I’m trapped down here.
TWELVE
UNDERWEAR
HAVEN
By the time Connor returns to the basement, I’ve reluctantly accepted that I’m not leaving just yet. Even so, I decide it’s a good idea to let him think that I’m coming around. That I’m not obsessively trying to figure out how to leave him. So I tiptoe back down to basement level, sit down on the couch, and wait for him to come back. Because they’re there—because he was right and I do need my strength—I finish off the apples. I’m just about to get up and start poking through the kitchenette to see what else I can snack on now that my appetite has finally, finally returned when I hear the door open and stay seated instead.
When he appears at the bottom of the stairs, he’s carrying a notebook and a pack of pens.
“Here.” He places them next to the empty plate, smirking a little to see that the apples are gone. “I was thinking, if you need to tell me something, go right ahead. Write it down. I want to make sure there’s no miscommunications between us from now on.”
I don’t want to admit it, but that’s actually a smart idea. I keep hoping that the block stopping me from speaking will disappear and I’ll be able to tell him to fuck himself with words, but since it hasn’t, I’m kind of grateful he came up with the idea of bringing me paper and a pen.
I don’t tell him to fuck himself. Just in case he punishes me by taking them away, I decide to get right to the heart of my biggest problem and ask:
When will you let me go home?
He’s puzzled. That’s the only way I can describe the expression that twists his handsome face. That’s pure confusion as he drops down on the couch.
I scoot a cushion down, leaving one between us as I wait for his answer.
“I’m sorry, but did I give you the impression that you were leaving? Oh, honeyboo, that was my mistake.”
???
“I told you. This is your home now. You’re never leaving.”
Like hell I’m not.
I scratch the pen into the page.
you can’t keep me here
Connor leans into the couch, stretching his arm along the back of it. He crosses his leg, propping his ankle up on his knee, the heel of his loafer hanging loosely as he bounces it.
“I don’t mean to be rude, but who’s going to stop me, Haven? Adrian is the one who drove us here, and he’s helping Dallashide the fact that we recovered you. No one but the five of us even know you’re here. Because, if the rest of the Order does? Jack will have you tossed to the Owed at the Court, a fresh brand on your neck before either of us can blink. And you don’t want that.”
He has a point. I don’t want that. Coming home only to be tossed to the men of the Order as a mistress without any standing was my second biggest fear while they kept me in that cell. Damn Connor for using that against me.
Gripping the notebook and the pen in my hands, I push myself up to my feet. I don’t know where I’m going, only that I can’t stand sitting next to him for a moment longer.
Connor pats the leather of the couch. “Sit down, Haven.”
I shake my head. No.
He sighs. “I don’t want to fight. We’re starting our life together, starlight. Let’s not fight.”
He can’t be serious.
I throw myself against the arm of the couch. Not because he told me to, but because I need my lap to be able to hurriedly write what I wish I could say.
There is no life together. There’s me —Haven— and there’s you. You have to let me go!
His nose wrinkles. “Why would I do that when I finally have you right where I want you?”
It’s the way he says that. Something’s not right. It’s one thing to be part of a rescue mission, feel sorry for the poor girl you saved, and develop a hero complex that insists you continue to ‘save’ her. But the way he’s insisting that I have to stay… how he told me this basement ismine…why do I have the feeling thatthis wasn’t some spur of the moment plan of Connor’s that led me here?
