Chapter 12 There the Deal

Chapter 12 There the Deal
Nadja Mayer
The words spill out before I can stop them. Before I can even think them through. But now that they're in the air, I know they're true. Horribly true.
I breathe raggedly, my chest rising and falling fast.
"It would be better than living the nightmare I lived with Otávio all over again!" I whisper, the ugliest truth of all, finally escaping that place I feel ashamed to expose.
And then I say the rest. The words I've never said to anyone. The words I've carried inside me like poison.
"I can't bear the thought of being raped, beaten, and sodomized one more time."
The silence that follows is absolute. He doesn't move, barely breathes. He just looks at me, his dark eyes scanning my face as if he's seeing my soul. As if he's just realized I'm not just scared-I'm far more than wounded. I'm broken.
And then, in a gesture neither of us seems to understand, he pulls me into an embrace.
I freeze. His body is hard, warm, and enormous. His hands-those dangerous hands-are on my back, pressing me against him. His head dips over mine, his chin resting in my hair.
He says nothing. He just holds me. And something in his touch... it's not tenderness, nor affection.
There's that quality I've noticed in him since I first met him. His touch does reveal his primitive, possessive side, yes. But now I feel something I've never felt, not even with my father.
Protection.
It's as if he's letting me glimpse his instinct to guard what's his against any threat-even if the threat is himself.
"In this house," he finally says, his voice a low growl against my scalp. "You'll never suffer anything like that."
He pauses, and I feel him take a deep breath, his chest expanding against mine.
"I give you my word."
I say nothing. I can't. My body stays rigid, still waiting for the pain, the violence, the betrayal.
He pulls back just enough to look into my eyes.
"But I want loyalty in return. And the promise that you'll never dare slap me again."
His eyes are serious, intense. There's no room for negotiation there.
"Do we have a deal?"
I nod, words stuck in my throat.
"We do," I whisper at last.
"There's one more thing."
My heart stops. Here it comes. The real price.
He looks at me and sees my fear. Something flickers in his eyes-frustration, maybe, or understanding.
"I want you sleeping beside me every night."
I brace to refuse, my body already shrinking instinctively. But then I see his expression-not raw lust, but pure determination-and the words die on my lips.
"Just sleeping, Nadja," he says, my name sounding strangely gentle in his mouth. "I'm not asking for anything more than that yet."
I take a deep breath, trying to process. Trying to understand. Just sleeping. Only sharing a bed. No touching. No violence.
"Okay," I say, my voice shaking. "We have a deal. Just sleeping."
He nods, a short, precise movement.
"Just sleeping, little one," he murmurs. "And we start that tonight."
He pulls away and goes to the bed. He starts picking the glass shards off the mattress, tossing them to the floor with sharp movements. When the bed is reasonably clear, he turns to me.
"Come."
I go. My steps are slow, hesitant. I sit on the edge of the bed, on the side opposite his.
He lies down, turning his back to me. He says nothing more.
I lie down too, on my side, back to him. The mattress is large, but I can still feel the heat from his body, the dip his weight creates. I can hear his breathing-slow, steady, controlled.
I stay alert, every muscle tense, waiting. Waiting for him to change his mind. Waiting for the deal to fall apart. Waiting for the touch that won't come-or that will, despite everything.
He shifts again, and I tense completely, expecting contact. Instead, he slowly, deliberately raises his hand-as if approaching a skittish animal-and places it on the mattress between us. A neutral gesture, like marking territory.
"This is my half," he says, indicating the space around his hand. "That's yours," he continues, nodding toward my side of the bed. "Neither of us crosses into the other's space without permission. That's one rule, to help you feel safer. The other is that when I say 'stop,' you stop. No matter what's happening. Those are the rules. They keep you safe. From me, too."
I stare at his large hand on the dark sheet. There's power there, but also restraint. It's the first time anyone has set rules that seem meant to protect me, not control me into oblivion.
"Why?" The question slips out before I can stop it. "Why care about rules? You could just... do whatever you want."
He looks at me for a long moment, his expression impenetrable in the dark.
"Because you're not an object, Nadja," he answers, surprisingly soft. "You're a person who's been treated like one. I wanted you, yes. But I don't want a ghost. I don't want a bag of broken bones that trembles at the thought of me touching you. And if having all of you someday means I have to wait and respect these lines in the bed... then that's what I'll do."
The words hang in the air between us. They're the craziest words I've ever heard. And dangerously so, because they feed that small, fragile hope I've tried to smother.
I don't reply. I don't know what to say. All I know is fear, and what he's offering is something different-something I can't name, and that scares me even more because of it.
He withdraws his hand and lies down, this time with his back to me, while I stare at the ceiling.
"Now sleep," he orders. "Tomorrow is a new day."
I lie still, watching his profile in the dim light. His shoulders relax a little, but the aura of strength, of contained danger, never fades. He's a man who could break the world with his hands, and here he is, deliberately holding back, drawing invisible lines in a bed to give me an illusion of safety.
It's a gesture that upends everything I thought I knew. It shatters the dark certainties Otávio carved into me.
And slowly, as I watch his breathing deepen and even out, something inside me-a knot of tension tied for years-begins to loosen.
It's not trust. That's still far away. But it's a breath. A moment when sharp fear turns into deep, resigned exhaustion.
I turn onto my side, back to him again, but this time by choice, not panic. My eyes close. My body, exhausted beyond understanding, finally gives in.
And for the first time since I entered this house, since I signed those papers, since Otávio died and I thought hell was over-only to find it had a back door-I fall asleep with a strange seed planted in my chest.
The seed of a "what if."
What if the rules are real?
What if the lines in the bed are respected?
What if, in the middle of all this despair, there's a different path?
Sleep takes me before I can fear the answers.