39
THEA
“Oh no,” I groan, throwing the covers off of me and running to the bathroom. It’s the fourth time today I’ve thrown up. It started a few days ago with a migraine that I chalked up to stress. Then the nausea and exhaustion came. Last night, it turned into full-blown abdominal pain and vomiting.
I couldn’t even go into work today, having to cancel the two clients I’d managed to book for boudoir sessions.
Laying on the cold tile of the bathroom, I’m disgusted that my cheek’s pressed to the floor. But I don’t have the energy to stand. My head is pounding and my whole body hurts. What deathly virus is destroying me? It’s probably from doing those family photoshoots with germy little kids.
“Hey, my love, I brought you some water.” I see Cole’s figure, tilted and towering, from the corner of my eye. “Let’s get you back in bed.” He helps me off the floor.
I’m thoroughly disgusting, yet Cole has been caring for me non-stop. He’s kept me hydrated and fed—well, as fed as I can be. Mostly, I eat broth and rice, although it’s hard to keep that down.
The only good thing to come out of all of this is that he hasn’t brought up his stay at home girlfriend offer again. I hope he’s forgotten about it or realized I’m not interested in that kind of life.
He grabs a damp washcloth from the nightstand and wipes my brow once I’m back in bed. “Thank you,” I say, laying a hand on his arm. “Wesley’s taking me to the doctor today. Hopefully, they can tell me what horrid thing has infected me and maybe I can get some meds.”
Cole’s brows pop up in surprise. “Oh, I didn’t know you had an appointment. You’ll get over this in a day or two. Are you sure you want to go out feeling like this?”
He’s so sweet.“Yes, I’m just going to have them swab for the flu and whatever else that’s going around. I won’t be gone long.” He nods and asks if I need anything else.
My appointment is in two hours, which means I can sleep for one before getting ready. It isn’t hard—my eyes are heavy and I quickly slip into the darkness.
The ringing pierces through the layers of sleep that weigh me down. I don’t want to answer it, but it feels like it won’t stop—that shrill sound becomes impossible to ignore.
I pry my eyes open and my hand slaps around on the nightstand a few times before landing on my phone. The number isn’t familiar, however, it’s local.
“Hello,” I mumble.
The person on the other end clears their throat. “Hi, Ms. Griffin?” I don’t recognize the voice.
“Yes. Who’s this?”
“Great. This is Detective Santos with the Willow Hill Police Department. I wanted to call about the ongoing investigation into the break in at your studio.”
That pushes away the last remnants of sleep. My ears perk up to hear what she has to say. “Do you have any updates?” I don’t want to sound too hopeful, yet I can’t help it. I need concrete evidence that pins this on Gavin—not only to file charges and get a restraining order, but also to prove to Cassie that her accusations are completely off.
I’ve avoided going to the police for so long, hoping that Gavin would get bored. The break in was the final straw. While I told Detective Santos that I thought it might be Gavin when she asked if there was anyone who might want to target us, I didn’t tell her about the other things. Him grabbing me, the notes, the car, because Cassie was right. I have no evidence and honestly, if they can get him on this, I’ll be happy.
“As you know, we dusted for fingerprints, analyzed the footage from your security camera, as well as pulled footage from some of the other businesses who also have cameras. We didn’t find any fingerprints, but I think we knew that was to be expected, considering the culprit wore gloves. As for the video footage, this person knew what they were doing. They left their face coverings on and walked out of sight of the cameras to where they likely parked their car. So we weren’t able to tie a vehicle to them. At this time, we have talked with the business owners near your studio and have posted on social media asking for tips. If we get any promising leads, we’ll let you know. If you have questions, please give me a call. Do you still have my card?”
I’m vaguely listening to her voice by the time she stops speaking. No information. No evidence. No leads. “Yes,” I answer.
The line goes dead. It takes a moment to pull the phone from my ear. Gavin is getting away with this and all I can do is wonder what he’ll do next.
Is he satisfied with everything he’s ruined so far? How far will he go to make my life a living hell?
