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I SLAMMED MY FISTinto the doorframe. I fucked up. Of course, I fucked up. I’d read the damn book and knew she’d avoid talking about her weight, but it still pissed me off. I was a man of action, progress, and very little patience. Getting her to admit she had a problem was the first step.
According to the book, which I finished in under an hour—a Visionary bonus was being able to read in hyper-speed—if her body weight was twenty percent below average, which Rayne’s was, then she’d be a potential client for a rehabilitation center, if she even had an eating disorder.
I was no fuckin’ therapist, but her going to some rehab institution was not going to work for me. Rayne had been through hell in that compound, and she’d experienced and seen things regular people didn’t.
Her issues weren’t like others. Fuck the book.
I stormed through the house searching for her, because whatever this was with her, I needed answers and I was a persistent asshole.
I found her outside standing on the cobblestone path that weaved through the gardens. I watched from ten feet away as the light rain sprinkled her face. Drops slid down her forehead to her cheeks then dripped off her chin to soak into her sweatshirt.
Her eyes were closed and she tilted her face up toward the sky. As she licked the dampness from her lips with the tip of her tongue, there was the hint of a smile on her face. Fuck, she almost looked happy.
And, unfortunately, I was going to destroy that.
As I approached, her back stiffened a second before her eyes opened and our gazes collided.
I stopped in front of her, my eyes taking in her wet hair and damp skin. “You don’t mind the rain?”
“No,” she replied.
“Most chicks would be worried about ruining their hair.”
She turned and walked down the path. “I’m not most chicks.”
“Yeah, I got that.” And it wasn’t because she was sick; it was because there was something different in her. She was stronger than she let on, but it was like she’d given up. Her fight had been too long with no way out.
We walked in silence a few minutes, the sound of our feet splattering through the puddles, which had gathered along the path.
She rubbed her arms and I noticed goose bumps on her neck.
“You need a jacket. Why the hell would you come out here in the rain without a jacket?” It pissed me off that she wasn’t concerned for her own well-being. Not eating. Out here in the rain without a jacket. I might not give a shit about anyone, but at least I looked after myself.
A strand of wet hair latched onto her mouth and I raised my hand and gently pushed it aside with one finger.
What the hell was I doing? I didn’t do tender and sweet.
I snagged her wrist and brought her to a stop. “Babe, you need help. Don’t know shit about what’s going on, but right now, all I do know is you’re pale as fuck. Thin. Weak. And you barely eat.”
She pulled her arm free and kept walking. I bowed my head, took a deep breath and went after her. “Rayne, fuck, I want to help.” She ignored me as she continued down the path. “Jesus Christ, woman, you’re dying,” I finally exploded.
“I know,” she whispered, and they were the sweetest words I’d ever heard, because if she knew, then there was hope. Her steps slowed and her shoulders slumped. “I know something’s wrong. I shouldn’t feel this way all the time, but getting out of this is scarier than staying where I am.”
I knew exactly what she saying. It was simpler to continue what you’re comfortable doing, easier to keep emotions hidden rather than face them.
“I used to be terrified of horses.” Fuck. I hated feeling vulnerable. And sharing anything about my past was like ripping my guts out. “I was seven. Horse reared up, lost its balance, and fell backward right on top of me. Knocked me out cold. Horse was fine. I had a hell of a headache and a broken arm. I swear that stallion laughed at me every single time I walked past his stall after that.” I felt her eyes on me as we walked. “Never got over it. My brother, Ulrich, teased me relentlessly for years, but as soon as I came near a horse, my heart pounded and my palms became hot and sweaty. It was a hell of a lot easier to avoid the beasts than face the fear. So, I did.”
We moved off the path and strolled across the grass to the cobblestone wall enclosing the property. “Did you ever get on a horse again?” she asked.
The earth was spongy beneath my feet, and it matched how I was feeling inside. “Yeah, sure. Had to. Took a good ten years though.” I kicked at the long grass. “Scariest day of my life. I actually threw up on the day I decided to conquer my fear.”
“Why did you?” She stopped at the wall, her palm resting on it.
I half-smiled as my eyes met hers and I raised my hand to slowly trail my thumb down her cheek. “It ruled my life, babe. I couldn’t do things I wanted because I wouldn’t get on a horse. Since you know about the Scars, I assume you’re aware we’re immortal?” She nodded. “Well, back in the eighteen hundreds, horses were transportation, so it limited where I could go. I was sick and tired of the hold it had on my life, so I set a date and decided that was the day I’d get on that stallion. It was the best thing I could have done.” I slipped my hand in hers and gently squeezed. “Is it ruling your life?”
She nodded, lowering her head as a tear slipped from the corner of her eye.
“Babe, you aren’t alone now. We can beat this.”
