Page 35 of Silas

Almost intimate.

But it can’t be for me—because of me.

He can’t look at me that way. Notme.

It’s too much.

I duck my head, breaking our gazes. I feel his palm against my cheek—my lungs seize in my chest. My body goes rigid, anticipating pain, when in fact his touch is exquisitely gentle.

“Naomi. Can you look at me?” It’s not a command. His voice is a rough, soft murmur.

I drag my eyes up to his. That intimate, searing stare drills into me the moment I meet his gaze. “Don’t look at me like that, Silas. Please.”

“Like what?” His palm remains, barely grazing my cheek. Electric fire races through me, centered on that point of contact. “How am I looking at you, honey?”

Honey.

It hurts. It’s not real. He doesn’t mean it. It’s not for me—it’s just how he talks to women. I’m not special.

I shake my head—I can’t answer that. There are no words within me for how he’s looking at me.

“Naomi—”

“Do you have a comb? Or a brush?” I blurt. “For my hair. It’s…it’s tangled. Please?”

He holds my gaze for another long, silent beat, and then nods. “I’ll get you something.”

He turns away and is gone in an instant, the door sliding slowly closed with a soft click.

The moment I’m alone, I collapse backward, the paralysis flooding out of me, leaving me limp. I hit the edge of the bed and slide to my bottom on the floor.

A tear slides down my cheek.

If only I could believe it could be for me—the way he looks at me. The gentle way he touches me. The tenderness in his voice, when all else about him is so hard and sharp and rough and powerful.

If only.

the curse

Silas

I’m a fucking coward.

I used the excuse of finding her a brush to escape that stupid too-small room. To escapeher.

The hurt in her eyes. The pain. The fear.

Asking for the simplest thing requires visible, immense courage on her part. Asking me a simple question. Being near me.

She’s been brutalized, conditioned by constant pain and fear into being as obedient and invisible as possible. To not want. To not need. Never ask. Never question. Head down, eyes averted.

Worse than an animal.

I don’t have the words to encapsulate it. I only know that it fills me with a blind, violent, unreasoning rage. It makes me feel like I could rip the world apart with my bare hands, brick by brick, stick by stick, until there’s nothing but ashes.

I want to shelter her. Hold her in my arms. Kiss her until the bruises and scars fade.

Fuck, she’s so beautiful.