Chapter 7
1353 Words
SHOPPING TIME
~TATE'S POV~
The soft, melodic voice slices through the fog of sleep.
"Wake up," it urges, gentle but insistent.
My eyelids flutter open to reveal Myra standing above me, her smile glowing like the first rays of sunrise. Her presence is a comforting interruption in the haze of my tiredness.
"I'm tired," I protest, my voice thick with sleep. Closing my eyes again, I try to summon the will to sink back into oblivion.
The weight of the past few nights presses on my mind—memories of Mathias and Daxon, the chaos, the choices I hadn't made but had been forced to accept.
"We are going shopping," Myra announces, her tone leaving no room for argument. With a swift motion, she pulls the covers off me, the cool air biting at my skin.
Defeated, I sit up, letting out a long sigh.
"Fine, I'm up," I concede, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed.
"Good. Now go shower so we get going," Myra instructs, her enthusiasm undeterred by my reluctance.
I stumble to the bathroom, the tiles cold beneath my feet.
The water from the shower is a welcome shock, washing away the remnants of sleep but not the heaviness in my chest.
Afterward, I dress mechanically—blue jeans, a white t-shirt—and stand before the mirror, toothbrush in hand. My reflection stares back at me, a canvas of bruises and shadows.
The black eyes, the swollen cheek—all remnants of Karl's cruelty.
My stomach churns as I trace the outlines of the marks with my gaze, a bitter reminder of betrayal. The twins let this happen, and somehow, that hurts more than the blows themselves.
"What's wrong?" Myra's voice breaks through my thoughts. She has appeared in the doorway, concern etched across her face.
"I hate looking at my face," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Because of the bruises?" she asks, her tone softening. I nod, unable to meet her eyes.
"Well, I take care of that. Let's go to my room, and I'll do your makeup," she offers, her energy reignited.
Reluctantly, I follow her.
"Hold still, or you might ruin it," Myra commands as she stands over me, a small brush in hand.
"I don't. You keep poking me," I complain, squirming in my seat.
"Christ, Tate, I am just trimming your eyebrows," she replies with a laugh.
What I thought would be a quick cover-up turns into a full-blown transformation, as if Myra has been waiting for this all her life.
Myra doesn't just hide the bruises—she recreates me.
My nails are painted, my hair styled, my brows reshaped. When she is done, she disappears into her closet and appears with a vibrant red dress.
"Here, try this on," she says, holding it out to me.
"No, thanks, I am fine in jeans and a t-shirt," I protest, eyeing the dress suspiciously.
"Please, Tate. It'll look amazing on you," she pleads, her lips forming an exaggerated pout.
Reluctantly, I take the dress, sigh, and retreat to the bathroom to change. The fabric clings to me, hugging my curves in a way that feels strange and unfamiliar.
When I step out, Myra's eyes light up.
"Holy s**t, you look hot," she declares, her grin widening.
"Thanks, I guess, but isn't it a little short? And tight?" I ask, tugging self-consciously at the hem.
"Nope, that's how it's supposed to look. Come on, I'm sure my brothers are waiting for us," Myra says, grabbing her purse and pulling me toward the door.
"Wait, what? They are coming too?" I ask, my stomach tightening.
"Yeah, they said they'd take us since neither of us has a license or a car," she explains.
Nervously, I follow her.
For the past two days, I have been staying on the same floor as Mathias and Daxon. Logically, I should be terrified of them, but I am not.
Instead, I feel a puzzling sense of safety—something I haven't felt since my father was alive. It is annoying. Every time they are near, my body warms.
Their touch sends sparks crackling through my veins.
I know I am developing feelings for them, and I know it is wrong. Not just because they are brothers, but because my aunt and uncle traded me to them to settle a debt.
I am a pawn in their game, and I won't forget that.
Trying to hide my growing emotions has become a daily battle. Avoiding them is nearly impossible, especially since they seem to go out of their way to check on me.
They enrolled me in school, took me to the mall to buy clothes, and refuse to let me lift a finger around the house.
"You are not here to be a slave or a maid," they said when I tried to help the staff. But if they won't let me work, how am I supposed to repay my uncle's debt?
"Hey, gorgeous," Kael's voice breaks through my thoughts as Myra and I enter the living room. His smile is warm, but it doesn't reach his eyes.
"Hello, again," I reply, my voice cautious.
"I was wondering if you'd like to grab breakfast," he asks, ignoring Myra's presence entirely.
"No, Kael, she doesn't," Myra interrupts, her tone sharp.
"I wasn't talking to you, Myra. I asked Tate," Kael shoots back, his smile faltering.
"I am about to go to the mall with Myra," I say, trying to diffuse the tension.
"That's great, then you ride with me, and we eat there," Kael suggests, his persistence grating.
"My brothers are taking us, so back off," Myra says, her voice firm.
"I'm sure they wouldn't mind if Tate rode with me," Kael counters.
"Oh, Kael, they would," Mathias' voice cuts through the room like a blade. "She is not going anywhere with you, Kael."
I turn to see him and Daxon standing in the doorway, their expressions dark. Their eyes lock on Kael, who immediately stiffens.
"My bad. I am sorry, I didn't think you would mind," Kael stammers, his confidence evaporating.
"Well, now you know," Daxon growls, his voice low and threatening. Kael freezes, his fear palpable.
"You need to leave. Now," Mathias barks, and Kael scrambles out of the room without another word. I look at Mathias and Daxon, their faces softening as their eyes meet mine.
The warmth in their smiles is a stark contrast to the intensity they just displayed.
"You look beautiful today, Tate," Mathias says, his gaze sweeping over me.
"Yeah, really beautiful, like a delicious cupcake," Daxon adds, his eyes lingering on the dress. My cheeks burn under their scrutiny.
"Thanks, I guess," I mumble, feeling both flustered and exposed.
"Are the two of you ready to go?" Daxon asks, his tone lightening.
"Yeah," Myra replies, and we follow them to Daxon's car.
**************************
"Tate, are you sure this is all you want to get?" Myra asks as we stand at the register, the pile of clothes in front of me looking pitifully small.
"Yeah, this is all I need," I say, my voice firm.
"You only bought five pairs of jeans and five shirts. That couldn't possibly be everything you need," Myra presses, her brow furrowed.
"It is, Myra. Besides, I hate owing people and I don't want to owe your brothers any more than I already do because of my uncle and aunt," I explain, my words heavy with bitterness.
She stares at me for a moment before letting out a resigned sigh.
"Okay, fine, if you say so," she concedes, and we make our way to the food court.
"How was the shopping? Did you two get everything you needed?" Daxon asks as we sit down across from him and Mathias.
"I did," Myra replies, popping a fry into her mouth.
"What about you, Love?" Mathias asks, his eyes softening as they meet mine. I open my mouth to respond, but a voice interrupts me.
"There you are, baby. I've missed you," a woman's voice coos, dripping with false sweetness.
My heart skips a beat.
- Writer
