His eyes move over me, but he does not reply. He does not say another word. Until I am finished. When he asks me for something else. He asks me for some clothes.
It is a softly spoken request. A difficult one for him to make. I don't fight him on it. But when I return from his room, he is not happy with the selection I brought him.
A pair of black sweats and a tee shirt.
"A hoodie," he demands, his polite demeanor gone.
"No."
I cross my arms and hold my ground.
"I have seen you now. River has seen you. There is no reason for you to hide."
He glares at me.
"You would choose to look at me this way?" he sneers.
"Yes," I answer without hesitation. "I would prefer to see your face when I speak to you, Javi."
He does not believe me. He thinks it is a trick. And my heart hurts that he feels this way. I don't want to feel bad for him. I don't want to sympathize with him. But I do.
I know better than anyone what it's like to be so critical of yourself. To believe the nasty things people say about you. I know what it's like to feel ugly inside and out.
I know what it's like to be a monster too.
Javi might not know it, but there is still humanity left inside of him. There is still good. And I don't know if he deserves it, but I want to fight his demons with him. I want to prove to him once and for all that these scars don't matter to me. That the things I say and do are not a trick as he would like to believe.
I'm not even certain what his reaction will be. Or how far I am willing to go. But I only know that it feels right when I kneel beside him on the bed and straddle his hips.
He is hard beneath me, already. His breath still and silent when he looks up at me.
I slide the strap of my tank top over my shoulder until it falls, repeating on the other side. The material pools around my waist, revealing my bra.
Javi watches me, growing in size and hardness beneath me.
I unbuckle the clasp, and it falls away. I am naked from the waist up. My breasts are heavy and tender and cold. I reach for his hands, and he lets me guide them to me. He touches me, groaning when I rock against him with my hips. There is still a barrier between us. His jocks and my panties. It feels safer this way.
And also more forbidden.
We are so close, but not quite skin to skin. It doesn't matter to Javi. He fondles me roughly in his calloused hands. Groping my breasts and then wrenching me forward to kiss him.
His mouth is hungry, and so is mine. I drink him in. I taste him. And I move against him. It becomes frenzied. Both of us forgetting the extent of his injuries until one of his wounds reopens, and he starts to bleed again.
I move to stop. To apologize. Javi clutches my hip and forces me to keep going.
"I like it," he tells me.
The pain. He likes the pain. It concerns me. It excites me. It makes me want to hurt him and please him all at once. But Javi is in control now. Even from the bottom. He grasps my hips and forces my movements. Using me as the warmth and friction he so badly needs.
I am a prisoner in his arms again. But I am free. Free to my sordid desires.I lean back and press my hand against his cut, applying pressure.
Too much pressure.
I give him the pain he needs. And then I pull away. His eyes darken when he sees the way his blood stains my skin.
He is feral again. Seizing my bloody palm to smear it down between my breasts, marking me with his blood. I whimper, and he comes. For what feels like forever. His body purging itself of the pain inside of him.
He kisses me again. And then releases me.
For a moment, I don't move. I don't want to. I want to stay here with him, like this. I don't understand it. I don't know what's wrong with me or why I want him this way. But I can't control it, and I can no longer deny it.
Javi is tired. His eyes are heavy and relaxed. But the longer we sit here, staring at one another, the more the tension creeps back into his body all over again. So I move from him. Slowly.
I clean his wound again and then reach for his jocks. He grabs my wrist.
"I'll do it."
He doesn't want me to touch him again. Because he's exhausted and afraid he won't be able to control himself if I do. It's there in his eyes. And I had no idea how open his eyes could be until now.
"You should get some rest," I tell him. "I will make something for dinner."
I turn to go, and he stops me again with his hand.
"Bella?"
He looks up at me, anxious.
"Thank you."
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
I MAKE SPAGHETTI FOR DINNER. River digs in as soon as he smells it. Javi is a different story.
When I take the tray to the conservatory, he is still sleeping. I hover, unsure whether to wake him or not. He senses me before I can make a decision and his eyes open slowly.
He is defensive again. Wearing the sweats I brought him earlier along with a hoodie that I didn't bring him. It is obvious he has made his own way to the closet, and I make a mental note to take care of that problem as soon as I leave him tonight.
"Are you hungry?" I ask.
He tries to sit up, wincing as he props himself against the headboard.
"What is it?"
"Spaghetti."
"I don't eat spaghetti," he says.
"Have you ever tried it?"
He doesn't reply.
I sit down beside him, and he reaches for the tray. I pull it back.
"Let me help you."
"I don't need your help."
"Then you don't eat."
He growls, and I ignore him. I couldn't imagine him attempting to eat this himself after the way I saw him eat before.
I twirl some pasta on the fork and bring it to his lips. He's still staring at me. Being stubborn.
"Open."
He opens, reluctantly. I feed him and tell him to chew slowly. He listens this time, watching me carefully. When he swallows, I ask him how he likes it.
"It's... fine."
I'm relieved. It's silly. But I want him to like it. I want him to experience something else besides peanut butter and jelly or macaroni and cheese. He eats the entire plate I brought him and then relaxes back against the bed.
"Will you tell me what happened to you?"
He stares at me. Guarded.
"It was nothing."
"It's not nothing," I argue. "Is this because of the agency?"
I can't hide the worry in my voice. The worry that he will end up like my father too.
"I can't tell you that."
It's the same generic response my father used to give and I know I'm right. I hate that I'm right. And I miss my father so much my heart feels like it's splintered.
I hate the agency. I hate them for taking him away from me. For lying to me. And I am angry at Javi too, right now. For not having the consideration to think that he might do the same one day.
That he might just disappear, and then...
Then I would be free.
It hurts to think about. I look at him, uncertain. He is confused too, by my response. By my emotions.
"I am sorry, Bella," he says.
And he is sorry, but for what I don't know.
"How can you work for them?" I ask. "Knowing that they don't care. That you might meet the same fate. How can you do it?"
He raises his brows, reaches for me, but stops himself.
"I am not going anywhere."
"That's funny," I tell him. "Because it's the same thing my father always used to say."
"Your father did not want to leave you," he says. "He did not do it by choice."
"I understand that," I snap. "But the very agency that he has risked his life for refuses to tell me anything. For all I know, they want him to stay gone."
"Bella," Javi says, and this time he does touch me. "Your father was not the man that you imagine in your head. He has many secrets. And many enemies too."
His words are not meant to hurt me this time. I can tell by the way he says them. But he believes them wholeheartedly. And I still can't accept this when I know how much my father cared for him. I can't comprehend what happened between them to make Javi hate him so much.
But I'm tired of guessing. Avoiding. And I know he won't be this agreeable forever. So if Javi wants to tell me some truths about my father, perhaps it's time for me to listen.
My fingers fall into my lap, and I lean back in my chair.
"Will you tell me about him?" I whisper. "Will you tell me about your relationship?"
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
HER EYES ARE SOFT. Hopeful. I can't deny her.
It would be better that she did not know. It would be better if she did not ask these things of me. But she has seen me. Touched me. And I want her to do it again.
I want to give her the answers she seeks. The only thing I can ever really give her after the things I have done.
"What would you care to know, my sweet?"
"How did you meet?" she asks.
It is an innocent question. And because my Bella is so innocent, she could never know the depths of her father's depravity. She could never know the injustices he served to not only me but countless others. And she could never know the deepness of the despair this memory invokes in me.