“What’s wrong with you, Atlas? Can’t you tell me?” His voice is pleading now, almost desperate. As if he hasn’t been able to get the question out of his mind and he’s going mad.
“If you knew, you’d be disgusted. You might even despise me.” As I say the words, I realize they are true.
I hadn’t understood it until now, but not only am I depressed that no man could ever love me after being tainted so thoroughly, but I’m crushed to know that if Julian were to find out about my condition, he would probably think very little of me.
“I could never,” he demands, taking another step toward me. “Nothing could convince me that you’re disgusting. There is nothing you could do to make me despise you.”
He sounds so certain, so assured in his words. But to me, he sounds ignorant. For he has no idea who I truly am, or what really happens when the nightmares come.
But then again, I cannot fault him for his ignorance. Who would imagine that a mythical monster would come into Chastain Castle in the dead of night and fuck the middle child whenever it pleases?
“You can’t be sure of that,” I tell him, my voice soft and distant to my own ears. “You can’t promise me that.”
“But—”
“Julian.” I take a step forward, meeting him in the middle of that carefully curated space that once existed between us. “What good could a terribly sweet little thing like me bring you? You don’t need to know what curse I carry. Maybe it is best that you avoid me. You’re stronger than I am—do what I cannot.”
He looks incredibly confused, but I offer no explanation. Instead, I allow myself a moment—grazing my fingers over his sharp jawline—before pulling away. The zap of pleasure that starts in my fingertips and shoots straight to the pit of my stomach is very difficult to swallow.
Julian gasps at the sensation, the burn of my flesh against his, and he shudders heavily. With one last small smile, I turn and make my way back to the west tower.
I do not turn to see if he’s watching me; I can feel the weight of his gaze with a violent intensity. His heavy panting can be heard throughout the foyer, and all the way up until I hit the landing of the second floor.
Then, as if he’s fled for the hundredth time, I can hear him no longer.
The next morning, as I descend the main staircase on my way to breakfast, I encounter Julian again.
He’s leaving his quarters, heading for the bathroom across the foyer in a pair of grey sweatpants and a white t-shirt that hugs his biceps and chest obscenely. I wonder how he’s continued to work out, considering we do not have an in-home gym at Chastain Castle.
When he spots me, Julian stops short. He watches me for a moment, as if he’s once again trying to figure me out. I consider the possibility that he does not remember last night at all.
I’ve heard alcohol can do that to you if you drink enough of it.
“Long night?” I ask him in an attempt to find out.
“Yeah,” he says shortly. “Got in late.”
He does not remember; that much is clear. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be informing me of what time he got in.
“Did you have a nice time?”
He nods. “I did.”
We stare at each other for a long moment. A moment where I try to tell him with my eyes that Ihatethat he went and had such a nice time with that girl of his, and he tries to ask me something deep and personal with his own.
“That’s great,” I finally say, and then I turn and head toward the dining room to escape his domineering eyes.
I fear he’ll see right through me if I stay any longer; I’m afraid I’ll begin to cry if pushed too far. And there’s nothing else I can say to him anyway—not without crossing an unspoken boundary.
My mother sits at the dining room table. Father isn’t here yet, but Abigail and Atticus are with her, waiting patiently for the rest of the family to arrive.
“Darling,” my mother greets. “It’s almost the first of the year.”
Right. It’s the start of the new year in two days.
“Good morning, everyone.” I offer my best smile as I take my seat, nodding in acknowledgement of what she said. But I know that at the very least, Mother and Atticus see right through me.
“How was last night, Atty?” Atticus asks, taking my negative demeanor as a sign that I had a nightmare.
