment is a roughhewn boulder settling in my stomach. It rolls and scrapes, making me go raw with the realization that none of that is going to happen.

I’ll never get how you fucking stand it. Right now, in this moment, I realize. I can’t.

“I’m finally starting to say what I think, and I’m not going to lie down again to make it easier for you to keep me beneath your thumb.”

“I gave you everything, and yet you still want to take. You told me to lie, said it was the best way to keep me safe, but that wasn’t really it, was it? You didn’t do it for me. You did it for you.”

He wouldn’t hold me for comfort, but he’ll hold me for control.

There are so many things that he’s told me to adjust to, to adapt to, because this is the way it has to be, the way it was expected to be. I kept taking it and taking it, convincing myself that this was the way it needed to be. Lying to myself because I loved him, because he manipulated me. I’ve been bending over backwards for so long that I forgot I even had a spine.

He’s being kind now, his voice no longer hard or accusatory as his hand comes down to pat me. His fingers graze adoringly over my head, a heeled pet to be stroked. And right then, I wonder how the hell I fooled myself into thinking this was love. How did I look into his eyes every day and not see that when he looked back, he was devoted to the gleam of my skin rather than the love of my heart? How did I miss the blinding truth that’s been there all along? How did I mistake an owner for a lover?