Lost Highway(15)

“I never said it did.”

“Does your life make you sad?”

“I deserved to be someone’s property. I needed to be punished, but you were a baby when you were bought. You never had any power or choice. That’s why you make me sad.”

Quill doesn’t appreciate my sympathy, and I feel pathetic under his disapproving gaze.

“Why did you save me?”

“Tell me why you deserve to be punished.”

“I killed my sister.”

“On purpose?”

“Of course not, but what difference does intent matter?”

“It matters to people.”

“Not to me.”

“How did you kill her?”

I don’t want to speak about Athena when I’m already depressed, but I need Quill to remain close. The storm shows no sign of relenting, and I can’t endure the light and noise for much longer.

“I was watching her one day by our house. There was a lot of traffic going by, and I needed to keep her close. She was only six, and I was ten years older. I was in charge, but I got star struck by Jamie Helms. He was a senior and started talking to me that day. No, he was flirting, and I couldn’t believe he noticed me. I was blinded to everything else. We flirted while Athena held my hand and leaned into the road. I don’t know what she was doing before the car hit her. She often played games with imaginary friends or pretended she was a butterfly or bird. Athena had such a wild imagination, and I loved hearing her stories. That day, though, I didn’t see her. I was only focused on Jamie until she was gone.”

Quill looks up at the ceiling, and I admire his strong jaw while he thinks. “You thought of her death a lot, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Death was on your mind often.”

“Always.”

“That’s why you’re a Death Dealer. Not because you killed your man. Because you can’t stop thinking of death. Mary had the same problem. She wasn’t a killer, but she had a lot of death in her life. It clung to her until she ended up here.”

Quill is making a good point, yet my mind latches onto how his jaw clenches when he spits out the words “your man.”

I want him to be possessive of me. More than anything, I need him to care about me. Reaching out again, I hope he’ll let me caress his cheek this time. Quill grabs my wrist and glares at me.

“Stop,” he growls. “Or I’ll make you stop.”

His rejection hurts more than the blinding lightning or pounding thunder. What is the point of surviving if loneliness is all I have to look forward to in the Lost Highway?





Chapter Sixteen


Odessa




The storm relents after I’ve nearly gone insane. By the time the thunder falls silent, a lock of my hair rests on the couch next to me. I look up from my hands and find the darkness lifting outside the window. The lightning flickers once or twice more before the storm is over.

In shock, I stand up and wobble to the window. The world feels too quiet now, but I can finally take a deep breath. I think I even smile. Touching the glass, I stare out at the woods and think they’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

Turning around, I spot Quill and realize the trees are nowhere as beautiful as this man. Through the rest of the storm, he refused to speak to me. Rather than showing pity at my begging and tears, he viewed my hysterics as a sign of treachery.

Now with the world quiet, Quill pretends I don’t exist at all. He walks outside and checks the cabin. When I follow him, he says nothing. He doesn’t even glance in my direction when I stumble over bones left behind by one of the woods’ predators.

Long after the storm passes, my mind swims with voices and memories. I’m unable to think straight. Not about Quill or the woods beckoning me to walk through them. They promise to soothe my angst. I don’t fall for their lie, knowing only Quill can comfort me.

Demanding his attention, I step in front of him. His face reveals no emotion. He simply steps to his side to move past me, but I again block him. He stares at me with expressionless eyes, and something snaps inside me.

I want him to acknowledge me. No, more than recognition, I want him to care for me. I need him to fall apart when I die like I will if I ever lose him.

Pressing my hand on his chest, I shove him. Quill is a wall studded to the ground. He doesn’t budge at all. Frustrated by his lack of reaction, I press my second hand to his chest and shove with all of my strength.

“What are you attempting to do?” he asks, unfazed by my aggression.

“I’m trying to push you to the ground, so I can ravage you.”

Quill takes my right wrist and raises my arm. “You have no strength in your upper body. You seemed stronger the day you locked me in the room. Are you ill?”

“Don’t you have any reaction to my desire to shove you down and rip off your clothes?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sex, Quill,” I mock. “Now that you’re free from your robot factory, don’t you desire sexual relief?”

Sighing full of annoyance, he shakes his head. “Sex is a distraction.”

“From what? There’s nothing to do here!”

“I meant from my training.”