Affliction by Jenika Snow

Author:Jenika Snow [Snow, Jenika]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Jenika Snow
Published: 2017-04-03T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter 13

I could have gotten lost in a home this big, with so many rooms it was an endless labyrinth. The cold floors were unforgiving on my bare feet, and although I could have put shoes on, blocking out the rigid feeling, putting a barrier between the two, I liked the sensations.

It made me feel like I was here, that I wasn’t dreaming, wasn’t conjuring up this entire situation.

After the solarium encounter Cameron had gotten a phone call. He’d excused himself like we hadn’t just done something dark and…good? God, I didn’t know anymore, didn’t know what to think, didn’t know if I should embrace what I felt and ignore the nagging in the back of my head that told me I shouldn’t want this.

But the truth was I did want this. I was tired of the feeling of being nowhere, yet surrounded by everything. I didn’t fit in anywhere, and I realized that in Cameron’s presence. I might cry for him, my body instinctively wanting to submit, but being in his presence told me exactly how fragile I was.

It made me realize I really was here, experiencing the world.

But I’d never been one to freely give in, never been a woman who just took what the world gave her. I’d fought for where I was, even if that place was shitty and broken down.

I stopped in front of the window that overlooked the gardens. Despite the April weather being somewhat warm, I saw the wind pick up, brushing along the leaves, telling me that it was colder than it looked. Putting my hand on the glass proved my point, the chilled pane bringing a sting to my palm.

The house felt still, empty, and the only staff I’d seen were those few during breakfast, when I’d first arrived, and the woman who’d come into the room just this morning. I had a feeling if Cameron had been there she wouldn’t have dared enter. He just brought out the instinctual fear in people. That much I’d felt myself.

I moved my hand from the glass and turned, making my way down another long hallway, and stopped at one of the only open doors I’d seen so far. It looked like a sitting room, or what I assumed one of those rooms would look like if I’d ever been in one. Dark furniture was placed in the center, and large windows were on either side of the room.

The marble fireplace sat unused, clean, pristine, as if it was just for show. Behind me were rows upon rows of books, and although I wasn’t much of a reader, I did find myself moving toward them. Old leather-bound books which spoke of age, time, stared back at me. I ran my hands over them, the ridges on the spines a texture that pleased me for some reason.

No pictures. Nothing personal.

The thought came to me like a flickering light on its last leg. Why weren’t there any pictures of Cameron? Why did this seem so impersonal,

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