Chapter 26 #2
I wasn’t prone to introspection and what ifs, yet I was now being strangled by them.
On autopilot, I parked my car and made my way into the house.
Or at least that’s what I assumed I did since one moment I was driving and the next I was inside.
My memory of how exactly that happened was lost somewhere in it all.
Time was being stolen, replaced by the look in Jasper’s eyes, the feel of his blood on my skin, watching the life drain out of him.
I laughed. The echo of the horrid sound ricocheted throughout the house.
I let myself drown in those memories, choke on them.
It was what I deserved.
He found me, sitting on the floor of the living room, covered in dried blood. I’d been so tired, had needed to sit but didn’t want to dirty the couch. Didn’t want to have to burn it.
Although only flakes of blood had fallen from me, I’d have to get my car detailed. Or do it myself as missed flecks of blood would probably raise red flags.
I needed to dispose of my clothes.
All things that ran through my mind as I was curled up in a ball on the floor. In a moment, I told myself. I’d do it in a moment.
It was the middle of the night.
And Elliot was here. Was he real?
His hand was warm against the ice sculpture that was my cheek. So warm it sent a spear of agony through me. I didn’t move, though. He spoke, said my name. It echoed in my head. From somewhere far away. I didn’t reply. My lips were fused together.
How had he known I was here? Did he have some kind of alert on the door, my brother or Kip surveilling the house through the security system I didn’t doubt they had the connections to hack into?
The details didn’t much matter.
Nothing mattered.
I felt his body curl around me, the heat from his arms scalding me for a second. But even his sunshine couldn’t penetrate where I’d buried myself. I couldn’t grasp on to an ounce of warmth from the man who used to stoke an inferno inside of me.
When he brought me into his arms, I felt encased and entombed by them.
I couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Shame covered me like oil.
I was supposed to be stronger than that.
Falling apart after doing something that needed to be done, essentially going catatonic.
I hated it when they did that in movies, when the hero rightly killed the villain then tortured themselves over the act itself.
I’d thought it was bullshit. But I got it. Killing wasn’t heroic. It was disgusting and selfish. Against nature. It changed something visceral inside of you.
My eyes protested as the lights switched on, and a warm glow bathed the room.
Elliot’s swift intake of breath caught my ears as he gazed at my body. My eyes followed his.
Blood covered me, my torso, my arms. I hadn’t realized how bad it looked.
“It’s not mine,” I managed to croak out, unable to keep looking at the concern in Elliot’s eyes. Horror. He was not meant to be faced with a woman covered in the blood of a former lover. That was not the life he deserved. Yet there he was. Because I dragged him into it.
His eyes found mine.
There it was.
My anchor.
Still holding me down.
Holding me together.
Though I was still wading through the thickness of the fog in my mind, I could see the questions he wanted to ask. All of it was painted on his face. Revulsion, fear, concern. Yeah, there were probably a lot of questions to ask the woman sitting in front of him, drenched in blood that wasn’t hers.
Most promptly would be questions having to do with the authorities. Normal people’s first instinct was to call the law, to seek help. Elliot was normal. He believed in law and order. I doubt he’d so much as jaywalked.
I was not normal. The law wouldn’t help me, if he suggested we call them. They’d put me in cuffs.
If he wanted to call them, I wouldn’t stop him. Couldn’t right then. Maybe that was where I deserved to be. In a cage. If that’s where he thought I belonged, that’s where I’d go. Elliot was the judge and jury. His word meant more than any in the land.
“Let’s get you in the shower.” He spoke firmly, purposefully, with softness but also with confidence. It told me he’d made some kind of decision. He’d been standing at a crossroads and had made a decision. It was the wrong one. I wanted to scream it at him.
I blinked up at him with questions of my own swirling. Did he know that showering me would make him an accomplice? That it would wash away the tangible evidence of my crime?
But I didn’t ask him any questions. I let him gather me into his arms, feeling small and delicate and like I’d rattle if he took a misstep.
But he didn’t. Every one of his strides was sturdy, sure, as if my added weight was nothing but a bag of groceries.
I wanted to look at him. At the contours of his face, to see if I could find the same man I left. But I was afraid of what he saw now, how he’d look at me now. I didn’t want to see the truth of myself in his eyes.
So I kept my gaze on the ceiling instead, my body rejoicing and revolting in the places he touched me. I wanted his touch, his warmth. But he was rubbing Jasper’s blood on him. My crime. My sin was tarnishing him.
With the lights of the bathroom assaulting my retinas, I blinked the dark spots away, forcing myself to look down at my clothes.
But Elliot was quicker, shedding them off me and my limbs which were somehow pliable. I felt completely numb, unable to fight him.
The spray of the shower filled the room with a noise that wasn’t the slap of my clothes on tile, my heavy breathing or my heartbeat.
Elliot made quick work of his own clothes, then after another slow blink, we were in the shower.
The water was almost scalding, yet I wished it was hotter.
Wished it would burn the skin from my flesh so I could shed it like a snake.
Turn into something else. I didn’t make that request. I didn’t do anything but watch the water turn red and go down the drain.
The last evidence of my crime. Of Jasper’s life.
I figured Knox would’ve burned his body by now.
