Chapter 32
chapter
thirty-two
“You are not weak for breaking. You are human for surviving it.” – Haven
HAVEN
I lock the door to the bedroom and run straight into the bathroom. My heart is a rabbit trapped in my chest, trying to escape. Standing there in the dark, I want to hide. I want to crawl into a hole and never leave it again.
“I just had sex with Cyrus.”
The words tumble from my lips in a whisper. Maybe if I say them softly, it won’t be real. But they are real. God, they’re so real.
Sucking in a steadying breath, I flick on the light and close my eyes against the harsh glare as I zombie-shuffle to the sink.
The bright white light doesn’t just illuminate…
it exposes. Every mistake I’ve made, every crack in my soul, and every part of me that I’ve pretended is no longer affected by Cyrus Vale.
I brace my hands on the vanity and stare at my reflection. She’s a stranger I don’t recognize. My lips are swollen. My hair is a disaster. My skin is still flushed. My eyes are a little too wide, like I haven’t come down from whatever the hell just happened in that kitchen.
My gaze slowly focuses on the large, bold letters written in black ink on my cheek.
PROPERTY OF CYRUS VALE
My stomach drops.
“The fuck I am,” I snap, lunging for the washcloth.
The water runs too hot, and steam curls up as I scrub my cheek with soap much harder than necessary. Frothy, grey bubbles appear. I want to peel the whole moment off my skin.
The words are still there, clear as day. Of course they are. Fucking Cyrus. I rub harder. It smears a little, blurs at the edges, but it stays—just like him. He infects everything he touches in my life.
“Come off,” I mutter, my breath shaking slightly. “Come the hell off.”
You knew this was going to happen.
I shake as the annoying, quiet, and completely unforgiving little voice speaks the truth.
My grip tightens on the cloth as I glare at my reflection.
“Shut up.”
You walked straight into it.
“I said shut up.”
You didn’t trip. You didn’t get caught off guard. You put yourself back in his orbit. You can say you did it for the greater good of the company, or because your father asked, but you know the truth...you hoped this would happen. Deep down, you wanted it.
With a yell, I throw the cloth at the mirror.
It hits with a thud, sliding down and leaving my image distorted with a dirty, sudsy smear.
My hands drop, my chest rises and falls too quickly.
I’m on the verge of a panic attack, but I haven’t had one of these in years.
I sit on the edge of the tub with my head in my hands and focus on my breathing.
The effort is futile. Nothing helps to wipe away the sensation of Cy’s hands on my skin, the dark and dirty words he whispered in my ear, or how he makes me feel…
“I can’t believe I caved,” I say, louder now, the words sinking deep. “What the hell was I thinking?”
I’m not. That’s the problem. I don’t think when Cyrus touches me. And I’ve never been able to resist when he says my name as if it belongs to him. Cy pulls me in with that sexy smile, those sweet words, and that lost look in his eyes. Then he rips the rug out.
Raising my head, the words on my cheek mock me. God. I drag my hands through my hair and stand to pace. It’s possible that movement will somehow help me escape. But I already know that I’ll never be able to outrun the memory.
“I know better,” I bite out. “I know exactly what he does to me, and I not only came back here…I opened the door and invited the demon in. Fuck.”
I laugh, but there is nothing funny about the situation.
“Congratulations, Haven,” I mutter, pacing faster now. “You’ve officially learned—fucking nothing.”
Years of distance. Years of rebuilding. Years of telling myself I am stronger, smarter, past wanting him…
and all it takes is one look. One touch.
One him. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I folded like a cheap suit, proving that it doesn’t matter how much time passes.
Cy is forever in my blood. Cyrus-The-Mother-Fucking-Virus.
Maybe I’m the one who needs to talk to a doctor. Is there a procedure that can pull the memories and feelings out of my head and put them in the trash bin on my computer? Then, I can delete them forever.
Fuck, that would be nice.
“This is a pattern,” I whisper, but it sounds more like a confession than a realization. “You know this is a pattern.” The words echo in my head.
“God, I’m so fucking weak.”
Cyrus is a storm sweeping me away. He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t ask, doesn’t soften. He just fucking takes.
My gaze returns to the mirror and to the smear of black ink still haunting my cheek. Something inside me fractures, leaving me teetering on the edge of a cliff with jagged rocks below.
“He’s done something to me,” I whisper, but even as I say it out loud, I know it’s a lie.
He hasn’t done this alone. I’ve let him. I meet him in the middle of this chaos every time.
