Chapter 7 #2
Chase’s eyes fill with disbelief, but he takes a cautious step back, as if the force of my words physically drove him away. At that moment, I realize I don’t have to kill him—it’s enough to pierce my own heart. And it wouldn’t just end me. It would destroy him too.
I wanted to kill myself.
I’m crouched in the enamel bathtub, the shower beating mercilessly against my bare back. I hug my knees and rock back and forth. The harsh stream of water tears open my fresh wound. Bright red blood blooms, runs along my hand, and drips from my fingertips in a steady rhythm.
I can’t close my eyes without him.
Cyrus hadn't come home by the time he said he would, but he sent me a message telling me not to worry about him. I have no idea how I’ll explain the cut—or the fact that Nikky and Chase found me. Because I don’t want my past to destroy my life.
I laugh bitterly, then bury my face in my hands.
I don’t even have a life.
They destroyed me. All of them. They each took a piece of that girl who fell asleep in the evening dreaming sweet fantasies and woke up in the morning full of desires and plans.
My parents died in a car crash. Jamie was shot before my eyes. My sister beat me half to death, then her boyfriend and his friends raped me. And Chase Baker…
I hate you, Chase. With all my heart—because you got what you wanted.
I fell in love with you. But I don’t want to be with you.
I don’t want you anywhere near me. Because you’re the one who did the most damage to my heart.
You’re the one who robbed me of the chance to be a normal person.
You stole my ability to know what proper love should feel like.
You took away my chance to go to school, to experience the ordinary ups and downs of being a teenager.
You robbed me of my parents’ love. You tore my heart from my chest and watched my soul wither.
When I hear Cyrus’s car pull into the driveway, I turn off the shower, dry myself quickly, and wrap my hair in a towel.
I put a simple bandage on my hand to stop the bleeding, then slip into panties and a T-shirt.
I crawl into bed quickly and squeeze my eyes shut.
Still, I know Cyrus isn’t an idiot—the bathroom is thick with steam.
He kicks off his worn military boots and tosses his keys onto the kitchen table. My heart jumps into my throat.
He rummages around in the kitchen, then pauses in the doorway for a second.
The dead silence is shattered by my phone beeping sharply.
Someone has texted me. The air feels dry against my throat.
My heart pounds like that of a rabbit caught in a trap.
Pure terror floods my body, and I don’t reach for my phone until Cyrus closes the bathroom door behind him and I hear the sound of water splashing.
The harsh light of my phone makes me blink. I open the message, and a sharp, unbearable pain pierces my heart, as if someone were twisting a knife inside me. Even though this news shouldn’t hurt this much.
Wendy: It’s done. Hope you’re happy now.
I place my phone back on the nightstand and lie motionless in this deep, sticky, suffocating emptiness while he’s showering. I listen to my barren soul.
When Cyrus steps into the room, he brings the suffocating humidity with him, along with his familiar, fresh, masculine scent. I inhale it deeply.
He carefully lifts the blanket. When he lies down beside me, I snuggle against him and rest my head on his shoulder. My hand slides to his chest, which is dusted with sparse hair. I press my palm to his warm skin.
Cyrus lets out a long, deep, bitter exhale.
“I was with her.”
“I know,” I reply and stare into the darkness. “I asked her to do this.”
He turns his head toward me. “Grace…”
“Now I know it was a mistake, but… I thought I was doing the right thing. You understand why I did this, don’t you?”
“I took care of things at the station. You don’t have to go give a statement. I don’t want you to be in the crosshairs of vultures again.”
His fingers disentangle from my hair and trail sensually down my spine.
“This is all comforting, but I’m still a witness. How are they going to get him? And my statement could matter in court.”
“Grace…”
“Hmm?”
“You forgot to clean up the blood.”
Our hands halt at the same cursed moment—we stop caressing each other.
Cyrus cups my face in his hand and strokes my skin—flushed with shame—with his thumb.
“I don’t want you to experience that horrible thing again.”
I bury my wet face against the rough skin of his palm. I can’t wrap my head around how big his heart is.
I press my body tightly against his and hug him fiercely, clinging to him as if he were a lifebuoy in the stormy sea I’m lost in.
