Page 90 of Wallflower

“Which fruit is your favourite?” she asks over her shoulder, eyes more green than I’ve seen them before.

“Pineapple. Yours?”

“Hmm. Strawberry… or peaches. But only if they are the sweet and juicy kind of peaches. Not the hard ones that taste like crap.”

“Note to self: Rose is picky about her food.”

“I’m not,” she objects, digging her elbow into my gut. “I just like my food to taste like food.”

Extending my hand, I pick up a slice of peach from the tray. “Well, try this, and let me know if it meets yournot pickystandards.” Bringing the fruit to her mouth, she takes a bite, humming in satisfaction. I pop the remaining piece between my lips, and I have to say, it’s pretty fucking good.

I mull over her earlier words as the juices slide down my throat. Something standing out so blatantly I can’t believe I missed it.

Leaning close, my voice so faint I wonder if she can hear it, “Who are you protecting, Rose?” Her body goes rigid against mine as she clams up, not offering me so much as a poorly constructed lie.

The silence hangs uncomfortably. I watch as she eats in silence, clearly fighting some internal battle.

Piece by piece, I down all the pineapple on the platter. Wondering why on earth someone wouldn’t fight back against the abuse being brought upon them.

But I know why. I’ve been there. Protecting a sibling that’s since escaped away into the night, never to be heard from again.

“Is it your mom?” I ask. Rose says nothing still. So I watch the way her body responds to my questions, feeling the way her diaphragm moves against my hand as I pull her into my body, erasing any distance between her back and my chest. I want to feel it when her heart rate spikes, the fear overtaking her in a way she can’t lie about.

“Your dad?”No response. “I met him, you know?” Her body stills unnaturally. “After I saw you that first day…” the memory pummels through me. How she screamed. The way a smile curved her lips, despite her situation. It was then I knew she’d handle whatever I threw at her. “He approached me. Asking if I’d seen…” Rose whimpers, and I’m sure I’ve figured it out. Knowingthat if I say it aloud and they somehow hear through the camera feed, it could ruin everything Rose has done to protect her.

“Stop,” she pleads.

“Am I right?”

A nod. Nothing more, nothing less.

“Other than your father, your family didn’t seem too worried. They thought yo?—“

“Those cunts aren’t my family.”

Her repeated use of the word has things clicking into place within my thoughts, my suspicions are almost never wrong. “What happened?” I cup her face, coaxing her to turn my way, curl into me for support if needed. She follows my lead beautifully, nuzzling her face into my bare chest, inhaling deep. “Do I still smell good?‘Expensive’,I think you said.”

She groans into my skin, the sound resonating through my chest cavity. “Yes,” she mumbles, “you still smell good and expensive.” I chuckle. “Like sex and dinosaur obsession.” My small rumble turns into a full-belly laugh at her quick wit.

“I don’t smell like sex…yet,” I reply, capturing her chin between my fingers and tilting her face up. She blushes an alluring shade of red, reminding me of our encounter last night. How her soft skin responds to the hard crack of my palm.

Rose’s eyes jump around my features, taking me in as a whole, hopefully recognizing the sincerity I’m working hard to present. “They sold me…us…” she spills. “Like we were nothing more than objects.”

I can’t even begin to understand the rage she must feel, the betrayal. I’m sure it pales in comparison to the feelings I had being abandoned by my younger kin, forced to weather the brutality alone. But betrayal is a slap in the face, a knife to the gut, or a bat to the knees, no matter the form.

Next to me she slowly crumbles, like sand being swept away by the sea faster than the castle can be repaired. She tries to keepcomposure, stuffing the feelings down, searching for that anger she felt before, but a sob breaks from her throat.

Something ugly blooms beneath my sternum, a ravenous desire to hunt, maim, torture.

Bleed them dry and fuck my woman in the blood of those that wronged her.

However, I’ll never let them get close to her again.

“Is that the cunt you were referring to the other night?”

Rip’s deep voice breaks apart the looming silence since my tears dried up. A frailty I never wanted him to see. He likes that I don’t cry, don’t show weakness. But I wept for me, for all I’d been through. For Chelsea, and how the unknown of her situation eats away at me every second that isn’t occupied by the man in front of me, or the fear of when the fucked up captor duo will return to terrorize me.

“What?”