It’s in the way my body reacts before I can stop it. The way my thoughts go quiet when he gets too close. The way the anger he invokes somehow settles me. Finally, the anarchy that silently sits in my chest has someone to take the wheel. I don’t have to carry it alone anymore.
Fuck. All of this isn’t just about Cyrus. It’s about me. It’s the part of me that wants to give in and doesn’t fight as hard as I can. The part that lingers in the shadows of my mind, only surfacing and softening for him. I don’t understand, and I honestly don’t want to.
“No,” I whisper, shaking my head, even though the truth is already sinking its claws in and there is no way out of the trap.
If I’m really fucking honest…in a way that makes my chest ache, and my skin feel itchy…I didn’t lose control in the kitchen. I gave it to him.
And for those few moments…I didn’t want it back.
“What the hell is wrong with me?”
What kind of person feels safer in the hands of the one who breaks them? How can I look at destruction and call it relief?
My eyes flick back to the mirror and something dark curls low in my stomach.
“I let him make me like this,” I whisper.
God help me.
I crave the destruction. That is the truth. I’ll walk straight back into the fire knowing exactly how it ends.
“That’s not normal,” I mutter, my voice fragile to my own ears. “It’s certainly not healthy.”
No kidding.
PROPERTY OF CYRUS VALE
“Like hell I am.”
I march back to the sink, grab the cloth, and scrub at it again. Not as frantic this time, but no less determined, until my skin stings and the ink fades just enough that I can pretend it’s gone.
But Cyrus isn’t going anywhere.
Giving up, I strip quickly and hop in the shower. The hot water that normally eases my muscles does nothing to calm my nerves. I go through the motions of washing my hair and body, and it doesn’t shock me in the least when I step out and still feel Cy’s hands everywhere.
With a heavy sigh, I leave the bathroom, jumping when my phone rings. The loud Venomous song has me clutching at my fluffy towel.
“Jesus.”
This had better be important. I march across the room and unplug my phone from the charger. Charles. Of course, he’s calling right now. Fitting. So-fucking-fitting.
I stare at his name, my thumb hovering. I’m about to hit ignore, but decide fuck-this-shit and hit talk.
“Charles? Why the hell are you calling at 4:16 in the morning?”
“Teddy Bear! Oh, thank god. You’re awake,” he slurs.
The words are clear, but slow and thick. He’s been drinking.
Fucking fantastic, just what I need right now.
“Teddy Bear. Oh, my sweet teddy bear. You are my sweet, sweet teddy bear. Kiss me like you do. Moonbeam ice cream, dancing with you,” he sings, ridiculously, and I’m instantly sorry I answered. “Sorry, baby, was at work karaoke. You’re so mystical, magical,” he belts out.
At one time, I would’ve thought this was cute. When we were in college, I didn’t know Charles was a cheating, lying scumbag.
“I’m not your Teddy Bear anymore.”
He laughs as if what I’ve said is ridiculous.
“Come on, baby, don’t beeee like that. God…sooo dramatic.”
“How drunk are you, Charles?”
Even though it pales in comparison to the cheating, I can’t help but find it annoying that he found time to go out drinking and singing karaoke.
“Only a little, wee, teeny weenie amount.”
“Teeny weenie is correct,” I mumble.
“Okay, I’m a lot drunk, but that’s not the point. The point is I miss you…wait, what did you say?”
My eyes roll. Insult a man’s manhood, and they will always hear that shit.
“Nothing.”
I sit on the edge of the bed and stare out the window to the building across the street, praying that someone there might save me from this…whatever this is. I don’t advocate for murder, but right now, seeing someone get shot is a far better option than this conversation.
“Charles…”
“No, listen,” he rushes, words tumbling over each other. “I love you, Haven. I do. We’re meant to be together. This is just…a rough patch. I had cold feet and panicked. I’m an idiot.”
A rough patch.
My grip tightens on the phone.
“You cheated on me. Not once or twice, but with multiple women. You’ve been using your secretary as a fuck doll at work, and then took her to Tahiti. But you couldn’t be bothered to talk about our wedding. That’s not an oopsie, Charles.”
“Okay, but—”
“Did you hear the part where I said multiple women?”
“Details,” he says, like that somehow makes it better. “That’s just details, like the tiny print you don’t bother reading. Look, the headline is we’re meant to be.”
I snort.
“I can’t do this without you,” he continues, voice slipping into a pathetic, desperate tone. “I can’t sleep. I can’t think. I need you.”
A week ago, before I had the evidence in my hands, I might have believed him. Now? It just sounds empty. Rage bubbles inside of me, making it impossible to sit still.
“So that’s why you’re calling me at four in the morning?” I stand up and pace the room, looking for something to throw. “You’re drunk and lonely.”
