Page 42 of Possessive Mr. Pen

Connor was a monster, but it wasn’t him.He had no control over himself.His blown pupils and erratic breathing came from demons I couldn’t see.

The terror on his face will haunt me forever.Despite all the horrible situations I’ve found myself in throughout my life, I’ve only ever seen that expression once before.

The boy’s name was Heath.I saved him from bullies when I was twelve.He was several years younger than I was.

I shake harder as repressed memories flood my brain.Entire years’ worth of horrors replay as clear as a movie in my brain.

After running away from countless foster homes to be with my sister in the hospital, my social worker said he’d had enough.He drove up to a dilapidated building, shoved me out of his car, told me good luck, and drove off.

All the adults insisted on calling it fancy names, like children’s home or rehabilitation center, but now I know it was the last surviving orphanage in New York City.It was the only place to legally dump the wretched souls society wanted to forget.

None of the other kids saw how Heath got there.He was just on the doorstep one day.

I tried not to care.He was too scrawny and weak.Even I couldn’t protect someone so hopeless, but when I came back that evening from being with my sister, he was cowering in the corner surrounded by the worst bullies at the orphanage.

The way he looked at me… I couldn’t walk away.

I can’t walk away from Connor now either.No matter how much it hurts me to stay, I can’t leave.

He accepts the discharge papers from the doctor.I push my impending meltdown back into the recesses of my mind and point my toes toward the front entrance.

The company driver stands beside Connor’s sleek black car.Parked off to the side so as not to hinder ambulances, he waves us over and offers me the keys.

Connor takes a deep breath of smoggy city air like a convict escaping prison.I thank the driver and open the back door for Mr.Pen.

He snatches the car keys from my hand, slams the back door, and opens the front passenger door with silent demand.

“Mr.Pen, I—”

“Ms.Winthrop, you coordinated the vehicle delivery.I’ll drive.Get in,” he says.

He always drives.Even though I have my license, I take public transportation everywhere.Learning how to drive in my late twenties was humbling.I’m still not comfortable behind the wheel.

Too tired to argue, I lower myself into the passenger seat and lift my feet onto the floorboard.

Connor leans over me and buckles my seatbelt.

A confusing wave of fear and excitement crashes through me, and I push him away out of instinct.He moves back without resistance but holds my stare for a long moment before rising.The stiffness in his body tells of his injuries, but he hasn’t taken any medicines to impede his faculties, so I don’t feel bad about letting him drive.

He’s probably safer than I am right now.With my insides quaking and exhaustion tugging at my limbs, I’m not at my best.

I turn my face out my window and zone out.Numbness rises up from my toes.I embrace it, needing the respite.

The car stops moving, but a few moments pass before I peel my eyes from the comfort of nothingness and take in my surroundings.

Connor Pen drove me to his townhouse.

I sigh and drop my head back onto the headrest.

“Only for tonight.I’ll take the guest bedroom on the second floor,” I announce.

Callused digits slip through mine.

“Only for tonight.We’ll discuss again tomorrow,” he agrees.

I slip back into my mode of numbness and follow him into the townhome.Despite my familiarity with the place, it’s strange to have him here at the same time, even when he walks me to the guest bedroom and goes his own way.

After a quick shower and donning the unisex pajamas stocked in the closet, I shuffle to the bed, but a knock sounds on the door.When I open it, the smell of delicious takeout fills my nostrils and my stomach growls.