Chapter 45
Istood at the top of the stairs, my fingers curled around the polished banister as I watched Cole guide Ryder through the front door of Covenant House.
The movement pulled at the healing wounds on my back, a constant reminder of what had happened in those woods two weeks ago.
I shifted my weight, trying to find a position that didn't hurt, but there wasn't one.
The pain had become my shadow, sometimes fading to the background, sometimes flaring bright and sharp, but always there.
Ryder looked up and saw me. His face, still gaunt from his time in the hospital, transformed, eyes lighting up with a painful mixture of hope and uncertainty.
"Hey, Poison," he called, his voice softer than I remembered, cracking slightly on the nickname that once made me feel special.
I wanted to respond. I wanted to rush down the stairs and throw my arms around him, to feel the solid warmth of him against me, to breathe in his scent and tell him everything would be okay.
I wanted to hate him, to scream and rage and demand to know how he could have hurt me so badly.
I wanted to forgive him. I wanted to run away.
Instead, I did nothing. My throat closed up, words dying before they reached my lips.
I gave a small, tight nod, unable to meet his gaze, and turned away, retreating to my room and closing my door without a backward glance.
I leant against it, eyes closed, listening to the muffled sounds of Cole helping Ryder up the stairs.
I heard the decisive click of a door down the hall and let myself breathe again.
The familiar confines of my bedroom offered little comfort.
I'd spent most of my time here since returning from the hospital a week ago, emerging only for meals and the occasional class.
It had become both sanctuary and prison, the one place I could let my guard down, but also where I was most alone with my thoughts.
I crossed to the bathroom, flipping on the harsh fluorescent light.
The woman in the mirror looked like a stranger, thinner, paler, with dark circles under her eyes that makeup couldn't quite hide.
My hair hung limp around my face, the once-vibrant purple now a dull, washed-out shade barely visible against the growing dark roots.
I turned slightly, lifting the edge of my shirt to glimpse the bandages that covered my back.
I hadn't looked at the wounds directly since that first time with Cole, three days after returning from the hospital.
He'd been changing the dressings, his touch gentle as he peeled away the gauze.
I'd insisted on seeing, demanded a mirror.
The horror of what I saw, angry red welts crisscrossing my skin, the raised brand in the centre, the Covenant House sigil forever marking me as theirs, had broken something inside me.
I'd collapsed, sobbing, and Cole had held me, his own tears falling into my hair as he whispered apologies that couldn't change what had been done.
Since then, I'd let him tend to my wounds without looking.
Every evening, he'd knock softly on my door, medical supplies in hand.
He'd sit behind me on the bed, careful fingers applying creams and replacing bandages, his voice low and soothing as he talked about nothing important, the weather, a book he was reading, campus gossip.
Never about what happened. Never about us.
Never about the future. Logan kept his distance, appearing only at mealtimes or passing me in the hallway with haunted eyes and a mouth that opened but found no words.
Sometimes I caught him watching me from doorways or across rooms, his face a mask of guilt and longing that I couldn't bear to acknowledge.
And Ryder, Ryder had been gone, confined to a hospital bed while doctors tried to piece together his fractured mind.
Now he was back, and I had no idea how to feel about it.
I sank onto the edge of my bed, wincing as the movement pulled at my healing skin.
The pain medication I'd taken earlier was wearing off, but I hesitated to take more.
The pills dulled the physical agony but left my mind foggy, disconnected.
Sometimes that was a blessing, but tonight I needed clarity, needed to sort through the tangle of emotions that threatened to drown me.
I loved them. All three of them, even Logan.
The realisation had come to me in the hospital, a truth I could no longer deny.
Somewhere between fear and submission, between hatred and desire, I had fallen in love with these broken, dangerous men who had claimed me, hurt me, and protected me.
Who had betrayed me in the most fundamental way possible.
How could I love the hands that had wielded the whip?
The voices that had condemned me? The eyes that had watched me break?
And yet, I did. The knowledge sat like a stone in my chest, heavy and immovable.
