By The Dining Table
1193 Words
"Focus, Sun Flower. If your mind wanders one more time, I’ll give you a lesson in discipline that you won't find in any textbook." — Silas.
My phone was just... sitting there. Dead in a glass of water. A few bubbles rose to the surface, and then nothing. The screen stayed black, taking Ezra’s text and my only lifeline with it.
The silence that followed was heavy. It wasn't peaceful silence; it was the kind that made my ears ring.
"You’re a freak," I whispered. My voice sounded small, even to me.
Silas didn't move. He didn't look guilty. He just stood there with that same blank, bored expression he’d had since I was fifteen.
His thumb was still pressed against the back of my neck, firm and warm. It felt like a brand.
"I'm a realist, Jade," he said. His voice was steady, conversational. "And the reality is that you’re failing. You’re looking for a distraction because you can't handle the work. I’m just removing the obstacle."
Something snapped. It wasn't a surge of power—it was just pure, exhausted frustration. I twisted out of his grip and stood up so fast my chair skidded back across the floor with a harsh, ear-piercing screech.
"Who the hell do you think you are?" I shoved him.
My hands hit his chest, and it was like hitting a wall. He didn't move. He didn't even sway. I shoved him again, harder this time, my vision starting to blur with heat.
"I hate you! God, I actually hate you!" I was practically vibrating. "I've hated you since the day you ignored me at the wedding. I hate this house. I hate that my parents think you’re some kind of genius hero when you’re just a cold, arrogant prick who likes to bully people because you're bored!"
I tried to push past him, headed for the stairs. I just wanted to lock myself in my room and cry until I passed out. But I didn't even get two steps.
Silas’s hand clamped around my arm.
He didn't just hold me; he jerked me back toward the table, my hip hitting the edge of the wood with a dull thud.
He stepped into my space, pinning me there, his body a solid weight I couldn't move.
"Let go!" I started hitting him. It was useless. My fists just bounced off his shoulders, and he didn't even flinch. "Silas, let go of me!"
"Hate?" He repeated the word, and for the first time, his voice lost that calm, clinical edge. It got low. Rough.
"You think you know what that feels like? You have no idea what I feel when I look at you, Jade. Hate doesn't even come close."
I stopped fighting. My breath was coming in short, jagged gasps, and my hands were resting on the front of his sweater. I could feel his heart—it was beating fast. Faster than mine.
"You're just a brat," he hissed, his face so close to mine I could feel the heat of his breath. "Forcing your way into my house. Bringing your nightmares and your baggage and your poor me routine into my space. You think you’re a victim? You’re an annoyance. And I don’t like being annoyed."
A tear escaped. I tried to sniffle it back, but it ran down my cheek, hot and stinging. I looked away, embarrassed, wishing the floor would just open up and swallow me whole.
Silas went quiet. The room felt like it was losing oxygen. He just watched that tear, his eyes tracking it like he was studying a specimen under a microscope.
He didn't pull away. He didn't laugh.
He reached out, his thumb catching the tear right at the edge of my jaw. But instead of wiping it on his pants or a napkin, he brought his hand to his mouth.
He licked it.
I froze.
A literal chill went down my spine, ending in a weird, sharp ache in the pit of my stomach. My legs felt like they were turning to water.
"Salt," he whispered, his eyes locked on mine. "You taste like a liar, Sun Flower."
He leaned in further, his chest pressing against my own until I could feel the buttons of his shirt through my top.
He didn't kiss me. He just buried his face in the crook of my neck and took a long, slow breath.
"You're shaking," he breathed against my skin.
"Stop," I whispered. My hands didn't push him away; they were currently fistfuls of his sweater, holding on because I was pretty sure I’d fall over if I let go. "Please, Silas..."
"Stop what? Stop noticing how fast your heart is going? Stop noticing that you’re leaning into me even while you’re telling me you hate me?"
He shifted his weight, his thigh sliding between mine, forcing me to arch back against the table. The contact was... a lot. Too much.
One of his hands moved to the small of my back, pulling me so close there wasn't even room for a sheet of paper between us.
He bit the side of my neck. Not hard enough to bleed, but enough to make me let out a soft, broken sound I didn't recognize.
Silas pulled back just an inch. His eyes weren't winter-sea anymore. They were dark. They looked hungry.
“You want to be punished, don't you?" he whispered, his thumb grazing my lower lip, pulling it down to reveal the teeth marks I'd left there earlier.
"You want someone to take the choice out of your hands. To tell you exactly where to stand. Exactly how to breathe."
I couldn't answer. I couldn't even remember my own name. I was just a collection of nerve endings, all of them screaming for his touch.
"Chapter Four, Jade," he said, suddenly reverting back to that cold, bossy voice, though he didn't move away.
"You’re going to sit down. You’re going to finish the work. And if I catch you thinking about that phone—or the guy who sent that text—I’m going to give you a reason to actually cry."
He stayed there for a second longer, his breath ghosting over my lips, almost—almost—kissing me. Then he just let go.
The cold air hit me like a bucket of ice water. I stumbled back against the table, my knees actually wobbling.
Silas walked back to his side of the table like nothing had happened. He picked up his pen, clicked it, and looked at his notebook.
"Sit," he said.
I sat.
My heart was still hammering, my neck was stinging where his teeth had been, and I could still feel the phantom sensation of his tongue on my cheek. I opened my book, but the words were just blurry black lines on the page.
I hated him. I really did.
But as I sat there in the quiet, listening to him write, I realized something that terrified me more than the stalker notes.
I had never felt more seen in my entire life than I did while he was breaking me down.
- Writer
