We Were One Once Book 1 (16 page)

Seattle: Miles
Vanderson

I did close Gillian’s
bedroom door, quietly. I like to think that I was numb or in shock
from what I was witnessing, that is why I remained still and quiet
and just did as Anya said, but I don’t really give myself that
excuse. I have from time to time but not anymore. I’ve given up the
uselessness of remorse. There’s no one around to point an accusing
finger at me anyway, and I can’t blame myself. I never really
did.

I closed the door because I
didn’t want anyone to catch us. I already had that thought in my
head.
Us
. I’d been
keeping secrets with Gillian for a year. This was just another
secret I would share with her.

I’m alone here in my
bedroom, five years since that moment. I’ve relived it many times,
yearning for Gillian to be here with me. I’ve relived many memories
of
us
, but I always
go back to that first one. It’s my usual bedtime story.

It’s like a wound that I
won’t let heal. I feel my lips rise in a smile in the dark. No.
It’s not a wound. That’s not fair. I relive that day because it was
the real start, not the library, not the previous year of
self-torture, trying to get closer to Gillian while keeping a
distance. No. That day, in her bedroom, that was the start for
us.

I had intended to explain
my plan to her that day. I had words in my head that would explain
how we could be together when she was allowed to attend college in
only three short years. I had a plan for slowly getting her away
from her mother; a plan to convince my father to grant me greater
control of one of his smaller businesses, perhaps to set me up to
buy my own, something that would allow me independence from him; a
plan to marry Gillian as one last secret; a plan to make her mother
of my child as quickly as possible. I knew the last would ensure
Martin Vanderson would never go against our marriage, not once he
knew his empire was safe, that I had provided him with what he
never could: more heirs, a stronghold on his legacy.

It was a long plan, one I
had thought through, or so I thought.

When I closed that door, I
knew all my planning was useless. I’d seen through Anya, and she
would never let me have Gillian for myself.

So I closed the door and
did what I had to do to keep Gillian. I closed the door so no one
would see her as she was. I closed the door for the same reason I
never said anything about the abuse I knew she suffered. I can’t
hide from that truth, not to myself anyway. I kept Gillian’s secret
because it was the only way to keep her close to me.

Anya hurt her, but Gillian
shared it with me. She allowed me to see her pain. She never said a
word, but she allowed me to touch her. She’d put my hand where she
was hurt.

I close my eyes again,
seeing Gillian as the light was fading from the windows that day.
It was a cool winter light that cast a soft glow over the madness
in that room. I give in to the call of that memory. I let it take
full control of me like it always does.

“Come closer, Miles.”
Anya’s voice is airy like Gillian’s gets sometimes.

I move closer, but I stop
inches next to Gillian’s bare feet and notice that they are clean.
I notice her toes are pointed. What odd things to notice in the
midst of all her other details.

Anya moves but not in the
way I thought she would. She doesn’t stand; she doesn’t move to
cover herself. She moves her hand to rest between her open legs,
her fingers toying with the hair there. I look down and feel
surreal in noting that Gillian has the start of soft hair between
her legs as well. Gillian’s expressionless eyes continue to stare
up at me from her kneeling position. I watch her blink in
silence.

Anya pulls my eyes to her
again with her voice, “I know you love her. She’s told me.” I
glance quickly back to Gillian, feeling a stab of disappointment at
her betrayal, a spike of anger at her unresponsive stare. “I could
destroy you as much as you could destroy me, Miles, but I don’t
think that’s what you want, is it?” I bring my eyes back to Anya
and watch, fascinated, as she puts one, two, three fingers into
herself. She moans with her eyes half-closed for a moment before
regaining composure, fingers still inserted.

“No. That’s not what you
want.” I nod at her assertion, unable to speak. “I could be
pregnant even now with your father’s precious child, and you’d be
ruined. Martin would never let the truth get out, even if I’m not.
It would destroy him. He’d protect me even as he’d despise me, but
you’d be forever thrown into the icy lake of eternal damnation,
Miles. He’d never forgive you for your part in his destruction.
He’d always keep you at arms-length, and you’d never have what you
really want.”

I know her words are true.
I’d said them to myself many nights over the last year while I
tried to convince myself to stay away. My father would never
completely disown me, not as long as I’m his sole heir; but he’d
never allow me back into his house either. He would keep me away
from Gillian.

“Touch her hair, Miles.”
The simple command brings me out of my thoughts. I look from Anya
to Gillian’s head twice. Gillian stays completely still. I marvel
at her stoic nature against the pain from the screaming bruises and
welts her mother just inflicted. I can see new marks layered over
older ones as I look closely at her.

Gillian’s head is turned
away from me, only looking down, not moving. Her breathing is even
and slow. I reach my hand out and push my fingers into her hair.
Her head is warm and her hair is soft, like always.

Gillian’s changed since I
last saw her though. The softness of a child is gone. Her dark
beauty is even more pronounced with her sharp angles and lean
body.

