Page 47 of Tethered Fates

“Summer took from me. That made me feel small, too. Made me scared. Powerless.” I’m talking fast as I go, dipping into a new pink. Something darker but still vibrant.

“I thought I was going to die, Sen.”

I don’t stop. I splash every shade of pink onto my canvas. Fluffy-soft and pearl-strong, neon-bright and suede-smooth.

“I thought I was scared of pink when people I used to call my friends went out of their way to hurt me.”

I push aside the pink—grab blacks and greys, reach for navies and silvers.

“Who gets fucking bullied at university? Haven’t we all grown outta that shit?”

Sweat wets my hair, drips into my eyes. My muscles ache, my throat is raw, and I love every second.

“Like Summer, I thought they were my friends.” I pull closer all the dark tones that make up Sen’s colours, and finally—finally—learn which shades make up all his decadence. “I’ve never been scared to speak. But they forced me to be quiet. Because if I dared open my damn mouth, they’d all laugh like a pack of hyenas.”

I’m moving faster; splashing, dotting, waving. Finding a rhythm in my chaos to create something I can point to and say, ‘This! This is how I’m feeling!’.

“We were at art school, for fuck’s sake, and they laughed at me for being queer when everyone was bloody queer. Laughed at my art, for being short, and black, and quiet, and human.”

I seize more pink. Thrust my brush inside and slash the bristles across my canvas.

“They—my so-called friends—painted a whole fucking room pink. They shoved me in a corner, screaming and laughing. And when I begged them to stop, please. Just. Fucking. Stop. With tears in my eyes and piss running down my legs because all that noise hurt so badly, they got louder and louder and—”

My brush drops to the cold, concrete floor with a slap.

I let out a long breath, deflating as I rip off my facemask and take a few steps back, staring up at what I’ve made.

Then I smile. Really, really smile, even though it tastes like tears.

I tried to create Sen on my wall at home—a sea at midnight with the full moon slicing through the waves. But I had it so wrong.

This is Sen. Me. My feelings. Maybe some of his, too.

The painting is still an ocean at midnight, but now it’s become a storm. The full moon is halved, and bleeding silver across the waves, and within those storming waters are jellyfish—so many of them. Soft and quiet, but vast. Not drowned but waiting with stingers.

Still there. Still me under all that forced quiet.

“What do you think?” I whisper, cheeks wet and awed that I can now explain myself.

Slow, methodical steps—then Sen’s cool intensity radiates into my back, his breath brushes away my curls as his lips go to my ear. “You are sensational.”

My whole body thrums, my cock even twitches.

“Tell me their names, Teagan.” His voice is like the silver slicing through dark waves.

I glance over my shoulder to look at the vampire draped in shadows behind me, his gaze dangerous as a dagger’s edge. “You’d make my bullies bleed, slick?”

“For you…” Sen’s fingers run along the curve of my jaw, brushing away one of my teardrops. “I’d make the whole world bleed, sweetheart.”

I turn into him further, kiss the tip of that finger soaking up my tears and whisper, low and dusky like he really is my detective, and I really am his dame, “Well, ain’t that just the bee’s knees.”

Chapter Seventeen - Sen

Teagan doesn’t give me any names.

But I’ll find out soon enough. He does give me something better—he lounges on the floor, his back slumped against my legs where I stand. His legs splayed and his arms loose at his sides, head tilted in hushed bliss as he takes in his painting, while my fingers card through his soft curls to gently scratch his scalp.

His horrible quiet from the car is gone. As is his tear-stained, wild energy while he painted, like he couldn’t breathe. Only once he’d covered the wall in paint, he was free of each suffocating emotion.