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I know I have to go to him no matter how long it takes. I don’t want to make him angry, though. I walk over to him and sit on his lap. The feeling makes me feel sick to my stomach. He moves me around and then looks at me with half-closed eyes.
He reaches for something else while keeping the knife on his desk. It’s a piece of rope. His other hand runs down my arm, and I shiver in disgust.
He grabs both of my wrists and ties them behind my back, which hurts. They’re going to get bruises, and I don’t know how to hide them. I wait for him to do something next.
He traced my neckline a few times, and I squirmed in his lap. It makes me feel so bad. Everything he does is hurting me. When he pops the first button on my shirt, I take a deep breath.
A tear falls down my face and lands on my shirt. He looks up with fake pity and unbuttons more.
No matter how hard I try, more tears keep falling. The next thirty minutes go by very slowly, and I cry and whimper the whole time.
I wear some bracelets to hide the bruises on my wrists. Thank goodness I had some of them in my bag. It doesn’t cover them all the way, but it does a pretty good job.
I think about skipping class again, but I need good grades. I miss the first class because I’m in the bathroom cleaning my bloody shirt, which was starting to look even pinker. I put on a black shirt. I can’t help but cry as I clean the blood off the shirt and think about what happened with Zeke.
I don’t care about the classes; I’m going home.
This time, though, I don’t run into anyone when I walk outside the school. I let the tear fall as I walked home, not caring who saw me.
I fall apart as soon as I walk in the door. I go into my room, close the door, and cry so hard that my throat hurts. At some point, I doze off.
A bell wakes me up. I closed my eyes again and hoped that sleep would come back, but the ring kept going. I sit on my bed and rub my eyes while I look at my phone.
When I see who it is, all signs of sleep leave my eyes.
Call coming in
Austin
I don’t want to pick up the phone, and I feel better when the call ends. I feel better for a short time, but then he calls again. I take a deep breath and pick up.
“Hey,” my voice sounds hoarse and sleepy because I’ve been crying so much.
“Where the hell are you?” He says it in a harsh way that makes me flinch. I check the time and see that it was lunch.
“I’m sorry,” he groans and then says in a softer voice, “Where are you?”
I croak out, “Home.”
“Why?”
“Because,” I don’t say anything else because I don’t know what to say. He sighs on the other side and says something I can hear.
I ask him, “What?”
“You’ll kill me, Lyra.”
“You have to come over again,” he says. “We have to finish the assignment.” But I know it’s about more than just the assignment. It sounds more like an interrogation.
“Okay,” I say to him.
“Eat something,” he says before hanging up. I roll my eyes and lie down on my bed. I fall asleep again.
I am late because I walked to Austin’s house after answering Skye’s call. I am almost running to his house. I’m really hungry because I slept too long. I’m just tired and hungry now. Not to mention, feeling terrible.
As I try to catch my breath, I knock on his door. The door opens to show Austin. His face doesn’t show much, but his eyes look worried. I wonder what it is?
Before I speak, my stomach growls loudly. I know I’m turning red because I can feel my face getting hotter.
“Seriously?” he says as he pinches the bridge of his nose.
He lets out a big sigh and holds my cheeks, which makes my eyes widen and my cheeks get even hotter. He talks to me like I’m a little kid.
“Hey, you need to take care of yourself, okay? Not eating meals is bad for your health. I want to help you, but I might not always be there.”
That makes my heart feel good. I nod my head when he takes his hand away and looks at me with a strange look. One that I’ve never seen on him before.
He says, “Let’s get your tummy something,” and I laugh as I walk into his house. He turns around and bumps my arm with his as he locks the door behind us.
I wince and jump away from him, which makes him squint his eyes. As he walks towards me, my heart rate goes up. His face is very serious.
When he gets close enough, his index finger runs along my jawline and up, giving him a good look at my neck.
I don’t know why I don’t stop him from pulling the shirt off my shoulder and showing the cuts.
“What the hell is this, Lyra?” he yells.
I turn my head away.
I try to eat the spaghetti without making any noise. Austin can really cook. I hold back moans of pleasure as I eat it.
It’s strange, but I’m not worried that he’ll ask me about what he saw. Not like I’m going to tell him.
The quiet is making me nervous, and I can tell Austin is holding back from asking me questions. He is sitting across from me at the big dining table we are sitting at, with his elbows on the table and his hands covering his face.
I laugh inside when he looks serious. I shouldn’t be thinking about him that way because I’m sure he doesn’t think of me that way. He takes his hand off his face and walks over to me when I’m done eating.
He doesn’t look at me at all, and I think it’s because he saw the new scars. He might be disgusted by them, and who wouldn’t be? He takes my plate and puts it in the washbasin. He walks out of his kitchen without saying anything or even looking at me, and I take that as my cue to follow him.
He doesn’t even look back at me when we get to his room. I silently stare at his back, my mind racing with thoughts.
But I know one thing for sure: I’m not telling him the truth.
Austin says, “I’ll make you tell the truth, Lyra,” after a thousand years. My heart rate goes up and my eyes get bigger. What he says shocks me not only because I was thinking the same thing, but also because he sounds so sure.
He turns around, and his eyes are full of determination. When he looks at me, it’s like he’s looking right through me. He walks up to me, and I take a few steps back. My back hits the wall.
This clichè position isn’t as hot as the romance books say it is. This makes me feel scared, anxious, and worried. And more worried.
His breath blows on my face, and his sharp eyes look down at my neck. I try to push him away, but he won’t move. He puts his hands behind my ear and then drops them to my shoulder. He takes off the shirt, showing my scarred skin.
“Stop, Austin,” I say through my shaking lips, but he keeps looking at my skin, and every second his eyes fill with rage.
I whimper, “Austin.” That makes him stop. He steps back and wipes the tears off my cheeks. He looks more worried than I do. His face is strikingly frowning, and his eyes are looking at me with worry. His jaw hurts because it is clenched.
I don’t think twice about wrapping my arms around his waist and putting my head on his chest. As I cry against his chest, my sobs get louder and my body shakes a lot. I know that crying won’t help me, but it does make me feel better.