As if he were the only thing keeping me afloat.
But then why do I feel like I’m drowning?
Why does my throat burn? Why does it feel like I’m inhaling water instead of air?
I stroke the scar on my palm with my thumb.
I haven’t told Cyrus how I got it. People already think I’m crazy, and I don’t want him to think so too.
He never needs to know I was protecting Chase.
I hate him—yet I don’t want him to die. I want him to suffer for as long as he’s alive.
An eye for an eye. I want him to live out his days knowing I’m never going to be his again.
“What are you doing, Grace?”
I straddle him and pull my T-shirt over my head. His raw, hot skin—his throbbing desire—presses against my panties immediately; he usually sleeps naked.
My long, wet hair clings together, trailing down my back and over my breasts. I inhale slowly, then let the breath slip out even more slowly through my trembling lips.
The room is dark and quiet. I’m grateful the blackness is swallowing us whole. I couldn’t look into Cyrus’s warm eyes while I’m thinking about another man.
The silence stretches between us. Neither of us moves—only Cyrus’s manhood throbs between my legs. My bare thighs press against his sides, the dark hair rough against my sensitive skin.
Cyrus touches one of my breasts gently. An icy, aching thrill runs down my spine. I close my eyes and press my lips together. I let him touch the other one. His penis pulses beneath me.
He suddenly sits up. I gasp and slide backward.
My pussy presses against his toned thighs.
He pushes his hair back behind his ears, then his tongue traces a slow line down the valley between my breasts.
I steady myself with my hands. His lips close around my nipples; he sucks softly, one after the other, caressing and tasting them.
His tongue drives me close to ecstasy, because…
I don’t remember when I last had a proper orgasm.
He’s kissing me, licking me, caressing me—his mouth never leaves my breasts as his hand slowly slips into my panties.
My muscles loosen when his finger finds its slick, wet destination.
His lips suck, and his fingers rub. My sensitive breasts ache for more, rising and falling softly in front of his face.
His beard is mercilessly rough against my delicate skin.
Cyrus gives me what I crave. He uses me dirty, with no regard for taboos at all. His two fingers sink into me. He lets out an animalistic growl—the sound vibrates against my skin. Goosebumps erupt all over my body, and my nipples harden even more in his mouth.
I tilt my hips higher. His fingers drive even deeper.
He presses his large hand against my pussy—and while his fingers thrust in and out in a wild rhythm, I move my hips to grind against his palm.
I’ve always found it unbelievable how completely desire can overwhelm judgment.
That’s exactly what’s happening now. I ache for climax more than anything else in the world.
I want it to detonate deep inside me and make everything bad disappear.
I want my body to tremble with the force of it.
Cyrus pulls my panties aside and enters me, stealing my breath for a second. He moves slowly, his fingers tracing my spine while his lips and tongue provide a delicious distraction. I sink my fingers into his hard, muscular shoulders and meet his gentle thrusts, urging him to go harder.
He grabs my ass and pulls me down onto him. He’s so deep inside me that white sparks burst across my vision. I moan softly, gasping for air, my heart beating to a wild, frantic rhythm.
Cyrus lies back and draws me with him. My stomach presses against his, and my clitoris rubs against his body.
My muscles loosen, and I let him do all the work, because…
every one of his thrusts feels like punishment.
Being with him burns a raw, gaping hole in my chest—one I may never be able to heal—but…
it would be stupid to stop now. This must happen.
Tears fill my eyes, but I blink twice to force them back. I use the searing hatred burning in my chest to steel myself.
It was him who robbed me of being a normal woman. Of having a normal life.
Cyrus pulls me into a hard kiss. His tongue is impatient, carving violent circles inside my mouth.
The air drains from my lungs. I’m suffocating.
I shove myself away from him, bracing against the thin frame of the bed.
Cyrus is a good man—but he’s a man all the same.
The ancient instinct in him breaks free, and he doesn’t care about anything now.
I’ve heard how he likes it, and now I’ve felt it too.
He slides out of me and kneels behind me.
I rise onto my knees as well. He presses my upper body against the cool wall, and my nipples brush against the wallpaper.