Chapter 57
CHAPTER
FIFTY-SEVEN
JULIETTE
Alex doesn’t take his eyes off me. Not when I shower, not when I scrub my body raw, not when I lotion, and not when I put on a pair of comfortable clothes… he watches me, and I should feel uncomfortable about it, but I don’t. Instead, I feel comfortable.
“Thank fuck you have some food in here. I’m making you my famous ramen,” he announces.
He starts to move around the kitchen. Slowly, I sink down on the barstool. He doesn’t say anything else, humming as he moves. I’m not sure if he’s staying quiet for himself or my benefit. Either way, it’s too quiet.
“I don’t remember everything that happened,” I announce.
“You will,” he murmurs quietly.
Dipping my chin in a single nod, I watch as a glass is slid in front of me.
It’s water. Wrapping my fingers around the cool glass, I lift it to my lips and take a long sip.
My throat hurts. I don’t know how long it’ll feel this way, but judging by past experience, it’ll probably be a while before I recover.
“I don’t know. I think I’ve gotten pretty good about blocking everything out that has to do with Victor.”
“But?” he asks.
“I’m not sure if I can block out killing him.”
The words come out in a whisper, and I’m not quite sure if he’s heard me. Alex doesn’t respond immediately. He continues to do whatever it is he needs to do in the kitchen for this famous ramen, and I continue not to pay attention to what it is he’s doing.
Then he stops and turns to face me. Flicking my gaze up to meet his, I press my lips together in a thin line and stare at him, waiting for what he’s going to say. He’s got something working in his head.
“You don’t have to block it out,” Alex states.
As if it’s just that simple. I need to block it out to survive, because I’m not sure if I can live with myself as a murderer. That’s what I am. And doesn’t that make me just as evil as Victor?
“No,” Alex snaps. I didn’t realize I’d said that last part out loud. My spine straightens, and I jerk back slightly as if he’s actually struck me. “You don’t get to feel guilty for protecting yourself against a monster.”
I open my mouth, then snap it closed again. I don’t know exactly what to say or how to say it. I do feel guilty, extremely so, but at the same time, Alex is right. Victor was a monster. The worst kind.
“He was a monster,” I whisper. “But it doesn’t mean that it was up to me to be judge and jury and take his life.”
Alex walks to the counter, placing his palms on the hard surface before he leans over. His eyes connect to mine, and my breath hitches. I can see the fire behind his gaze as he watches me, and I’m not sure what to do, so I just breathe.
“Juliette,” he rasps, “that man did unimaginable things to you. He tortured you for years. He followed you, hunted you, and treated you like you weren’t even human. As far as I’m concerned—and every single man in the club will agree—he didn’t suffer enough.”
Maybe he’s right.
“I know I am,” Alex snaps.
I open my mouth to ask him how he knew what I was thinking, but the words disappear the moment he slides a bowl of hot soup in front of me. It looks and smells out of this world. Then he slides a fork and a spoon toward me.
I take the fork in my hand as he digs into his own bowl. The conversation drops, and I don’t know if it’s because he’s done with it or he thinks it’s upsetting me, but either way, I’m glad for the reprieve.
When we finish eating, I insist on cleaning up, then he plops onto the sofa as if he owns the place and flicks on the television.
Slowly, I sink down on the sofa cushion beside him.
My body doesn’t hurt nearly as bad as it did a little while ago.
I’m glad for it, but the instant I sit down, I realize I’m exhausted.
Bone tired.
Alex places a pillow on his thigh, then reaches over and drags me along the length of the couch. I start to protest, but the words die on my tongue the moment he begins to massage my scalp.
I can’t focus on the television show. All I can see are the colors, and then everything slowly fades away as sleep consumes me. The television grows quieter, or maybe I just fall asleep—I’m not sure which.
Then, what feels like seconds later, I hear a deep voice, a comforting one, but I can’t seem to open my eyes to see who it is. Then my body feels as if I’m being lifted into the air. I’m weightless and moving.
I can’t open my eyes, though. I try, but then I feel warm lips press against my forehead. “Sleep, Jules.”
I recognize the voice, the lips, the kiss, and the nickname. It’s Slade. And my sleep consumes me again. I welcome it. I’m safe.