Wesley’s driving me home from my appointment in his speedy little BMW. The last time I was in it, Cole had his hand between my legs. The memory makes my cheeks heat.
“You okay?” Wes glances over at me, which only makes me blush harder.
“Yeah, just ready to lie down.” He nods.
“What does he think you have?”
Dr. Yarbor, my primary care physician, is a sweet, older man who’s understanding and a good listener. Despite those wonderful traits, he insisted on doing a pregnancy test after I listed my symptoms. Sutton asked yesterday if it could be possible. Like I told both of them, I’m on birth control and haven’t missed any pills.
That didn’t stop my nerves from coming to life as I waited alone in the exam room. Thankfully, he came back with the negative result and moved onto swabbing me for the flu. That came back negative as well. While he was sure I had some other kind of virus, he did express concern that I could have had a gluten exposure. My symptoms are extreme however, the bloating, migraine, and fatigue made him insist on having the nurse take some blood.
I left with instructions to rest, drink plenty of fluids, and to eat a bland diet. He promised to call me with the results of my blood work.
“Probably a virus, but he’s testing to see if I somehow came into contact with gluten.” Wesley studies me.
“Gluten can cause all of this?” He’s shocked. I’m not surprised. Most people don’t realize how badly someone like me can react to gluten. “I mean, I know Sutton said you can get sick, but…” He runs a hand through his unkempt hair before lacing his fingers in mine. “I’m sorry you’re feeling horrible.” He pulls my hand to his mouth, giving a sweet kiss.
I’m still shocked at the night and day difference with Wes. When I first met him, he was cold and mean even. He wanted nothing to do with me. The way he stares at me, like he is right now, is warm and compassionate, like he’s let his walls down. He gives me a wide smile and I can’t help but return it.
“How did it go today?” I ask. “What adventure did your client want to go on today?”
“This was a new client. She isn’t very experienced. So we did a hike and talked about her goals. She’s interested in doing some rafting and possibly some climbing, but we’re going to work on building her endurance.” More power to her, I think. Climbing is a hard no for me.
I smile at him. “I’m glad it went well. Maybe I can tag along on one of your adventures sometime. Something easy.” I laugh a little.
“I’d love that,” he replies genuinely.
Looking out the window at the blur of trees as we speed towards the house, I realize I’m feeling a little better. Maybe it’s in my head. I don’t care if it is, I’ll take it.
A song I recognize pulses through the speakers and I sing along, bobbing my head to the heavy, raw beat.
“Wait a fucking minute,” Wesley blurts out. “You know this song?”
I bark out a laugh at his surprise. “I might’ve gone down a rabbit hole with some of the bands you sent me.” Playfully, I push his face back towards the road. “Don’t kill us,” I tease. Wesley’s jaw is still slack, however, I don’t pay him any mind. This time, I sing louder, practically screaming the lyrics.
When the shock wears off, he joins in. We serenade each other the whole way home.
Just like Dr. Yarbor said, the virus subsided only two days after my appointment. There’s still some lingering aches and minor bloating, but I’m feeling much better. I’m even going to work tomorrow.
Rescheduling my clients the last few days has been hard on me. I need the money and being sick set me back. I have a full weekend booked with mini family photoshoots and I’m actually excited. I need to get out of the house, even if it’s doing something I typically don’t look forward to.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
I’m sitting in the living room when I hear someone at the front door. It’s entirely foreign. I can’t recall anyone coming to the house since I’ve been here.
Glancing around, I wait to see if someone else is going to open it. Damian is home, so I’m not sure if it’s inappropriate to answer the door. However, when he doesn’t come, I decide to.
Through the window I see a young man, looking around aimlessly.
“Hi, can I help you?” I ask the gangly kid as I peek my head out. He can’t be more than twenty. His head is a mess of blonde hair. There’s an even lighter dusting of wisps above his lip. In his hands is a bouquet.
His voice is pitchy. “Yes. Delivery for Thea. Is that you?”
“Uh, yes.” He shoves the flowers into my hands and then asks me to sign for it.
