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I’ve realized that there are so many different kinds of cages, and if I want to stay out of them all, then I have a fight ahead of me. Because the world will keep on trying to leash me, men will continue trying to steer me in their grips of control. So I can’t just roll over every time. I can’t let that repressed temper of indignation sit stuck on that perch.
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He acts like my mere presence was a blot on the entire library, like I would’ve dog-eared a page or cracked a spine. I mean, yes, I did just steal a book, but that’s irrelevant. And yes, in the past, I have accidentally turned some pages solid gold when I wasn’t careful. Also not relevant.
“My own good was stuck on a pirate ship, with an aura like a beacon that flared across the Barrens,” he grits out, a thick spun voice meant to tie knots around me. “My own good was cowering before men who were nothing—fucking nothing—in comparison to her.” All of my ability to breathe is gone as I stare at him in shock. “My own good hated me, fought me, argued with me, but I didn’t care, because I watched her slowly come out of her shell, peeling back one layer at a time, and it was stunning.” He raises a finger in front of my face. “I got one touch. One taste, and if it was an act of
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“I’m glad you’re choosing you,” he says quietly, and my lips part, like I want to swallow the rumble of his cadence. “You are?” I go completely still as he moves his hand and grips my chin, like he wants to make sure I’m paying attention. I am. “Yes, Goldfinch. Because I’m choosing you, too.”
He pulls away, or...he tries to. We both look down at my mess of ribbons wrapped around him, like they’ve decided to make him their own personal present. “Sorry…” I say, suddenly embarrassed, moving to quickly tug them off, though they come away begrudgingly.
