She shattered.
Her whole body seized—back arched, face flushed, mouth open on a cry that echoed off the tile.
It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever witnessed. It was a moment of pure honesty, and it cracked something in my chest that would never close again.
She was still pulsing around my fingers, her nails still digging into my arm, her thighs still clamping around my hand.
And then she started to cry.
“Zadie.” I kissed her cheek, easing my fingers out of her to stroke her thigh beneath the cooling water. “I’ve got you.”
“I’m sorry.” She was shaking. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
Shaking her head, she pulled away from my touch, drawing her knees to her chest, and squeezing her eyes shut.
The wall went back up. Right in front of me. Brick by stubborn brick.
“Can you leave? Please.” Her voice was broken by the muffled sobs against her knees. “I need to be alone.”
“Don’t do this. If you’re scared?—”
“Please go,” she begged, quiet but final.
The candle flickered on the counter. Ed Sheeran was still playing from down the hall, his voice drifting through the steam like a cruel joke.
I pulled my hand from the water, not bothering to dry it, stood up, walked out, and closed the door behind me. Her sobs carried through the wall, echoing inside that goddamn gaping hole in my chest.
The way she’d opened up for me. Begged me to take her apart. That wasn’t a lapse in judgment, or just the need to get off.
That was real.
So I’d give her this moment. But I wasn’t fucking letting her go.
Whatever wall she rebuilt, I’d find my way through it.
Week 14
Chapter Twenty
Zadie
We need to talk. PLEASE call me.
My finger hovered over the send button. Hesitating. Hesitating.
The bathroom counter dug into my lower back. The bass from Zane’s sound system pulsed through the walls and mixed with my pounding heartbeat.
I still didn’t know if texting Sean was the right move. I’d talked myself in and out of contacting him at least a million times, searching for my backbone while trying to figure out why this was so hard.
Why did I literally want to vomit when I imagined his reaction?
Fuck.
I shoved my phone in my pocket and made it to the toilet just in time.
Throwing up had become something of a specialty. I’d gotten disturbingly efficient at it, too. Unfortunately, the skill was completely useless and disgusting. And I was doing it in Zane’s bathroom while a party raged on the other side of the door.