Knock, knock.
I turn toward the door.
“Haven, it’s me. Can we talk?” Cy calls through the door.
“Great two fucking assholes. Two…two times more fun,” I mumble.
“That’s not fair,” Charles says quickly. “I only have one asshole.”
I smack my forehead.
“No…oh, never mind. It’s never going to work.”
“But I’m calling because I love you.”
Knock, knock.
“I know you’re still awake. I can hear you. We need to talk.”
I glare at my door, wishing I could shoot lasers at the dipshit on the other side.
“No,” I yell. “Go away.”
“Haven, don’t be like that,” Charles pleads, his voice sounding pathetic.
“I’m not talking to you.”
“Ohh…okay…who are you talking to?”
The handle rattles.
“Who are you talking to?” Cy yells through the door.
What the fuck is up with men? Can’t they just leave me alone?
“None of your fucking business. Go away!”
“Haven…” Cy growls. “That better not be the fucking piece of shit ex.”
“Oh! Funny! Like you’re so much better,” I shout, not even caring if everyone wakes up now.
My dirty laundry is already out in the world for public consumption, so why not this argument?
“Baby, come on. Don’t do this. I’ll fix it. I’ll do whatever you want. Just come back.”
“No, I’m not coming back,” I say to Charles, but this entire conversation works for both of them.
“Open the door, or I’m breaking it down,” Cy yells, and I roll my eyes.
“Fuck off,” I growl.
“Now you’re just being vulgar,” Charles complains. “My mother doesn’t like ladies who use bad language. But I like it. Talk to me like that again, and I’ll jerk off to your filthy mouth.”
I cover my eyes with my hand and wish I could teleport myself out of this room and this insanity.
“What the fuck? No, I’m not talking dirty to you. Charles, look—”
There is a heavy thud against the door and I glare at it.
“I said fuck off.”
The door suddenly crashes inward, and I scream. The flimsy lock is barely hanging on as Cy stomps into my room. His eyes are wild when he finds me standing there.
“What happened? Are you okay, Teddy Bear?”
Cy snarls. His lip actually pulls up, and he looks like an animal as he stalks toward me, eyes focused on the phone.
“You…you…just…kicked in my door.”
“I told you I would,” Cy says.
“Teddy Bear? You still there? Are you okay? Don’t be like this. I love you. You don’t mean it, you never mean it,” he insists. “You just need time—”
I choke on my next words when Cy stops directly in front of me. Anger rolls off of him like a heat wave, hitting me square in the chest.
“What the hell are you doing,” I finally ask, my own anger rising.
This really feels like the question of the day.
“Give me the phone,” Cy orders, holding out his hand.
“No.”
“Baby, who are you talking to?” Charles’s voice fills the room despite him being no louder than a tiny mouse in a box.
Cy growls, full on growls at me like a dog, and snatches the phone out of my hand. He holds it out of my reach, so I jump up on the bed. My towel nearly slips down while I grab for the cell. Cyrus just moves further away and puts it on speaker.
“Hey! Give me back my phone,” I order.
He glares at me, and a shiver travels down my spine.
“Teddy Bear, I’m so confused. Who are you talking to? Look, what I’m trying to tell you is she meant nothing,” Charles says. “None of them did. It was just—”
“Shut the fuck up,” Cy snarls into the phone.
“Cy, give me back my phone. This doesn’t concern you.”
“Like fuck it doesn’t. Everything about you concerns me.”
Heat flares low in my stomach, and as angry as I am, Cy’s words spark a whole other kind of burn. Which only confirms that I have serious issues.
“You’re being a dick,” I say, clutching the towel tighter in my fist.
Cy’s stare remains locked with mine, his blue eyes practically glowing with jealousy.
“I can’t believe you’re talking to him after what we just did,” Cy says, and I stomp my foot, not that it does any good on the bed.
“He called me and it’s four in the morning. I thought something was wrong. And despite what you put on my face…I’m not your fucking property.”
“Wrong,” he says, his voice rough, and I swallow hard.
“Who the hell is this? Why do you have my fiancée’s phone?”
I groan and pinch the bridge of my nose.
“Haven is not your fiancée,” Cy says, and looks like a volcano ready to erupt and destroy everything in his path. “She’s mine.”
“What the hell are you talking about,” Charles asks, sounding far more sober now.
All too casually, Cy leans over and places the cell phone on the nightstand. As his eyes find mine again, I know exactly what he’s thinking.
I point at him.
“No.”
He smirks.
“Oh…yes.”
Oh shit.