Keep Me(61)
She closes her eyes, and I see a single tear roll down her cheek. “I feel . . . empty and full at the same time, destroyed, yet replenished,” she whispers, her words barely audible. “I feel like you shredded me into pieces and then remade those pieces into something else, something that’s no longer me . . . something that belongs to you . . .”
“Yes.” I absorb her words hungrily. “And what else?”
She opens her eyes, meeting my gaze, and I see a strange sort of hopelessness etched into her face. “And I love you,” she says quietly. “I love you even though I see you for what you are—even though I know what you’re doing to me. I love you because I’m no longer capable of not loving you . . . because you’re now part of me, for better or for worse.”
I hold her gaze, the dark empty corners of my soul sucking in her words like a desert plant takes in water. Her love may not be freely given, but it’s mine. It will always be mine. “And you are part of me, Nora,” I admit, my voice low and unusually hoarse. This is the closest I can come to telling her how much she means to me, how deep my longing for her runs. “I hope you know that, my pet.”
And before she can respond, I kiss her again, then slide my arms under her body, pick her up, and carry her to the bathroom to wash up.
Chapter 19
Nora
The week before Julian’s departure is bittersweet. I still have not entirely forgiven him for the forced tracker implants—or for the bracelet embedded with yet another tracker he made me start wearing a couple of days later. Nevertheless, ever since Julian’s words that evening, I’ve been feeling infinitely better.
I know what he said is not exactly a declaration of undying love, but from a man like Julian, it might as well be. Ana is right: Julian lost everyone who has ever mattered to him. Everyone except me, that is. The fact that he clings to me with such brutal possessiveness may be overwhelming at times, but it’s also an indication of his feelings.
His love for me is wrong and perverse in many ways, but it’s no less real because of that.
Of course, knowing this makes my fear for Julian’s safety on the upcoming trip even more intense. As his departure time approaches, my joy over his confession fades, and anxiety takes its place.
I don’t want Julian to leave. Every time I think of him going on this mission, I’m gripped by a suffocating sense of dread. I know there is an irrational component to my fear, but that doesn’t lessen it in any way. Aside from the very real danger Julian will face, I’m simply afraid to be alone. We’ve spent so little time apart in the past couple of months that the thought of being without him for even a few days makes me feel deeply stressed and uneasy.
It doesn’t help that I have exams and papers galore, or that my parents have been steadily pressuring me to come for a visit—something that Julian won’t allow until the Al-Quadar threat is fully contained.
“You can’t leave the estate, but they can come visit us here if you’d like,” he tells me during shooting practice one afternoon. “I would advise against it, though. Right now your parents are more or less off the radar, but the more contact I appear to have with your family, the more danger they’ll be in. It’s up to you, though. Just say the word, and I’ll send a plane for them.”
“No, that’s okay,” I say hastily. “I don’t want to draw any unnecessary attention to them.” And raising my gun, I start shooting at the beer cans on the far edge of the field, letting the now-familiar jolt of the weapon take away some of my frustration.
I realized that my parents are in danger a couple of days after we came to the estate. To my relief, Julian told me that he’d already put a discreet security detail on them—highly trained bodyguards whose job is to protect my family while letting them go about their lives. The alternative, he explained, is to bring them to the estate with us—a solution that my parents rejected as soon as I brought it up.
“What? We’re not moving to Colombia to live with an illegal arms dealer!” my dad exclaimed when I told him about the potential danger. “Who does that bastard think he is? I just got a new job—not to mention, we can’t leave all of our friends and relatives!”
And that was as far as that got. I can’t say I blame my parents for not wanting to move halfway across the world to be with me in my abductor’s compound. They’re still young, both in their early forties, and they’ve always led active, busy lives. My dad plays lacrosse nearly every weekend, and my mom has a group of girlfriends who get together for wine and gossip on a regular basis. My parents are also still very much in love with each other, with my dad constantly surprising my mom with little gifts of flowers, chocolate, or a dinner out. Growing up, I had no doubt that they both loved me, but I also knew that I wasn’t the absolute epicenter of their lives.