Page 54 of Beautiful Scars

Chapter 14

MEISIE

Cillian doesn’t seem super impressed by my blanket fort when he finally comes downstairs later that day.

Fuck knows why—it’s a masterpiece.

The moment I began considering suicide via bedsheets just to see what it would feel like, I decided a blanket fort might be a better call.

For now.

Yeah, shut up, Trish. You’d have been right all along, blah blah blah.

I do think I’m going a bit mental, to be honest. Being in danger is one thing…being locked in a dead-boring dungeon twenty-four hours a day is another. Some of those dildos in the closet are starting to look mighty distracting. But when I consider which orifices they might have been stuck in, the urge quickly passes.

So I moved the couch across the room. That took a while, because it’s really fucking heavy. Not much of a cardio workout, but at least I got some strength training in.

Then I stripped the bed sheets and arranged them to hang over the back of the couch and tucked them into the foot of the mattress.

Et voila!Instant two-hour-ish blanket fort.

I should patent this shit.

There were a lot of pillows on the bed. They make up the fort’s floor. Then I went into the fort.

That was hours ago.

I had a nap. Woke up. Had another. I bit off all my nails, and even considered trying to see if I was limber enough to do the same for my toes. I decided against it because, well, hygiene.

And really, once you start biting off your toenails, where do you draw the line? Not anywhere near fist-sized dildos, that’s for sure.

I’d sooner try the bedsheet noose.

When Cillian wrenches open the metal door, my heart flutters into my throat like a baby swallow…and then perches there waiting to see what’ll happen.

I shouldn’t be giddy with excitement, but in case I haven’t been blatantly clear…I’m fucking bored. Right now he is literally my entire world.

It should scare me that, instead of panic, I only feel joy. But maybe I’ve already lost the panic-centers of my mind to this boredom-induced madness.

“The fuck have you gone and done?” he grates, but in the kind of tone that makes me think he’s more intrigued than pissed off. I huddle into a ball in the back of the blanket fort, hugging my knees as I shiver with nerves.

His footsteps come closer. “Meisie? Get out here.”

“You don’t like it?” My heart sinks a little at that. “It took me all day.”

“I’m sure it did, princess, but I need to talk to you.”

“Then you’ll have to come inside,” I say. “Because it sounds serious and I’m sure you want to do it face to face.”

I clap a hand over my mouth. Why am I struggling to keep back hysterical giggles? God, I’m really losing my shit.

Maybe it’s the image of giant, serious-as-fuck Cillian crawling into my blanket fort. But he doesn’t sound all that serious. Especially when he lets out a low chuckle.

I shiver when his hand presses down into the roof of my fort, his fingertips making dents in the fabric.

“This thing’s flimsy as fuck,” he says. “I made better forts than this when I was five.”

“So come show me how it’s done.”