Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Ariana
I stared at my reflection in Henry’s bathroom mirror, barely able to recognize myself.
Hallow cheeks.
Dull eyes.
A woman who’d killed her husband mere minutes ago.
Killed.
The word scraped along the inside of my skull. It didn’t fit. It didn’t feel real. It felt like something said about someone else on the news.
Not about me.
And now Henry was downstairs cleaning up my mess. Disposing of my husband’s body.
I should have felt relief that Victor was gone and could never hurt me again.
I didn’t.
I didn’t know what I felt right now.
Turning from my reflection, I walked toward the large shower and cranked the water to scalding, steam filling the room.
I slowly peeled off my clothes, dropping them into a heap on the tile before stepping under the spray.
At the first contact, I released a small yelp, the water hitting my skin in sharp, punishing needles. But I didn’t lower the temperature. Instead, I forced myself to endure the pain. The punishment. The torment.
I tilted my face up, letting the water cascade over me, down my neck, between my breasts, along my stomach, rinsing away the last few hours.
I closed my eyes, finding strength in the pain. In the burn.
But as I did, Victor’s face appeared.
Not as he looked in our wedding photos.
Or how he appeared during charity galas with his charming, polished smiles that hid all manner of lies.
Instead, the face that stared back at me was the one he wore tonight, his eyes pleading with me, wide with fear and desperation, as I raised that knife one last time and plunged it into his heart, blood spraying from him.
My stomach lurched, and I snapped my eyes open, looking down at my hands.
They were red.
So fucking red.
Dark, slick blood clung to my fingers, pooled in my palms, and ran in thin rivers down my wrists. It gathered at my elbows and dripped to the tile, a pool of crimson at my feet.
I blinked once. Twice.
When I focused again, the water was clear.
My hands were clean.
But I still felt it.
Sticky. Thick. Cooling between my fingers.
I grabbed the washcloth and pumped soap onto it before scrubbing my hands. Hard. Over my knuckles. Between each finger. Under my nails until they bent backward.
But no matter how hard I scrubbed, it wouldn’t go away.
Each drop of water was like another droplet of Victor’s blood staining my skin.
So I scrubbed harder, moving to my forearms. My shoulders.
My chest. Then down to my stomach. Over the places he’d marked me like property. The scars and burns and marks.
Why was this affecting me so much?
Victor deserved what he got.
Hell, he deserved worse.
He’d abducted women and did God knows what to them.
He’d drugged my mother to keep me quiet. Keep me compliant. Keep me his.
He broke me apart piece by piece. Told me I was lucky he chose me. Lucky he tolerated me. Lucky anyone would ever want me.
And in those moments, I’d fantasized about killing him. About giving him a taste of his own medicine. About watching the life drain from his eyes.
But I never fantasized about the reality of what that would actually entail. The wet, gurgling sound he emitted in those final seconds. The warmth of his blood splattering my skin. The weight of the knife in my hand.
It wasn’t like in the movies.
It was ugly.
Brutal.
Animalistic.
So I scrubbed harder. My skin turned an angry shade of red. I felt the top layer give way, especially around the scars marring my stomach, reopening wounds I thought had healed. But they hadn’t. Now I feared they never would.
My hands shook as I fought to wash away my sins. But nothing worked. Nothing made it go away.
My chest tightened as I struggled to draw in a breath. The air felt too thick. Too heavy.
“It’s everywhere,” I managed to choke out. “Fucking everywhere.”
The room tilted around me as my breaths came faster, shallower, until I was gasping like I’d been submerged and couldn’t find the surface no matter how hard I kicked.
Maybe this was it. Maybe this was what I deserved. Maybe this was what happened to people who crossed the line from victim to killer.
“Why won’t it go away?” I wailed, still frantically rubbing at my raw flesh. “Why is he still torturing me?” Why can’t I just—”
“Fuck, Ariana,” a voice thundered, cutting me off as the shower door flung open. Suddenly, a pair of strong arms wrapped around me, pulling me against a solid chest.
