Page 45 of Ladybirds

Her lips part, ready to argue—always ready to argue—but the fight leaves her as quickly as it came. He’s right. He’s never said it in those exact words, but the implication had been there. Heavy and without any room for misunderstanding. “But you—”

“I said you’re mine.” His voice is dry in the wet weather, but there’s a sigh hiding behind his eyes—a fatigue. “That won’t change, regardless of your pitiful whining.”

“Ok, but you see how that’s just as bad? Right? It literally means the same thing!“

“But it doesn’t,” Seth hisses, eyes flashing. “To say I own you is to say I hold power over you.” He shakes his head, a bitter laugh falling from his lips. “No. You are mine, Sara, but only because I am equally yours.”

Sara gapes at him, outraged. “But I never—I didn’t. You are not mine.”

She expects his taunts; a smooth, dark chuckle. Perhaps even his scorn. She receives none of it. Instead his lips pull into a sneer, bitter at the edges. “Not yours? I’ve been yours from the very moment you bargained for David’s life.” His eyes slide to meet hers, mouth softening into something resigned. “I have to answer your every question; forced to speak only in truths. You’re the only one who can see me. The only one who can touch me, but only if you wish it. I may as well be chained to your wrist.”

It feels like he stole the breath from her lungs, leaving her empty and lightheaded. “I—but you never...” she trails off, trying to find her bearings. Her hands grip the bench, bile acidic in her throat. “I don’t understand.”

“What is there possibly to misinterpret?”

She stares at him. The sneer, the callous set of his shoulders. He’s the same as always, but there’s an exhaustion hiding in the shadows of his eyes—a resignation—she had never cared to notice. “Why?” she whispers.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Why,” she repeats, louder. “Why would you pretend?”

The laugh that leaves him is cold. “Tell me, would you have seen me as anything else? Had I... tossed compliments and condolences at your feet, would any of it have made any difference?” He sighs, staring listlessly at the rain-soaked street. “I am the villain in your story, Princess. I never held any expectations of anything different.”

There’s a lump in her throat, an anxiety tightening her chest, that renders her speechless. Silence stretches between them, filled only by the steady tapping of rain on the aluminum awning sheltering them. She doesn’t know what to say to break it, except maybe... “You’re right.” The startled look he gives her is swift, sharp with reluctant hope. “I... I wouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

He softens—mask melting away like wax under heat—and for the first time, Sara recognizes him for what he is.

Tired.

The smile he wears at the corners of his mouth is fragile. “No need to apologize, Princess. There have been far worse heroines to suffer through.”

Sara thinks of the day she struck him—the edge of panic in his gaze the moment she discovered she had the power to hurt him—and feels sick. How many others came before her? How many found his weaknesses and chose to exploit it? She doesn’t have the courage to ask. “Was it... have you always had to? Be the villain?”

“No,” he confesses, as if admitting a past sin.

She nods, hands twisting in her lap. “What happened?” His eyes close, jaw tightening, and Sara realizes her mistake. “I’m sorry, you don’t have to answer that.”

She doesn’t want to force an answer from him, not this time. Not for this.

The rain continues to fall around them—the only sign he heard her is his continued silence. It isn’t until the headlights of a passing car light up the wet landscape that he speaks. “Her name was Mary. Mary Jacobs.” He pauses, eyes darkening. “An ordinary name for an ordinary woman. Her young son was dying in her arms—pneumonia. She hadn’t the money for a doctor. Even if she did, she certainly wouldn’t have been able to afford the treatment. She wanted him to live.”

Sara’s lips twitch into a sardonic smile. “So you gave her a miracle.”

Seth snorts. “By the time the deal was struck, he had already passed.” His eyes meet hers, painfully serious. “There’s always a price, Sara. Always. The man that wishes for riches, sacrifices happiness. The woman who prays for someone to love her unconditionally, receives it from a person she finds repulsive.” He shakes his head, expression softening. “The girl that wishes for her boyfriend to live, finds herself alone because he doesn’t come back the same.”

She sucks in a breath. “It’s just because he doesn’t remember.”

He watches her, eyes bottomless. Sara hates that he doesn’t assure her. Hates that he can’t.

“Do you know?” she asks, words trembling on her tongue. “When you make your deals. Do you know what the price will be?”

“No.” He gazes up at the rain. “I don’t.”

“What was the price for—”

He doesn’t let her finish. “Please, don’t ask me that. You will hate the answer nearly as much as I would telling it.”

His voice is curt, but Sara can see something unsaid dancing in the empty space between them. Perhaps it had always been there—twisting and turning just on the edges of her vision. “You regret it.”

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