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The burden of love I held for him for so long has scraped off. Peeled away like dried, dead skin flaking in a scorching sun. Colorless, depleted strips that no longer feel a thing. Never again will I be the clay that he molds in his hold. I’m going to shape myself.
For a moment, I just stare at them. So much happened in those clothes. I wasn’t the same person before I wore them. It’s like stripping off the armor that I’d worn during battle. The Red Raids, Sail, Captain Fane, Rip, Midas...all of it happened in that dress.
As sadness overtakes my anger, I wonder what’s wrong with me. Why couldn’t he love me? Truly love me?
The dogsled heads for the mountains standing sentry behind the castle, and I watch them until they disappear.
If females were meant to have their waists strangled and breasts shoved up all damn day, we would’ve been born with corset ribs.
I’ve taken it personally, and I probably shouldn’t have, but you can’t reason with feelings. They do what they want, forcing you to endure. All you can do is grit your teeth and take it, hoping that time will dull it down.
“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.”
You’re not the villain in my story.” “I am,” he says without remorse, his sharp jaw tight with tension. “But I’ll be the villain for you. Not to you.”
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
But I’ve stepped too close to him and gotten caught in his quicksand. No matter which direction I go, I just end up sinking deeper.
“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.”
“Soul, mind, and body, remember?” he says, a devilish spark in his eye. “I want all of you, and I’ll have you.”
“It’s fucking torture to have you stand there and tell me you want me, and not be able to do anything about it. But I’m a patient male, and as soon as I’m able, I’m going to touch and taste every inch of you. I’m going to have you writhing and begging, and I’ll give you every bit of pleasure I can wring from your delectable body,” he murmurs in a wicked promise. “The moment that sun dips, Goldfinch, you’re mine
The green of them is so deep it reminds me of the darkest grass at the very cusp of summer. Of sunburnt moss stained against shoreline rocks. It’s the green of secret forests so thick no one ever attempts to traverse them.
There comes a point in your life when you have to choose between having regrets and the possibility of making mistakes.
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.
“I need to catch my breath,” she says, pulling away again to pant against my neck. “I get your breaths right now.”
With another tug, a gray fish the size of his hand comes flailing out, and he tosses it behind him onto the small pile he’s already caught, their sides having long since ceased their rise and fall.
Sometimes, you look at the silver lining so much that you drift into denial about the clouds.
He speaks with reverence, the pious worshipping at his altar, and I’m the tithe.