I close the door with my foot, cradling the glass vase in the crook of my arm. Plucking the note from the plastic holder in the center, I wonder if they’re from Cassie.
We still haven’t spoken much and even less since I’ve been sick aside from her sending a clipped text saying she hoped I’d get well soon. Maybe she feels bad and wants to extend an olive branch.
Flipping it open, I read the scribble of black ink.
You’re mine. Keep acting like a slut and getting sick will be the least of your worries.
The vase falls to the floor. I distantly hear it shatter. I think some shards have cut my foot because I suddenly feel a trail of warmth over my toes. But that doesn’t matter. I reread the words two more times, my eyes blurring with wetness until the letters blend together.
“Jesus, what happened?” Damian’s voice barks out from behind me. “Thea, you’re bleeding.” I want to react. I want to say something. I want to clean up the mess so that no one else gets cut, yet I’m paralyzed as the pieces slowly connect.
Gavin called me a slut at the carnival. Also in the texts. He sent flowers…flour…my recent sickness. Did he somehow…contaminate my food? Is this confirmation that he’s been in this house? My stomach churns at the thought.
It doesn’t matter how he did it. His confession is clear.
Damian takes the note that’s still between my fingers and reads it. “That fucking piece of shit.” He’s scooping me up, breaking me from my trance. Putting me on the kitchen island, he stares at me with all seriousness. “Princess, does this mean what I think it does? Did he—” I nod before he can finish. “How? You’re either at the studio, bookstore, bakery, or here. You don’t go anywhere. How would have tampered with your food?”
I can’t answer him. If he finds out that my theory is that Gavin has a key…I don’t know what he’ll do. If he finds out I’ve been lying this whole time…. The thought both hurts and scares me. I’m vaguely aware of the hot tears that start rolling down my face. That familiar numbness is warring with anger, fear, and the need for revenge—making it all spill over in the form of crying.
“Hey, hey,” Damian soothes, cradling my face in his hands. “He won’t get away with this.” His pale blue eyes have softened around the edges, but I can see the fury just below the surface.
“What do you mean? He’s gotten away with everything? Who’s going to stop him?” The questions pour out of me in choked sobs. “He isn’t afraid of you. Can’t you see that? I live here, surrounded by all of you, and he still made me sick.” I’m careful not to reveal too much.
He drops his hands and shakes his head. “I didn’t want to say anything until I had some information to tell you.” My eyes narrow, trying to figure out what he’s talking about. “After your landlord sent the picture of the note, I started working on tracking down Gavin.” Damian holds up his hands to manage my interest. “I don’t know much yet, but as soon as I do, you’ll be the first to know. Like I said, he won’t get away with this.”
I believe that he thinks he can stop Gavin, although I’m not sure if he actually can. I’ve been brushing off my ex’s behavior, fooling myself into believing that he’ll get bored with me. He’s not. If anything, he’s becoming more obsessed. Something deep down tells me he won’t stop until he gets me…one way or another.
Damian turns and reaches into a drawer behind him, pulling out a first aid kit. Carefully, he removes the tiny shards of glass from my skin before disinfecting and bandaging the cuts.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” He’s mostly ignored me since the day I left to go to Cassie’s, when he told me not to. I figured he was upset with me, but I didn’t think it would last this long.
His brows pull together. “What do you mean? Why wouldn’t I be? You’re hurt.”
“Well, you’ve been giving me the cold shoulder for a week and a half. I’m not sure why you’re helping me now. I can do this myself.” I try to grab the bandaid from him. He pulls it away.
His face smooths in understanding. Damian puts the last bandage on, swatting my hand away when I try to do it. Then he steps away, leaning his back against the counter across from where I sit.
His hand runs over his jaw—the scruff is a bit longer these days. I notice that his eyes look tired as well. He hasn’t been sleeping well or at all. Is this from the work drama Wesley mentioned? Or is it from trying to find Gavin?
“I’m not giving you the cold shoulder.” My chin tips down and I raise a brow. “Fine, maybe a little. You didn’t listen when I told you to stay here. Considering everything going on, I don’t want you getting hurt. I’m trying to protect you and you’re…you’re being stubborn.”
