“But you said God wanted us to be together. You said Jesus and Mary Magdalene—”
“It’s different. You don’t understand because you’re still a kid.”He pointed to himself, and the hard lines softened around his eyes.“All I want is to court you like a respectable, God-fearing man. Don’t make it more difficult than it has to be.”
“Sorry,”I’d mumbled as sweat dripped down my temple.
Elijah relaxed and fell back into his normal façade. There were sweat stains on the arms of his shirt, and it disgusted me. I wouldn’t have minded had he left me alone, and that was a first.“Besides, I’m teaching the next baptismal class. We’ll meet here every Thursday evening between now and your birthday. Don’t you want to spend more time with me, Cami?”
Elijah lost a sliver of his allure on that damp, blistering summer day, but he was all I had. Daddy agreed to let me attend the baptismal classes, under the impression that nearly fifteen years inside the closet with God had finally left a lasting impression. I was the only member of the church scheduled to be baptized the day after my eighteenth birthday, and so, each Thursday, teacher and student were alone in the church classroom for an hour and a half.
Mom called it a breakthrough.
The church called me holy.
Elijah Read called me his.
They were all idiots.
It’s nearly two in the morning when Yael drops us off in front of the apartment. If Lydia wasn’t afraid someone was going to jump out of the bushes and kidnap me, she might have stormed off and left me to walk through the dark alone. But she rests her hand on my lower back and waits until we’re through the front door before abandoning her ward.
Lydia slams her bedroom door, only to reopen it immediately. “Where’s Dog?”
“He’s with Dawn.”
She blinks at a loss and asks, “Who the fuck is Dawn?”
“Dog Mom. I told her we’d pick him up in the morning.”
Lydia slams her bedroom door again, shaking the art on the walls.
I light the spread of candles across the top of my dresser and nightstands, but I can’t escape the dread chained around my wrists and ankles like weights. It’s coming from all angles, the ricochet of my father’s voice, Elijah’s manipulation, Lydia’s disappointment, and the phone I’m too afraid to answer.
For a single evening—a matter of hours—I had everything I wanted.
A glimpse of a life that will never be mine.
But God doesn’t forgive the whore in this story.
I kick off my shoes and crawl into bed, drowning out the echoes of my past and the disaster that’s sure to be my future with an infomercial for a food dehydrator. I wrap my arms around myself, clutching Wilder’s shirt, determined never to give it back no matter what happens in the morning. The last thought I have before sleep takes me under is that my cell phone has finally stopped ringing.
Because Wilder is here.
The front door crashes open, yanking me back from any kind of slumber. I jolt upright with my heartbeat in my throat, confused and not entirely coherent after my brief brush with sleep. My body calls to the strength steamrollering through the apartment, his brother bellowing after him to calm down. I hold my pillow to my chest, hoping it’ll soften the blow.
It doesn’t.
Wilder rushes into my room, swinging the door open with enough force to blow out half of my candles. He’s a shadow of the man I last saw a few hours ago. Having lost the jacket and tie, he’s rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. Veins protrude from the top of his hands, through his forearms, all the way up to his neck. Gray irises turned black, deepened by the circles under his eyes.
I push myself onto my knees, and the pillow slips from my hand onto the floor. Wilder’s chest heaves frantically like a wild, untamed animal. I taste rage in the air and smell his scent on my skin, and I whine, trapped prey too willing to be eaten alive.
“I’m sorry,” I say for the second time tonight. I’ll say it a million times if he needs it.
Lydia emerges from her bedroom with a toothbrush in her mouth and an expression of utter astonishment on her face. Talent holds his arm out, keeping her back from Wilder. He’s not to be trusted in this state, and I did this to him.
“Wilder,” I repeat, holding my open palms out. “Please.”
Narrowing his eyes, Wilder’s brows come together in confusion before they lift in realization. “You’re afraid of me?” He points to himself and smirks sadistically. “Camilla, the only person in this apartment anyone should be afraid of is you.”
I set my jaw in defiance and lower my hands to my sides in fists. “I said I was sorry.”
