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She’s cracking. I can see it happening right in front of me, everything about her is falling to pieces and she can barely stand while it happens. I can practically feel the spiral in her head, dragging her down back into the depths of her sorrow.
I keep moving closer to her, but she’s on edge. Hastily she grabs the poker below the mantle before I can even grasp what she's doing. She extends the long jagged stick to me, holding me off with the weapon.
“What is going on?” her voice cracks on the last word, another fracture showing.
I tried to protect her from this, really I did. I tried to give her space, let her live without me.
But we just don’t work like that.
“Mik,” I murmur. “Come on, baby.”
“Don’t baby me,” she growls, thrusting the poker forward. “You’re making me fucking crazy, Noah. Do you realize that?” she huffs, bringing one hand up to her face to wipe away the stray tears. “I’m trying to trust you, really I am, but you need to tell me what the fuck is going on!” she screams now.
Luckily for us there are no houses close enough to hear her, she can yell out all she fucking wants here. No one is going to come save her here, it’s just us now. Her and me, caught in the fists of truth surrounding us.
“Mik,” I try again, but she just jabs the poker forward.
“Don’t speak unless the truth is coming out of your mouth!”
“And then what?” I growl. “You think that you’ll just magically feel better then? That if you know all the bloody details you can’t remember that everything will be okay? It won’t, Mik. Don’t be fucking naive. Because I know the truth, baby girl, and I’m just as fucking broken as you are.”
She chokes on another sob, her eyes closing with a wince and the arm holding the poker sags. It gives me an opportunity to rush forward, ripping the poker from her limp arm and tossing it, letting it clatter against the hardwood floors. I grab her, wrapping my arms tightly around her in a vice she can’t escape.
"Do you know what this has been like for me? Hmm?” I growl into her ear. “What it’s like to not be able to leave my house without a news van tailing me? To have lies spread about me all over the fucking news? Have you thought for a second what this is like for me, or have you been too holed up in your head only thinking about your damn self?”
Her head rears back and her green eyes find me. They’re filled with hurt, pain at my words. “You think you’re the victim here?” she sneers.
“Yeah, baby. The way I see it I’m the one looking at the fucking death penalty.”
A rough laugh escapes her though, like this is some kind of funny joke. “You’ll never go to prison, you and I both know that.” She chuckles, a sinister, broken sound. “You don’t even need me here for that, I’m just your rehabilitation for the press right? Just a way to make you look like you’re not a monster? Because we both know Edward Bancroft isn’t about to let his only son go to prison, and he has the connections to make that happen.”
There’s my girl.
Smart. Perceptive. Clever.
I grin, “You’re not wrong, but it doesn’t change anything.”
“Why?” she barks.
“Really, Mik? Because I fucking want you here. Because you’re fucking mine.” I feel her flinch in my arms at the roughness of my words, but it doesn’t stop me. She needs to hear this, every last word.
I drag her with me to the credenza against the other wall, making her yelp at the tightness of my grip.
Our bodies are flush against each other, hers pinned between mine and the piece of furniture. I use one hand to open the top drawer, pulling a bit of rope I have stored there.
I back up just enough to give her some space to move. “Turn around.” I tell her.
She does, for some reason she fucking listens to me and spins around. She whips her head back toward me, watching me through a veil of blonde hair. “What are you doing?”
I grab her wrists, pinning them together behind her back while I wrap the rope around, securing them tightly together. “Do you know what happens when you get arrested, Mikaela?” I taunt. “It’s fucking humiliating, baby girl. Having metal handcuffs wrapped around my fucking wrists.” I tug on her newly secured hands for effect.
A whimper leaves her lips, but no words, nothing else. “Then,” I continue. “The fucking perp walk. Can you imagine it? Being escorted from your house with a shit ton of police?” I pull her back into my chest and then spin us around, pushing her forward so she starts to walk. “I want you to picture it, baby girl, while I walk you upstairs.” I push her forward again, leading her toward the stairs and making her march up ahead of me.
I can practically feel the nervous energy radiating from her, but it doesn’t stop me.
It only makes me want this more.
I want her to break for me.