They had done what they set out to do six weeks ago.
They had broken me in the worst possible way, and yet here I was, still here, with the sharp, painful pieces of my former self.
I loved them, and I hated them, and I didn't know if I could ever trust them again.
But I stayed, because where else was there to go.
I thought of my grandparents, who still didn't know what had really happened.
I'd called them from the hospital, spinning a story about a lab accident, promising I was fine, just a little banged up.
The lie had tasted bitter on my tongue, but how could I tell them the truth?
How could I explain that the men I lived with, the men I cared for, had tortured me based on a lie?
That my body now bore scars that would never fade?
They would demand I come home and press charges. They would be right to do so. And yet, the thought of leaving, of never seeing Logan, Ryder, and Cole again, made my chest ache with a pain that rivalled my physical wounds.
A soft knock at my door pulled me from my thoughts.
"Cade?" Cole's voice was gentle but firm. "Dinner's ready." I considered ignoring him, pretending to be asleep, but my stomach growled in protest. I hadn't eaten since breakfast, a piece of toast I'd managed to choke down before my English Literature class.
"I'll be right down," I called, my voice sounding strange to my own ears.
I took a moment to compose myself, splashing water on my face and running a brush through my limp hair.
The mirror offered no comfort, I looked exactly like what I was: a broken girl trying desperately to hold herself together.
Cole was waiting in the hallway when I emerged, his eyes taking in my appearance with a concern he tried to hide.
"You okay?" he asked, the question absurd in its inadequacy.
"Fine," I lied, the word automatic now. I was anything but fine.
We both knew it. He nodded, not calling me on the lie, and we walked downstairs in silence.
The dining room was quiet when we entered, Logan and Ryder already seated at the head table.
My place was set on one side of Logan's, as always, the Consort's traditional position.
I slid into my chair, careful not to let my back touch the wooden frame.
"Hey," Logan said, his voice soft, uncertain.
"We have that pasta you like. The one with the mushroom sauce.
" An olive branch. A small one, but still.
I nodded, not trusting my voice, as Cole served me a modest portion.
The smell was enticing, but my appetite had vanished the moment I'd entered the room, replaced by a tight knot in my stomach.
Silence fell, broken only by the sound of cutlery against plates and the occasional clink of glasses.
I could feel their eyes on me, Logan's sidelong glances, Cole's careful observation, Ryder's barely concealed hunger.
The weight of their attention made my skin crawl, or maybe that was just the constant itch of healing flesh.
I pushed pasta around my plate, occasionally taking a small bite to maintain the pretence of eating. The food tasted like ash in my mouth.
"How was class today?" Logan asked the question landing awkwardly in the quiet room.
"Fine," I said, the same lie I'd told Cole. "We’ve been assigned a paper on Austen's use of irony in 'Pride and Prejudice.'"
"That's... good," Logan replied, clearly grasping for something, anything, to keep the conversation going. "Do you need any help with research? One of us could go to the library with you."
"I'll manage," I said, my tone flat. The thought of spending time alone with any of them in the library made my heart race, though whether from fear or something else, I couldn't say.
Silence fell again, heavier this time. I caught Ryder watching me, his blue eyes filled with an emotion I couldn't name.
When our gazes met, he didn't look away, and for a moment, I was transported back to that hospital room, his desperate pleas echoing in my ears.
Please forgive me, Cade. I know I don't deserve it.
I broke the connection first, focusing on my plate once more.
The pasta had grown cold, congealing into an unappetising mass.
I set down my fork, giving up the pretence.
Logan cleared his throat, the sound startling in the quiet room.
"I, uh, I need to tell you something, Cadence." I tensed, bracing myself for whatever was coming. Nothing good ever followed those words.
"My father has been... insistent about meeting you.
Properly, I mean. I've been putting him off as long as I can, but he's demanding dinner tomorrow night.
" Logan's voice was carefully neutral, but I could hear the tension beneath.
"I've tried to get out of it, but he's not taking no for an answer. "