Page 82 of Equilibrium
I knew, however, that if it wasn’t for him wrapping my finger and ordering me not to move it more than I needed to, I wouldn’t be able to use it at all. I hadn’t felt pain ricocheting through my arm as I held the knife and stabbed Sam, but as soon as we came home, it crashed into me like a freight train. I couldn’t move my arm, let alone my hand. My favorite mother hen, Storm, called the poor man at three in the morning, demanding him to come first thing the next day.
I had to give it to him, he was better at this than me, which was why his sudden mood changes and the hot-and-cold demeanor threw me off my feet. He was distant yet caring. Cold, yet demanding. What did I tell you? A walking bipolar disorder.
Surprisingly, I didn’t mind the attention he was showering me with, but I had a feeling there was a reason for this mildly obsessive behavior of his, I just didn’t know what the cause behind it was. The little touches, kisses, his hands on my body, it didn’t matter if we were with other people, or if we were just eating dinner, he had to have his hands on me at all times. Atlas and the rest of the guys behaved like they were walking on eggshells around him, trying to keep their distance from me, never talking about club business when I was there, and it irritated the fuck out of me.
I escaped from one prison; I wasn’t going to willingly submit myself to another one.
“Storm,” I started as we slowly ascended the stairs, his hand firmly holding mine. “I think we need to talk.”
His whole body froze mid-step, the grip on my hand becoming painful. Maybe I worded it a wee bit bad. Okay, I worded that whole sentence really badly, but we did need to talk. I was starting to get whiplash from his behavior, and no matter how hot and bothered he made me feel with this whole caveman-like style, it had to stop.
Next thing you know, he would have me pregnant and barefoot in a kitchen somewhere, making pancakes for breakfast and wearing a checkered apron. I know, I know, pancakes are not the worst thing ever, but I was a health hazard in the kitchen. I couldn’t even make popcorn without burning it all down. Trust me, I tried, I failed, and I am never doing it again.
I pulled at his hand, trying to bring his attention to me. “Can we? I am really fucking tired of the silent treatment and not knowing what is going on.”
“I already told you what’s going on with Maya—”
“This isn’t about Maya and that situation.” I pulled my hand from his, taking one step up and coming face-to-face with him. “This is about you not talking about anything. This is about me wanting to know about things that matter to you. Jesus, fuck, Storm, I don’t even know what the names of your parents were.”
His scowl deepened at the mention of the two people that sold him, but he never wanted to talk about it. He never wanted to talk about anything that concerned him. Sam admitted that Logan Nightingale had people in the club, and I wanted to help. I loved taking the time to heal, to get better, to calm my racing mind and stop seeing Kieran and all those people I hurt.
I loved being able to think about things that hurt me and the damage my parents caused, but I was ready to get back into action. My finger healed, my scars pale pink, my mind was sharper than ever, and I wasn’t going to sit around waiting for him to come to me, when I could help them.
“They’re dead, that’s all you need to know about them.” He took a step down, avoiding my eyes.
“Storm—”
“I gotta go. I need to talk to Atlas.”
“No. You need to come with me to our room and talk to me for fuck’s sake. You know almost everything about me, and I think it’s only fair for me to know at least something about you.” But I knew I was talking to a wall. He’d already shut me off, deciding to keep quiet, to keep me in the dark. “You know what,” I smiled, “do whatever the fuck you want to do. Tell me, don’t tell me, it’s up to you, but I didn’t get away from Nikolai Aster just to end up with somebody who couldn’t see me for who I really am. And if you wanted to get a domestic girlfriend, or whatever the fuck this is we’re doing here, I am not the one.”
“Sunshine.” He finally looked at me. “It’s not—”
“I don’t care, Storm. I really fucking don’t.”
I started walking up when he called out again, “Ophelia. Please.”
“You know,” I turned around and looked at him, “I know there are things we still didn’t talk about. I know there are demons both of us are living with, but I actually thought that this would be different from my relationship with Kieran. He tried to shut me out, he tried to change who I really am, and you are doing the same. You’re shutting me out, Storm. Physical affection can only go so far before it isn’t enough anymore. I am not your puppet, I am not beneath you, and if you can’t see that, then I don’t know what I am doing here.”
His eyes turned frantic; nerves written all over his beautiful face. “You can’t—”
“I’m not going to run, if that’s what you were going to say. But I’m also not going to let you turn me into something I don’t want to be. Maybe I was right. Maybe none of you are able to love a monster.”
I had to get out of here, get away from him. I didn’t lie to him when I said I wasn’t going to run, but I couldn’t stand here for a minute longer looking at him, knowing he was hurting me like the others before him. The old scars that never truly healed reared their ugly heads again, reminding me of everything my father taught me.
Not to show them my weaknesses, not to show them my fear, and I didn’t want Storm to see how badly his behavior was affecting me. I didn’t want him to see how badly I wanted this to work, because I finally belonged somewhere. It wasn’t just him, it was the whole club. Zoe, Atlas, Indigo, the little kids that always wanted to play, those fucking Sunday barbeques I wanted to loathe but couldn’t, because I actually enjoyed doing something normal for a change. I wanted to stay here, but I wasn’t going to be a prisoner.
No, I wanted to be free and if he couldn’t give it to me, then I guess I would have to find it in another place. Falling into the same trap two times when I knew better now would be the end of me. I couldn’t live my life halfway. What you see is what you get with me, and if he wasn’t going to trust me enough to tell me about things that were bothering him, then this thing between us wasn’t meant to be.
“I’ll see you around,” I murmured before rushing upstairs, leaving him behind.
The walls in the hallway seemed to close in on me. The memory lane of those who made this club mocking me, telling me I wasn’t good enough to stay here. But I was. I was fucking good enough. All these men were the ones that weren’t good enough for me. My entire life I searched for love and acceptance in places that weren’t able to give me any. I was taught how to be alone, but nobody ever taught me how to deal with a heart that wanted to love. I spent my years trying to convince myself that it was better to be alone.
No one could hurt me if I was alone. No one could shatter me if I didn’t allow them to see behind the cold mask I mastered portraying. I spent my life trying to please people that never wanted to see me succeed. How do you live your life not being happy with yourself?
I made myself believe that being an assassin was all that I could be, but those beliefs were lies I covered myself with, hiding from the bitter reality lurking around the corner. And that reality... It told me I wasn’t as cold as I wanted to believe. It would be beautiful if we could switch off our emotions, if we could live without grief and without sorrow, but we couldn’t.
It wasn’t an easy path to take but facing what hurt us was a path toward healing, and I needed it. The problem was, I wanted Storm to be the one I would share that path with, not because I wanted to lean on him, not because I wanted him to fix me, no. I didn’t need him to fix me, because I wasn’t broken. Chipped, maybe, but not broken. I just wanted to share this life with a person I loved.
