Page 198 of Fixation
When I offered him my wrists. They’re now bound to the front of my body with an IV tube.
He likes it that way. And if it makes him feel like he owns me, then I love it too.
“It was him, yes.” My eyes water. A groan rises in my throat.
Anderson might not be frustrated about the whole situation and the recurring nightmares, but I am.
“I don’t want this memory to haunt me for the rest of my life.” I scowl. “I don’t want this.”
“Nothing but me will haunt you, Harper,” he deadpans, not an ounce of warmth in his voice. I don’t need it. I actually feel safer when he’s mean like that. “I’ve got you. You’re my brave girl. Nothing can harm you.”
“He was…” The nightmare still has its claws in me and I shiver. I feel trapped. The bindings at my wrists suddenly feel unbearable. Now. Now.Now. “He was there.”
I fight against the binding, my hands rubbing together.
Anderson flips me to my other side so that I’m facing him. My panic rises despite the confidence in his eyes.
“Let me go.” I rub my hands faster, trying desperately to break free. “Let me out of here. I’m fucked in the head. Can’t you see that?”
“You aren’t.” He’s patient. How can he? I’m not the same woman he met weeks ago. “You’re my perfect girl.”
“I’m not!”
“Yes, you fucking are. And you’re done crying over him.” Anderson’s hate toward the man who hurt me is palpable. A thriving, vengeful emotion that shares the air with us. He’d kill the guy all over again if he could. “You’re mine. Your pain is mine. Your tears are mine. Soon, we’ll have babies together. You’ll see, it’s all going to work out.”
The overwhelming sense of belonging makes me cry. Makes me weep.
He stares at me, and I see it in the dark. His murderous glare. His hopelessness.
He’d shove his hands into my body and claw the pain out by force if he could.
He would.
“Please,” I beg him, not for the first time. It won’t be the last. “Please.”
“I’ve got you.”
I feel his promise down to my marrow.
Then I feel his hands all over me.
The IV tube is gone. My wrists are free.
He hugs me to him, one hand on the back of my head, another firm on my back.
He’s my source of warmth.
He’s the epitome of power.
He’s mine.
Despite wearing clothes, my soul feels bare to him.
That’s why I tell him what he has to know.
“Anderson.”
A kiss to my forehead. “Yes, kitten?”