Erasing him from existence felt easy.
Erasing him from my insides felt impossible.
Elliot’s hands on my skin brought me back from the brink.
I was unable to detach from his touch, even in this state.
I forced myself to focus on the movement of his hands, lathering soap over every inch of my body.
The touch wasn’t sexual, not in the slightest. It was caretaking.
As if I were completely unable to take care of myself.
Which was true.
Everything felt drained out of me. I’d held it all together.
I’d done everything that was required to fix my life, to save it.
There was nothing left. I was nothing. And Elliot was holding me together, instead of saving me in the traditional sense of the word by brandishing weapons, drawing blood.
He was washing the blood from me. He was holding me when I didn’t have the energy to hold myself.
The shower turned off, then a fluffy towel encircled me before Elliot began methodically drying me, then himself. Then he gathered me in the towel like I was a child, carrying me to my room.
Still, neither of us spoke. The silence would’ve been jarring if not for the uproar in my head.
I vaguely wondered what he was hearing, what he was thinking.
But those thoughts quickly floated away.
I didn’t have the energy to hold on to them.
Elliot rifled through drawers, putting me in panties, his shirt.
The softness of the fabric and the subtle scent of him did little to calm me like it did in the past. I could barely hold myself up while Elliot put on his underwear.
Luckily, he didn’t leave me standing in the middle of the room, weighed down by gravity for long.
The next thing I knew, we were horizontal. When he gathered me in his arms, I lay there, staring at the ceiling while he lazily drew circles on my back.
Still, we didn’t speak.
What was there to say?
ELLIOT
She was asleep.
Or unconscious.
I figured it was the latter. Sleep was peaceful, something you drifted into when you were relaxed, when your brain stopped running, when you felt safe.
Although she hadn’t said a word, I knew that her mind was screaming at her.
That’s what I saw behind her vacant stare, her wordless shrieks.
Her body was ramrod-straight, even when I tried to bring her into my arms. It was like her muscles were tight as a bow string.
And as much as I wished—fuck, did I wish—I had the power to make Calliope feel safe, I knew that wasn’t in my control.
I was powerless. Just like I had been while waiting for her, knowing she was doing something dangerous beyond my comprehension.
Even with her there, alive and breathing in my presence, I couldn’t save her, couldn’t bring her back to me.
She’d saved herself from whatever physical threat she’d been under.
So I had to trust that she’d save herself from the mental battle too.
I’d done what I could—washed her, murmured empty platitudes in her ear, brought her to her bed, laid her down with me.
She’d gone along with everything, but not in the way she did when we did other things in my bedroom, when her submission was an active decision.
She’d gone along because her mind wasn’t there with me.
She wasn’t there with me. Even when her limbs slackened somewhat, when her breathing evened, and it was clear that she was no longer awake, I didn’t consider what happened falling asleep.
Her body has simply expired from what she’d been through.
I held her tighter. She was painfully limp in my arms. Like she’d given up.
Calliope. Giving up. Unfathomable.
Finding her in a pile on the floor covered in blood was the worst moment of my life.
Despite the relief of knowing the blood wasn’t hers.
Some part of me knew a physical wound might’ve been easier for me to deal with.
I could stitch. Staunch bleeding. But this?
Whatever this wound was inside of her? I was defenseless against it.
She’d fought her battle alone because she was that brave. She’d won that battle because she was that strong. But at what cost?
Though I was ignorant to a lot of what she’d conquered—a fact that infuriated me, even though I understood why Calliope hadn’t told me everything and likely never would—I understood the basics.
Jasper had introduced her to something, and had some kind of power over her. Whatever that was would never go away.
And he was dangerous. Immensely fucking dangerous. Beyond what I could comprehend. She’d known that the only way to end it was to end him.
Again, beyond my comprehension. Killing.
But I knew that it needed to happen. With just the scant interactions I’d had with the man, I understood that the only way to get him out of Calliope’s life was to put him in the ground. It was unmistakable based on the way he looked at her, like he wanted to bring her inside his fucking soul.
And then there was the information that he’d killed Naomi.
To get to Calliope. He wouldn’t shy away from laying more bodies at her feet.
She’d known that. She’d kept that in this entire time.
That’s what the wrinkle in her brow was when she stared into space, that’s why she was on her laptop, tapping away at all hours as if her life depended on it.
Why whenever I told her what to do, the weight rolled off her shoulders, and she looked like a different person.
So yes, she made the right choice. She made the only choice. She had gone into the lion’s den, alone, wearing white and fucking heels, drenched herself in the blood of predators then returned to Jupiter, only letting herself break once here.
Alone.
Because she didn’t want to lean on anyone. She didn’t want to fall apart in anyone’s arms. She would’ve sat there all night, covered in blood, fucking catatonic.
When I’d been sitting with Rowan and Kip, the one thing they’d suggested was to put an alarm on her place, so if she did come home, an alert would be sent right to my phone.
I’d been furious at that being the only thing to do, thinking it wouldn’t help anything. I needed to both thank Rowan and Kip and apologize to them.
That was way down the list, though.
I’d been powerless before. Yet it was now my job to do everything in my power to bring my woman back to me.