Page 103 of No Longer Mine
“The thrill. The pressure. The way it made you feel alive when you played.”
I hesitated, my fingers pausing on my queen. “Sometimes.” The admission slipped out before I could stop it.
Don hummed, as if he already knew the answer. “That’s why nothing else has ever measured up, isn’t it?”
I swallowed hard. “Maybe.” It wasn’t just the game, though. It was the fight. The challenge. The constant battle to prove I was more than just a pretty face, that I was worth something. That I had control. I still remembered the first time I’d picked up a chess piece…
Jameson’s fingers tightened around my chin. “Do you hear me? You either enjoy this and pretend to like its, or I’m going to send you to the streets where gangsters and homeless people will do this to you.”
I ripped my face from his filthy hands. I had nowhere to go. He was right. I wouldn’t survive out there. I had nothing. I was nothing. He’d told me it enough times. His father never did, but I knew the truth.
A few kids giggled nearby and he dropped my skirt. After the first time he began touching me, I stopped wearing them until mysteriously, one day, all of my pants and shorts disappeared. All that was left were skirts. I had no other option.
“Tell dad hey when you see him next,” Jameson laughed as he walked away.
My stomach twisted and turned. His father would come calling next. That’s usually how it went. I didn’t think Mr. Vanewood knew what his son did, but the apple didn’t fall far from the tree, and when his son had needs—he soon did too. I hated them both so much.
I hated this place. All I wanted to do was end it, but I couldn’t. I ran my hands down my hair to flatten it a bit, as he had wrapped his hand in it this time. My scalp still ached from where he’d yanked. I wiped the tears from beneath my eyes and left the shadows of the stairwell behind.
Oliver was sitting at one of the chessboards when I entered the commons area. He smiled at me even though there was a tightness in his expression that showed his irritation.“I hate this fucking game.”
I examined the pieces before him. “Why? What’s wrong with it?”
“Strategy, planning, I don’t know. I just can’t see it.”
My brows furrowed. “I’ve never played before. But it looks interesting.”
Oliver looked up at me, arching a brow. “You’ve never played?”
I shook my head. “Never.”
“Lucky you.” He gestured at the board with a dramatic sigh. “Here, take my spot. Maybe you’ll actually be good at it.”
I hesitated. My fingers twitched at my sides, itching for something to focus on, something to keep me from thinking about the weight of Jameson’s hands on me, the echo of his voice in my ears.
I lowered myself into the seat, studying the board. The pieces were scattered, mid-game, as if Oliver had just been making random moves, trying to push through without any real direction.
He leaned forward, resting his chin in his palm. “Alright, Red. You wanna learn?”
I nodded once. “Teach me.”
He grinned. “Alright. First rule—” He tapped the king. “—protect this guy at all costs.”
I frowned at the piece, dragging my fingers over the smooth wood. A whole game built around protecting the one piece that couldn’t defend itself.
Go figure.
Oliver continued. “Each piece moves differently. Pawns only move forward, knights move in an L-shape, bishops diagonally?—”
I listened, absorbing every word, every possible move. My mind whirred, already seeing how the pieces connected, how every decision had consequences.
I liked that. I liked that it wasn’t random. That it was a game of control. Of power. I moved my first piece, a pawn, forward two spaces.
Oliver snorted. “You’re supposed to think first.”
“I did.”
Don didn’t say anything right away, but his gaze sharpened, catching the way my breath hitched. The ghosts of the past clawed their way up my throat, threatening to choke me. I clenched my fists against my lap, nails digging into my palms.