Anya smiles up at me, and I
watch her fingers move in and out of herself. I move my fingers on
Gillian’s head in the same slow rhythm, lulled and hypnotized.
“Your father is old; his health is starting to go. He can’t live
forever, Miles. And when he’s gone, I’ll let you have Gillian all
to yourself.” She releases the belt she’s still holding and holds
out her free hand to me. I keep my hand on Gillian’s head and grasp
Anya’s outstretched fingers with my other.

And so we were joined that
day, the three of us. Joined in secrecy, it was a fresh start of
sorts.

I’d closed the door and
sealed our fates.

Anderson Valley: Simon
Lamb

Walking Grace backwards,
keeping her upper body tight against mine, keeping our lips
searching each other, we reach the edge of my bed. I trail my
tongue along her salty skin, up and down the curve of her neck,
breathing in the heat from her hair as I pull her earlobe into my
mouth, nibbling the edge. She’s hungry for me, rubbing her lower
lip against the stubble of my cheek, reaching with her tongue to
taste me.

She hasn’t closed her eyes,
not completely, and the lust hasn’t left them either. I let go of
one arm and run my hand down her back, feeling the marks that are
raised and deep. Her gasps aren’t of pain at my touch, more moans
of want. She arches into my hand, pressing herself to my fingers,
begging with her body for more. I oblige her, pinching my way down
the length of one stripe to its end at her luscious ass, finding
another to pinch harder. Her moan doesn’t stop, but her teeth sink
into my chest.

“Fuck.” I grab a fistful of
hair and yank her head away from me. Her smile is fleeting but
obviously a challenge as she licks her lips. "I’m not into pain,
Red, only giving it.”

“How do you know unless you
try it, Trust?” Her voice is syrupy sweet and dripping with lust.
“I could show you.” Her eyebrow raises seductively with her
lips.

I pull her hair harder,
hoping to see her eyes glass with pain instead of just the lust I
still see. Her lips at least lose their smirk. “I’m the teacher,
Red. You’re the student. Apparently, you haven’t learned your
lesson yet.” I pull her hair harder still, enough to lower her to
the bed. Her back arches and legs bend to ease the stress on her
head, but damn her eyes and face! Only lust. No fear. No pain. Her
body responds, but only in its own want. She bends to me, but only
in her own need.

I stare between her eyes,
lost for a moment in my frustration. I let her go, dropping her
upper body onto the bed. She remains half on, half off, her face
still and calm. She waits patiently for me to make the next move.
And I stand above her like an animal in heat, panting and looking
over her naked and inflamed body. I can’t decide what to make of
her willful denial of the pain and fear I’ve inflicted on
her.

Her lack of usual response,
what I expect from a girl put in this situation, is unnerving me.
Fuck! I close my eyes and take one more second to get control of my
emotions. I’m never at a loss when it comes to a woman naked and in
my bed. I’m not about to let Grace get the better of me on her
first night here. I won’t let her see how she’s mystified me. I
won’t give in to the chaos she’s creating in my mind and
body.

Opening my eyes slowly, I
take in her beauty. I allow the marks I’ve left on her to have
their full effect on me. I feel my cock throb and grin in response
to her serene stare. Her expression isn’t giving me what I want,
but her body certainly is.

Seattle: Miles
Vanderson

Fate. Karma. Gillian said
it was our stars. I laughed at her whenever she spoke about her
belief in astrology.

It was one of her quirks.
She’d sit quietly during the day, withdrawn and concentrating,
writing and researching through her charts and books. Then she’d
read our horoscopes from that day to each of us before going to
bed. She always wanted to know if they were accurate, if our days
had played out the way the stars had told her to write them. It was
odd that she usually gave us our horoscopes for the day that had
already been, not the future that could still be, but it was a part
of her quirk.

Father indulged her little
hobby. He’d ask her for a prediction about one of his business
dealings, and she’d very seriously answer him. He never laughed at
her.

Anya was less indulgent of
course, but she remained quiet since Father seemed amused by it.
She’d laugh along with me, acting as if her daughter was a great
joy to her. I knew the truth.

Neither of us laughed that
night though. Gillian read her daily predictions as usual, but she
only asked Father for an accuracy rating. She already knew that her
stars had spoken the truth for the rest of us.

I don’t remember the
specifics of her predictions that night. I only remember the
feeling they created in me as she read them aloud. I kept glancing
at Father, hoping that he wouldn’t get suspicious of their not so
hidden meaning. Gillian was all but spelling out the events of that
day, a confession through astrological charting, planetary
alignments and conjunctions.

Anya and I remained silent,
not looking at each other at all. Gillian went to bed early that
night. I stayed awake long after the rest of the house went dark
and quiet.

It was the start of my
almost nightly ritual of reliving the events of that day over
again. I sat in the library with a forgotten and unfinished glass
of something in my hand, the fire burning my unblinking eyes, and I
relived the scene from earlier in Gillian’s bedroom.