“You’re okay, baby. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
I shook violently, clutching Henry’s t-shirt as if it were the only thing tethering me to reality. “It’s everywhere.”
“What is?”
“Blood,” I said with a gasping sob. “So much blood. I can’t get it off. It’s everywhere. I can’t—”
“Look at me, Ariana.” Henry gripped my face in his hands, forcing my gaze to his. “It’s just your mind playing tricks on you. There is no blood on your hands. Do you understand me? None. You didn’t do anything wrong. You did what you had to do in order to survive.”
“Then why do I feel like this? Like I’m falling apart? Like I’m being punished? Like he’s still inside my fucking head?”
“Because he trained you to live in survival mode.” His expression softened as he admired me with more affection than anyone ever had. “Your brain knows it’s over, but your body hasn’t quite caught up yet.”
Over.
The word sounded better than dead. Better than killed.
Over meant he couldn’t touch me again.
Over meant I’d survived.
“You’ve been through hell. And not just the past few days, but for the past several years.
You survived things you never should have had to endure.
You probably never allowed yourself to come to terms with that.
To allow yourself to grieve everything Victor stole from you.
He had you so petrified of showing anything remotely resembling emotion because he’d use it against you. Am I right?”
I gave him a subtle nod.
“Then let yourself feel, Ariana. You’ve had to be so fucking strong for so fucking long.
And I hate you had to go through this.” He pushed a tendril of hair behind my ear.
“But you don’t have to hide anymore. Not from me.
You can let yourself fall apart. And I swear I’ll be here to help you put yourself back together. ”
For a moment, I simply stared at him.
At the man who risked so much for me.
At the man who’d lost so much because of me.
It only made the hollow ache inside me become more prominent.
I didn’t want to feel this way anymore. I wanted to feel something else.
Anything else.
Grasping the back of his head, I crushed my lips against his.
He sucked in a sharp breath, but didn’t immediately kiss me back. Instead, he remained motionless as water continued to soak us.
“Please, Henry,” I begged against his lips. “I need you.”
Truer words had never been spoken.
Right now, I needed Henry more than I’d needed anything else before in my life.
Needed to feel something other than the guilt and horror and the phantom blood on my skin.
Needed something to take away the pain and torment I’d been living with every damn day of the past ten years.
And Henry was the only person who could do that.
“Please,” I whispered again when he remained unmoving. “I need to know you still love me after what I’ve done.”
He clutched my face, his green eyes blazing. “I could never stop loving you, Ariana.”
He pressed his lips to mine, and I sighed into him, feeling momentary relief. But Henry tried to be soft and gentle. Gentle wouldn’t make me forget.
I gripped his t-shirt and kissed him harder, our exchange growing frantic.
Henry met my desperation, as if sensing this was what I needed and giving it to me.
His hold on me tightened as he pushed me against the wall, his kiss consuming me, the weight of his body pinning me to the tile almost too much, yet not enough at the same time.
I needed more than his kiss.
I needed all of him consuming all of me.
So I reached for his jeans, my fingers fumbling at the button. But before I could get a good grip on it, he caught my wrist and tore his mouth from mine.
“Ariana,” he panted, his fiery eyes searing me. “You’ve been through a lot today. We don’t have to do this.”
“But I need this. I need you.” My voice broke, and I fought to push down the emotions bubbling to the surface once more.
“I just… I want to feel something other than what I do right now. I want to forget. Even if it’s only for a little while.
Please, Henry.” I hoisted myself onto my toes, my mouth hovering over his. “Help me forget.”
He pulled back slightly, searching my face. For a protracted moment, I thought he might renew his objection. Insist I wasn’t in the right headspace for this. I probably wasn’t.
Finally, he wrapped me in his embrace again, the feel of his body against mine giving me the comfort I so desperately needed.
“I’ll always give you what you need,” he said roughly before his mouth crashed back down on mine.
And this time, he didn’t hold back.