Chapter135 – Small?
She spun, trying to escape to her room, but he was faster. He grabbed her, pressing her back against the wall, his body crowding hers.
“Let me go!” she shouted, panic rising, her hands pushing against his chest.
But he didn’t budge.
She could feel his breath on her skin, feel the tension radiating off him in waves. Her chest rose and fell rapidly.
Then, just as suddenly, he stilled. His lips curled into a slow, unsettling smile. He raised a hand and tilted her chin up with a single fingertip.
“So,” he murmured, “you do know how dangerous it is to be alone with a man. That’s interesting. I thought you didn’t.”
Clarissa blinked in confusion, then realized what he meant.
“You’re wrong,” she said quickly. “William would never—he wouldn’t do something like that.”
“Clarissa, you’re too naïve. Men are all the same. They act polite, say the right things—but behind that, they’re all thinking the same thing. How to get you into their bed and peel your clothes off.”
“Don’t say that!” she shouted, her voice cracking.
“Why not?” he pressed, stepping closer again. “You’re not a child anymore. You really think William spent the whole night beside you just talking? That he hasn’t imagined what it’d be like to fu*ck you?”
“Shut up!” Her entire body trembled now, and she turned her face away. “Don’t say that—don’t…”
But Atticus didn’t stop.
The moment Atticus imagined Clarissa choosing William instead of coming to him—still seeing him as just a boy—something inside him snapped. His reason and self-control ignited, consumed instantly in the jealous firestorm raging in his chest.
Sarcasm bled from his lips like venom.
“Sister… is that what you want? A man? Try me. I’ll make sure you’re fuc*ked to satisfaction.”
Smack.
The sharp crack of a slap echoed through the room. His face whipped to the side, a vivid red mark blooming across his cheek.
Clarissa had hit him with everything she had. Her palm stung, but her heart ached worse. His cruel words cut into her like knives, each one slicing deeper than the last, and her tears spilled freely, uncontrollably.
She looked at him, her voice trembled with sorrow. “How did you become like this?”
The pain in her eyes dulled the fury in his. Atticus stood frozen, his chest tightening as her tears fell and her voice cracked with grief.
Regret washed over him, raw and instant.
But before he could speak, Clarissa shoved him aside and ran for the door.
The sight of her leaving made something jolt in his chest. Without thinking, he grabbed her from behind, wrapping his arms around her desperately.
“Fucking out!” she shouted, struggling hard.
“Clarissa, I’m sorry,” Atticus murmured, his voice unraveling with panic. “I didn’t mean what I said. I just—I got so jealous. When the neighbor told me you went to William’s place, I lost it.”
He held her tighter, burying his face against her neck.
“I love you so much. Please… don’t leave me.”
Clarissa's resistance slowed, but her voice was still heavy with hurt. “How could you look at me like that… say those things to me? You broke my heart, Atticus…”
“I know. I’m a bastard. Every word I said was bullshit—I didn’t mean any of it. But when I saw you with him, saw how he looked at you… I wanted to beat the hell out of him. I knew you’d be angry if I did, so I.... I kicked the door.”
“That wasn’t much better,” she muttered, still angry, but no longer pushing him away.
Instead, she stood there, still and trembling in his arms.
Taking the chance, Atticus scooped her up gently, carrying her over to the sofa.
He sat down, pulling her into his lap so she was straddling him, facing him—so close, it made her skin flush.
Clarissa stiffened in his lap, completely unused to being this physically close to a man. The intimacy of the position made her breath catch.
“Atticus, I…” she began, her voice uncertain.
But he pressed a finger softly to her lips. “Shh. Don’t say anything.”
He pulled her closer, letting her rest against his chest as he wrapped both arms around her, his chin coming to rest on the top of her head.
“Just let me hold you. Just for a little while…”
Clarissa didn’t move. She stayed quietly in his arms, breathing in the scent of him, feeling the warmth of his body wrap around her.
Atticus inhaled deeply, drawing in the fragrance of her hair. He closed his eyes and smiled faintly. “You smell so good…”
“Every time my head is a mess—just being near you calms me down. Just your scent, Clarissa. Just you.”
Her heart thudded painfully in her chest. Her face was burning, but she didn’t pull away.
Atticus held her tighter.
“I’ve loved you since I was a kid,” he murmured against her temple. “Do you remember asking me what I wished for? I only had one wish… to be with you forever.”
He took a shaky breath, his voice dropping into something darker.
“But back then, I was pathetic. Weak. I couldn’t protect you when those assholes bullied you. I hated myself for it. I still do. But I swear, I’m not that boy anymore.”
He tilted her chin up so their eyes met. His were shining with pain, longing, hunger.
“I love you, Clarissa. I always have. Don’t you feel anything for me? Not even a little?”
“I…” Clarissa’s lips parted, but the words refused to come out.
Her heart was a storm, her mind a battlefield. Logic clashed with feeling.
She looked into his eyes, saw the sincerity, the torment, the yearning. Finally, she spoke, but her voice was barely more than a whisper. “No… You’re too young…”
He was only eighteen. The age gap between them was six years—but mentally, after everything she’d lived through in two lives, the gap was even more vast. Twenty years apart in soul, maybe more.
“Small?” Atticus narrowed his eyes, voice dark and low. “What exactly do you think is small?”
Clarissa froze, a jolt sparking through her mind as realization hit her like a bolt of lightning. Her gaze dropped instinctively—then snapped away just as fast. Her cheeks flamed.
“Atticus!” she gasped, mortified, and shoved at his chest in a panic, trying to stand.
But his arm was still firm around her waist, keeping her in place.
She twisted against him in protest—until she suddenly stopped, eyes wide, stunned by what she felt.
“You... you—!” she sputtered, face going crimson. “Why are you...?”
Atticus raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “Why what? I thought sis didn’t believe me. I’m simply offering her a first-hand inspection. Or would you prefer a more... practical demonstration?”
“Stop! That’s not what I meant!” Clarissa stammered, shifting her weight awkwardly away from him. She managed to gain an inch of space between them, enough to catch her breath. “I’m older than you—six years, Atticus!”
Atticus just smirked. “Six years isn’t much, Clarissa. And if we’re getting technical...” He leaned in, voice laced with heat. “A younger man is actually better suited for a woman in her thirties. Women's sexual prime comes later, while men tend to burn out early.”
Clarissa stared at him in disbelief. “Quoting pseudo-science at me!”
He gave her an exaggerated shrug. “Don’t worry. Even when I’m thirty, I promise you—I’ll still be able to keep up with you.”
“Atticus!” she snapped, completely flustered now. Her cheeks were glowing, but she couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eyes. “You don’t get it. When you’re 24, I’ll already be 30. You’ll have women your own age—prettier, younger—who actually make sense for you.”