I can’t argue with him. It’s clear I’m not safe when I don’t know where Gavin is lurking or what his next move will be. He’s put his hands on me, broken into my workplace and possibly my temporary home, and essentially poisoned me. However, I don’t take well to being given orders. Damian wants me to fall in line like the others do.
That day in the gym, I was vulnerable and told him I’d work on needing him more, letting him care for me in his own way. He didn’t believe me. I’ve asked him to show me something real. He hasn’t. Damian wants all the benefits of having me depend on him without giving me anything in return.
Studying his face, I wonder why he’s like this. Why doesn’t he let anyone care for him the way he cares for everyone else? My chest aches thinking about how lonely Damian must be, at least emotionally.
It’s against my better judgment. I want to stand my ground. That’s what the new Thea’s supposed to be doing. Yet something tugs at me. He needs to open up, so I shove away my pride.
I let out a sigh. “I’m sorry I didn’t take your feelings into consideration. I’m used to watching out for myself. Having so many people around that want to care for me…protect me, is unusual. But you don’t have to punish me. I’m trying my best.”
Damian chuckles low, making my eyes narrow. “Oh princess, that wasn’t your punishment.” The wording and the sudden gleam of deviousness in his eyes makes my back straighten.
“I-uh…what does that mean?” I swallow thickly. Nervousness thrums through me.
He pushes off of the counter and steps towards me until he’s between my legs.
The last time we were this close, I was practically begging him to kiss me. My cheeks burn, remembering how he essentially rejected me. I should move. I should put some distance between us.
But Damian’s presence is intoxicating, making my pulse race even though he’s barely touching me. My head feels hazy and my mouth dry. His hands grip the counter on either side of my legs. I could scramble backwards if I wanted to, yet I feel entirely caged in and part of me doesn’t want to be released.
“I’m keeping a tally. Each time you disrespect or disobey me, you’ll be punished.” Damian’s gaze drops to my mouth.
My voice comes out shakier than I’d like. “What kind of punishment?” My mind runs through the things he could do. Kick me out. Ask for the rent money back. Ban Cole and the others from seeing me. My body trembles at the possibilities of how my life could get so much worse.
Damian takes a lock of my hair and twirls it around his finger. “That’s up for negotiation. I’m not completely unreasonable.” He leans in so that we are cheek to cheek. Whispering in my ear, he lists what he has in mind. “I could spank you.” My breath hitches. “Tie you up.” Fuck, why is this doing something for me? “Gag that defiant little mouth of yours.” My hips involuntarily push towards him, however, he backs up an inch. “Or maybe I could get you so close to coming and then take it away…over and over again, until I feel you deserve it.”
He pulls away completely and a rush of cold air replaces his body heat. Damian’s eyes study me, cataloging all the signs that tell him I’m turned on. I can’t help the way he makes my body react. He’s reveling in the power he has over me.
I hate that Damian knows I would give myself to him entirely, and he’s the one choosing not to take it further. Fuck him.
Once I compose myself, giving him a deep scowl. He lets out a little laugh at my annoyance. Stepping forward once more, he puts his hands on my waist, hoisting me down from the island. Although he doesn’t let go right away. Instead, he brings a hand to my face. Squeezing the sides of my mouth roughly, making my lips form an O.
“Just remember, princess, you are mine to pamper but you are also mine to punish. I’ll decide when and where you’ll get either.” He lets my mouth go and walks back towards his room.
I want to yell after him that he isn’t the boss of me. He can’t tell me what to do, yet the knowledge that he’s keeping count of my missteps stops me.
Part of me is nervous about the extent of his punishments. Are they playful or painful? I’ve never had anyone punish me. That’s where the other part of me comes in. A rush of excitement courses through me at the thought of him doing those things to me.
If I keep disobeying him will he break down faster? Can I push him to punish me sooner than whatever timeline he has in his head? Do I want to be punished? A shiver runs over my skin at these contrasting feelings.
Pushing them away as best I can, I get the mess of glass, blood, water, and flowers cleaned up.