I’m not entirely sure what she mutters, but I do catch something about timeframes and open-ended bullshit. This time, I have to turn my back, because hell yeah, I have an open-ended timeframe.
There is not even a sliver of a chance that I’m not going to take full advantage of every moment I have with her to show her that I’m not going anywhere. None of us are. We will all be here, silently supporting her, no matter how loudly she fights us. We will take every drop of venom that falls from that pretty little mouth because we all know that we deserve it.
And even though she calledred, Xavier is right—she doesn’t truly understand what that means. The concept, sure, but the complete and utter removal of us from her life, no.
This girl has never had anyone fight for her. She’s been passed around over and over, left behind, traded in. No one has ever stood by her side when things have gotten hard. Us included. She has fought through everything life has thrown at her, on her own, making the best decisions she could simply to survive.
But now she has us, and we don’t want to see her just survive; we want her to thrive. And if that means we have to create intangible strings that tie her to us, then we will. We’ll strengthen those ties every single day, pouring all the comfort, safety, and support into them that she has missed out on her entire life, until she knows what it’s like to move through life with confidence, not just a heightened survival mode.
If she chooses to cut ties with us after that, only then will we let her go. But I’m really hoping she’ll tie us all into a single knot to keep us by her side.
Chapter 29
Emery
“Okay, I think I’m done for today,” Darcy’s soothing voice calls from what feels like a million miles away, even though I can feel the brush of his fingers against my forearm.
The modeling session hasn’t been like anything I imagined. After that first round of photos, he had me stand in differentareas of the room, so he could test against the natural light and shadows created by the paned windows.
My mouth had so many questions desperate to spill out into the silence between us, more and more piling up as I watched him work. Like, why doesn’t he use artificial lighting to control the exposure? Will this be black and white, like the sketch from his art class, or will he add color? Is there a particular technique he is going to use to draw in the rays of sunshine, and can he teach me? What size will his pieces be? Will they all be sketches, or will he do other things, like paint or sculpture?
But I bit it all back, because asking questions would start conversations, and I really don’t want to talk to him. Questions I absolutely do not want the answers to will come tumbling out, and I’m scared his answers will ruin the small amount of healing I have managed to do.
He brushes his fingers along my forearm, smoothing them down to the palm of my hand, massaging the muscular part near the base of my thumb. Opening my eyes feels like a massive effort, especially considering I don’t remember closing them. I don’t think I was actually asleep, more like in battery-saver mode.
I have zero idea how much time has passed, but my entire body feels sluggish and a little achy as each joint registers back in with my brain. Which is weird, because all I’ve been doing is sitting in a high-backed chair with my arm held out to the side, supported by his ropes and the giant beam hanging from the ceiling.
When he’d pulled the dark purple rope out of his bag, ice ran down my spine. There was absolutely no way I could hide literally every “oh shit” feeling I was having because they all hammered my system so quickly that I ended up freezing in place.
The only saving grace was that Darcy kept his attention on the rope, working to unravel it, giving me the minute I needed to get my shit together. Even half a second of eye contact, and I probably would have bolted from the room, naked outfit and everything.
After unraveling the rope and arranging my current seating, Darcy positioned me before spending several minutes silently knotting and tying the deep purple rope around my arm in a deceptively delicate-looking netted braid, with my palm up and decoratively crisscrossed.
That had then been attached to the rope dangling from the beam, forming a sort of extended sling for my arm. Once he’d worked out the right height, it had been fairly comfortable to stay in that position.
That had been however long ago.
“Emmy.” His fingertips trace through the patterns of the rope, tracing diamonds and triangles as they move from my elbow down to my wrist. “Princess, it’s time to wake up.”
Lolling my head in the direction of the voice, I manage to peel my eyes apart and stare at Darcy, something about his nickname for me scratching at the back of my mind, but I can’t grab on to it. “You’re done?”
Midnight blue eyes under thick brows stare back at me. “For today. I’m going to unbind your arm now, let me know if it feels uncomfortable at all.”
“S’okay,” I reply, allowing my eyes to slide back shut.
“Uh, ah, eyes open, pretty girl. No slipping back into that floaty space.”
Sighing, I force my eyes open and watch as the lines of the rope loosen and tighten as he works it free. “I wasn’t floaty.”
Even I can hear the petulance in my voice, but I don’t want him thinking I was floating for him like back at the apartment. “I was asleep.”
“Haven’t been sleeping well?” The tie in Darcy’s hair is a little loose, and strands have escaped to frame his face.
I shrug, then hold up my brace. “Hard to sleep with this. Wakes me up every time I move.”
His eyes flicker from the beautifully twisted section mid forearm to the black brace on my other wrist. “Have you mentioned it to anyone?”
“No,” I grit out, barely holding back a scoff. I raise my chin and turn away from him, a hot, burning sensation slinking its way through my veins.