Page 73 of Beautiful Scars

Chapter 18

MEISIE

Ifeel my buttons pop off. I feel the fabric slide away from my skin. I feel the cold air caressing my exposed skin.

But it’s only when Cillian’s gaze touches me—so hot compared to the cool, air-conditioned room-—that I’m dragged kicking and screaming back to reality.

Somehow, in my mind, he’d stopped when I yelled peaches.

Like he always did.

But a glance down at myself confirms the reason for the panic suddenly coursing through me.

I writhe under him. “No!”

Too heavy.

Too strong.

Aren’t they always?

“No!” I shriek.

“Tell me,” is all he says. Commands, really. Like he’s not just satisfied with owning my body, but he feels he has some kind of stake in my soul too.

“You fuck!” I yell. I buck and squirm, using every ounce of my strength to try and get out from under him.

“Meisie, it’s done. Hear me? It’s fuckingdone.” His hand lands on my breastbone and he uses it to push me into the mattress. Then he sinks down on top of me again, driving the air out of my lungs and stilling my limbs with the sheer weight of his body. “It’s done, darlin’. I can’t take it back.”

His hand slides down between us.

Silent tears squeeze out of my closed eyes and dampen the hair at my temples.

No.

He was supposed to stop.

But why did I think he would be different? Why the fuck was I tripping on this fucked up theory that instead of him controlling me, I could control him?

Because you’re a fucking basket case, that’s why, Trish says. And yes, that’s myprofessionalopinion.

Cillian’s fingers brush over my scar, and it’s as if he’s reaching in and pulling out my baby all over again.

No anesthesia.

No fucking breathing exercises.

My beautiful baby girl.

I let out a wordless wail, but I can’t move under him anymore, not if I can barely fucking breathe.

“This—” he runs the pads of his fingers over the scar “—doesn’t change anything, unless you want it to.”

Like a stone dropped in a pond, that touch ripples in every direction and through my whole body.

“When?” he asks quietly.

Four years ago. Give or take. I made myself stop counting the months, days, the hours, the fucking seconds since they snatched her from my womb.