My body jolts, my eyelids pricking awake, and I am hit with a beam of light, which blinds me, causing me to shield my sensitive eyes. I groan and place my palm on my head, a throb apparent like a hangover from hell.
I massage my eyes with my fingers and thumb before reluctantly opening them to see the dazzling sunlight streaming through towering glass windows.
My brows furrow, wondering whether I have been moved again when I didn't feel it. I carefully roll my back open and notice a dark, high ceiling above me with turned-off spotlights, which looks all too familiar.
My heart starts thumping in my chest, and I pull the thick, velvety duvet up to my chin before raising my head. My gaze frantically darts around Reign's bedroom, and I start shaking my head, tears welling up in my dry eyes.I must be dreaming because I cannot be here.
I hyperventilate and groan as I struggle to sit up, but finally rest back against on the headboard when I do. My face screws up in perplexity when I notice a glass of water and two pain-killer tablets beside me. I extend my arm cautiously and hover my fingers above the water for a moment before carefully lowering them into it.
As soon as the cold sensation of the liquid envelopes my skin, I gasp and hastily retreat them, realizing this isn't a dream at all; I’m actually here. Suddenly, the door opens quietly, and my attention is drawn to it to see Chaos enter with his head lowered.
My eyes immediately fill with tears, a sob rising in my throat, and he pauses once he has lifted his head to see that I'm awake. We lock eyes, and when I gently blink after what feels like forever, tears stream down my cheeks.
After some stillness, he takes a cautious step forward and my heart rate starts to rise significantly out of nowhere, and I force myself to look away because of the panic that is suddenly surging within me. As he takes a steady seat on the foot of the bed, I side-eye him, raising my knees up to my chest and avoiding eye contact.
“How you are feeling, Char?”
His deep voice is gentle and soothing, as if I am being welcomed home, but I am not. It's odd that you create every possible scenario in your mind while battling through hell in order todrown out reality. I fantasized about this one once or twice while getting brutally raped by Maddox, and now that it is here, it's nothing like I imagined. I am nothing like I had imagined.
I stay silent, tears continuously trickling down my cheeks, but he does not press me into talking to him. When he gradually rises from the bed, my attention shifts to him, and I am caught between telling him to stay put and simply letting him go. Right now, the side that says just let him go is winning for some twisted reason.
“If you need anything, I'll be back soon to check on you.”
I want to yell at him, I need you! I need a fucking hug and someone to assure me everything will be okay. That I will be okay, but I can't. I feel like I have lost my voice; it is lodged in my throat or that if I speak the words, I will expose myself to further danger. Further hurt. Further betrayal. I feel like I cannot be touched by a man because I am filthy—not just on the outside but on the inside too.
I side-eye him the entire time as he exits the bedroom and when the door closes, I shut my eyes, feeling all alone once more. I sit there for a while, buried in my own depressing thoughts, staring out the window from a distance, trying to muster the confidence to move. My gaze is drawn to Reign's ensuite bathroom door, where it lingers, thinking that I should probably clean myself up.
After a few moments, I grab the duvet, throw it off my body and lower my legs. I gently bring them to the edge of the bed while twisting my body before taking a few long breaths and finally standing. My knees buckle as soon as I do, and I am forced to stabilize myself by resting my palms on the bed. Stars start to form in my eyes, but I attempt to push them away by closing them.
I shuffle around the bed with my hands, my legs quivering with each small step, until I come to a stop. When I am ready, I stand upright carefully, and turn around to face the bathroom door. I attempt to balance myself, and when I am close enough to the door, I push it open.
As soon as I go inside, the dim lighting turns on automatically, but I keep my head down, watching my feet take each step. When I notice the dark gray marble counter in my sight, I place both palms on it to steady myself and come to a stop, taking a few more deep breaths. Shifting my eyes to the sink in front of me, I reach out to turn on both taps, then push in the plug. I gaze in a state of stupor while it fills with water, then switch them both off when it is almost full. When I think about soap and a washcloth, I raise my eyes, but my reflection in the huge mirrors draws my attention.
I stare at myself through watery lenses, my gaze roving over my bare body to assess how badly, bloodied, battered, and bruised it has become. When my eyes approach my face and I discover I have two black eyes, a weep rises in my throat as I remember I haven't seen myself in days and had no idea they were there.
I suppress my tears, turn my focus away from myself, wanting to feel stronger than I am, and reach for the soap and cloth. When I have them, I toss them into the warm water in front of me before taking the cloth and extending my arm, making sure it is soapy.
I set the warm cloth on my dry skin and try to remove the marks. His marks. They have swarmed me. His fingerprints. His teeth. They have become ingrained in my flesh. My movements become rougher as I begin to realize that no amount of soapy water will ever cleanse me of him. I scrub so hard that smallblood spots develop, my skin begins to peel away, and my sobbing intensifies, tears dripping down my cheeks.
“Get off me. Why can’t I remove you.”
I feel rage surge through me like I have never felt before, roaring through me like an entity I had no idea was living within me. My breathing quickens, my body tightens, and when I glance in the mirror, I let out a high-pitched scream before hurling the washcloth at the reflection in front of me. I watch as it slowly drops, only to reveal my bruised face through a blur of water once more, and I become insane.
I sweep my arm across the counter, dragging all the contents off it until it is hurled and smashed across the room. I grab everything I can before throwing it at my reflection, until the mirror shatters. In my delirium, I begin yelling things at Maddox, not understanding what I am saying, until I feel a strong arm wrap around my middle from behind and I immediately begin thrusting my body around, biting my nails into the arm.
“I can't get him off me; he's all over me!”
The arm draws me in closer before I hear Chaos speak gently into my ear.
“It's okay, Char; he can't fucking hurt you anymore.”
My body starts to unwind as a result of his reassurance, my thrusts slow, and I squeeze my eyes shut, weeping uncontrollably. Chaos joins me as my legs weaken and I collapse to the ground. As his arms circle around my quivering body, I snuggle up against his chest, my knees up, tears drenching his white tank, and he tenderly strokes my hair, comforting me as much as he can.
After some time of allowing me to cry against him in total silence, I begin to calm down and he starts to move, scooping me up in his arms and lifting me off the ground effortlessly. I cling to him as he strides with me for a short distance, my eyes remaining closed, until I hear the shower turn on and when I feel the warm water rain down on us, I suck in a sharp breath.
He lowers down with me a second time, fully clothed, until we're both on the floor and I'm bundled between his legs. We sit in quiet for a while, my cheek resting against his strong chest while he carefully washes my hair for me. He does not touch my naked body, and I refrain from making eye contact, but I allow him to assist me since my body is simply too immobile to do anything myself.
I hiss when he accidentally touches the Maddox-caused wound at the back of my neck, beneath my hair. He pauses, sensing my pain and I continue to keep my gaze low as he peeks around, softly brushing my hair away from my nape. He remains silent and still, staring at it, but he says nothing.
