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“Kyle Sanders,” she whispers.
Kyle Sanders is a dead man.
“What the fuck happened to him?”
Astoria finally looks me in the eye. The blankness has receded a bit, like she’s coming back.
“My dad’s Salvador Bianchi. When he found out what happened, Sanders was locked up. He got tried and sentenced to four years in prison.”
Outrage fills me at the paltry sentence and I begin to mentally calculate how long ago that was and if he’s already out.
“You can stop making those serial killer eyes. Sanders died two years into his sentence. He was stabbed by another inmate. I like to think my dad had nothing to do with it but I’m also not ignorant or stupid. Dad was furious. I’m not happy that he died in prison though. Even though people like Kyle simply shouldn’t exist, I believe in second chances,” she says softly.
She’s too damn sweet. I’m a little annoyed I’m not going to be able to dole out the proper punishment the bastard deserves. He should be tortured for days before finally meeting his maker. I would have loved to be his executioner. Especially now that I can see the effects of his actions on her. She’s trying so hard to be brave.
I pull her closer and hold her. I’m not sure what to say or how to comfort her. This is new territory for me.
“I don’t let what he did hang over me,” Astoria says softly. “I was lucky. Really lucky, and I’m strong enough to push through every day without letting what happened affect me. It was hard at first, but I managed to find myself. And I live every day determined not to let Kyle Sanders have any impact on me. I don’t even think about him. It was such a long time ago and I’ve moved on. Except for the nightmares.”
I don’t mention that it seems to me like she might just be repressing how she really feels about the situation instead of dealing with it outright. But she’s already told me so much tonight and I don’t want to push her any further. People have different ways of dealing with trauma.
I gently lift her chin so she’s looking at me. “You’re fucking brave, Tori. It’s admirable how you’ve handled and continue to handle yourself. Just never let dirt like Sanders into your headspace. He’s not worth your time.”
She nods leaning against my chest. “I know,” she says sleepily. “I’m scared to fall asleep. I don’t want to dream again.”
“You won’t,” I say assuredly. “Lie down,dolcezza.”
She does and before I can think better of it, I’m lying down beside her. I reach over to brush some of her hair from her face. For several seconds, neither of us breathes as we stare at each other.
“Sleep,” I urge softly, breaking out of the spell her gaze casts.
She closes her eyes obediently and I finally get some respite. I’m pretty sure I’m too on edge to fall asleep, but being so close to her, surrounded by her scent, is enough to lull me into slumber.
I wake up to sunlight and the smell of lavender and strawberries. Astoria’s still fast asleep and somehow, while we slept, she’s ended up with her head on my chest. I listen to her soft breathing for longer than I should be considered normal before slowly maneuvering her head off me and heading out of the room.
Last night shouldn’t have happened. I never should have asked her to tell me about what happened to her. Because now every time I think about her, it’s like there’s a match being lit inside of me. A possessive urge to make sure that she’s always safe. Whatever lines I’ve been trying to put in place have been practically incinerated.
With gritted teeth, I set to work preparing breakfast for the both of us. Astoria appears while I’m in the process of scrambling some eggs.
“Hey,” she says softly, walking into the kitchen.
“Morning,” I greet without looking up at her.
She doesn’t say anything for a minute or two, just watches as I finish scrambling the eggs. When I move to set the small table in the kitchen, she takes the plates and does it for me.
We eat our breakfast in silence. The air is awkward and full of unspoken words, conversations we can’t seem to get around to.
“Thank you for the meal. It was delicious,” Astoria says when we’re done.
“You’re welcome.”
She insists on doing the dishes, so I watch while leaning on the kitchen island. It’s seven o’clock, but she mentioned yesterday that she doesn’t have to go in to work until nine. Maybe earlier, if there’s an emergency. When she finishes with the dishes, she dries her hand and comes to stand in front of me.
“So, I’ve been thinking…” she starts, biting her bottom lip nervously.
I wish she wouldn’t do that. It’s distracting, and now I’m thinking of her lips and how soft they were the last time, and how sweet she tasted. My cock twitches.
“And I definitely shouldn’t have offloaded on you like that last night. I mean, this situation is already delicate enough. You didn’t need to hear about my sob story. It’s just… it has been a while since I _”
