What gift?
I scan my room until I spot it. How the fuck didn’t I notice it earlier? It’s a dark blue jewelry box resting on my pillow, with a note on top.
I fly to my bed, realizing how badly I want to know what he wrote borders on me selling my soul.
With the thrill of a child on Christmas morning, I unfold the paper.
Is there a dog collar inside the box? I swear, I’m going to fucking strangle him with it if that’s the case.
Clutching the box, I’m unsure what I want to find inside. Assuming he’s being an ass yet again is the safe bet. Easier to swallow than a terrifying scenario of seeing a gentle side of him. A side, willing to grovel for my forgiveness, ready to go out of his way and into a jewelry store toget me to talk to him.
I pop the lid open and...Holy fuck!A dazzling diamond heart necklace greets me from inside, the two sides of the shape presenting a different pattern of a cluster, one inverted in a spiral motif, bearing a striking resemblance to...A fucking horn? I chuckle at the thought it might not be a heart, but my horns he’s gifting me.
A part of me tries to grapple with the practical side of things. If shit hits the fan, selling this is a way to sponsor my escape. The thought makes my chest tighten until breathing hurts. I want to keep it. I need this reminder that someone can see every fucked-up part of me and like it.
Another ping of my phone fades beneath the crescendo of my heartbeat.
Atlas
Talk to me, baby! Aren’t two days of silent torture enough?
Does my silence hit him like a dagger of torture?
An idea sparks, prompting me to jump off the bed, leaving the necklace behind and letting the towel fall to the floor.
I slip into a teal mesh bra with colorful embroidered flowers covering the nipples, worth at least a few hundred bucks, and a pair of panties. No, I did not splurge. I snatched it from Raven’s place. Then I scurry back to where I left the necklace. Clasping it on, I pull some red strands of hair to the front.
Phone in hand, I take a selfie only in my bra and Atlas’s precious gift on my neck. Face—not visible, of course. I’m not an idiot. After a thorough inspection of the photo, I’m more than pleased with it.
Gorgeous bra on—check!
Perfect curves of my boobs—check!Thank you, nature!
Wet strands falling down the sides of my bra—check!
His necklace, diamonds sparkling brighter than the sun—fucking check!
I press send, and his answer finds me at warp speed.
Atlas
You’re perfect, and you’re all mine.
I love your gift, but don’t assume it means I’m yours. You haven’t earned the right to call me that.
Atlas
You screamed my name. That gives me the right to stake a claim on you.
He’s the quintessence of arrogance, but strangely, he wears it like no other.
I’m not backing down from my retaliation.
Atlas
It wouldn’t be you if you did, and I want nothing but you.
Nothing but me is a heavy package.
