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Truths are like spices. When you add some in, it means you have more layers to digest. You get a taste of things you were missing before. But if you add too many, life can become unpalatable. But when those truths are repressed for too long, when you realize you’ve grown accustomed to the bland lies, there’s no hope of removing the overpowering taste from your tongue. And right now, my mouth is charred with the revelation I have to somehow swallow down.
What do you do when someone isn’t who you thought they were?
I’m wrapped in deceit and molded in manipulation, stuffed full of everything I’ve done to survive. I want it all to unravel. I want to come out of the tangles that have coiled around me before I become mummified with them.
I don’t know what he sees in my face, but I see plenty in his. I’m reading him now, like everything he’s ever spoken is a scrawl of lies across his lips. The pages he’s taken up in my life are empty of anything real.
The vitriol that spews from my mouth flares hotter than any fire. May it burn him as badly as he has burned me.
He’s not used to this version of me, this person who isn’t bending over backwards and kneeling at his feet.
I can see him calculating, can practically hear the thoughts spinning around in his head as he tries to think of how to handle me. I know this, because for all those years I was in love with him, I didn’t just pine after him. I watched him, too. I learned him, as one learns a language. It was necessary, because of his temper, because I never wanted to get on his bad side or set him off. It’s because of my sensitivity to his emotions, because of my many years of studying him, that I know the way his mind works.
Before, I would’ve melted at this. I would’ve leaned forward like a flower bending in his presence. But I don’t curl into his touch, and my lips don’t lift up in a forgiving smile. My lashes don’t flutter closed, and a sigh doesn’t pass my lips. Because...it’s too late. The blindfold has been ripped from my sight. Now, my heart doesn’t squeeze. My stomach doesn’t flutter. He broke something inside of me far more than just my heart. He broke my will. My drive. My voice. He broke down my very spirit, and I let him. The burden of love I held for him for so long has scraped off. Peeled away like
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He’s seen my naked body many times. I’m far more protective of what lies beneath my skin. What’s inside of me—my mind, my heart, my spirit—those are the things I want to keep from his sight.
I believe that Midas does care for me, in his own twisted way. But it’s not healthy, and it’s not enough. It’s not what I deserve. I don’t think I’ll ever have the kind of love that I crave. That thought makes my eyes blur as I stare at the ceiling, gaze locked onto the frosted window at the top of the wall. Grief clings to me as much as the beaded water against my skin. As sadness overtakes my anger, I wonder what’s wrong with me. Why couldn’t he love me? Truly love me?
Beneath my anger and the numbness are the bruised pieces of a broken heart. And that part of me, that girl who was doe-eyed and head over heels, she’s in mourning beneath my bitter anger.
I focus on the steady beat, and another tear falls with its rhythm as he strokes my hair, because it’s not love I’m listening to. It’s just possessive control. It’s so loud, I can’t believe I didn’t hear it before.
I fall asleep listening to the constant thrum of our chests, to the two mismatched tunes that will never play in harmony. I let that girl in me break away beat by beat, saying goodbye in her own silent way. When I wake up, I’ll make sure my heart is hardened. Come morning, I’ll make sure it only plays a song for me.
Which is why I start to recite every single controlling rule he ever imposed on me throughout the years. It’s why I recall every time he pulled my strings, exploited me, used my feelings for his own machinations. He made me suffer for years. He took away my control. Now, it’s time I take it back.
You’re ashamed of them. You think of them as a weakness, but they are a strength, Auren. Use them. Rip’s previous words cling to me. He might’ve kept secrets about who he was, but he sure had a talent for making me face who I am. For admitting the limits and lies I’ve accepted. I have hated, resented, and been ashamed of myself for long enough. I don’t want to harbor thoughts like that anymore. By mentally breaking away from Midas, something else has shifted too. It’s time to start embracing who I am and what I’m capable of.
“Shove down weakness, and strength will rise. You can’t be strong without conquering those weaknesses first. That’s what I think, anyway.”
We tell ourselves twisted lies to tangle around our wicked truths, all so that we can get caught up in the bind and not have to face bare regrets.
But the eyes of liars are tricky things. They can show you what you want to see without ever reflecting the truth. It’s best not to look a liar in the eye. They’re so good at their own compulsions that their gazes hold steady, and then you’re the one who loses sight.
“I’m saying that you are my own good. And for you, I gave you a choice, but you chose him.”
Why is it that a man can make you feel like nothing, when you have given him everything?
That love-stained girl inside of me is gone. The one whose heart was broken with the pieces used to pin her up like a bug to a board. She was burned down with the force of his palm. Her ashes are now nothing but soil to sprout the stems of the wickedness that seems to suddenly bloom brighter.
“He hit you.” Slade grinds out the words, each one spoken from sharp back teeth. Midas has done far more than that, but emotional assault doesn’t leave any marks on the skin.
“You’re going to find out just how far you can be pushed until you’re tipped over. And when that happens, when you find your edge, just promise me one thing.” My voice comes out like a croak, a single tear dashing down. “What?” “Don’t fall.” Time stands still as he leans in and places a kiss on my temple, lips turning to whisper into my ear. “Fly.”
He’s always doing that, isn’t he? Prompting me, pushing me, and it’s exactly what I need. But I’m not only hearing him now, I’m hearing him then. When he gave me words and fight and a choice.
My pulse pounds and my hands tremble, because when denial drains out of you, it leaves you shaken and scared. What are we without our white lies and protective walls? I’m laid bare, heart raw and vulnerabilities wrenched open, thoroughly ruined while somehow feeling inexplicably right.
“I’ve wanted you since the moment I laid eyes on you, Goldfinch. I was just waiting for you to catch up.”
“I want all of you,” he tells me, a newfound hunger in the depths of his green eyes that stirs heat beneath my skin. “Every piece, every memory, every minute, every inch. This isn’t going to be some casual dalliance. This isn’t going to be temporary. I want you soul, mind, and body. I want your trust and your thoughts. I want your past, your present, your future. So make very certain that you want me for the right reasons. Be certain that you’re choosing this, because once you do, there’s no turning back.”
“Love happens in all kinds of ways. Fast. Slow. In bits and pieces, or immediate. Filled with lust, one-sided longing, a snap realization never noticed before. Deeply. Thoroughly. Love is a whisper we didn’t hear or a sound that drums in our ears and drowns out everything else.”
There comes a point in your life when you have to choose between having regrets and the possibility of making mistakes. I’d rather make those mistakes than live without ever taking a chance, because I’ve missed out on too much already. Taking chances can be like walking through a mudslide, where every inch of you gets stained, but regrets are the stagnant pools of deprivation, and I’ve been wading in them for far too long.
