Page 69 of UNAwere

‘Sybbie.’ The door shuts between us. I hear him let out a breath on the other side. ‘Sybbie, talk to me.’

‘I don’t know what to say, Jude.’

‘This isn’t your fault,’ he tells me. ‘None of this is.’

My face flames. I can still feel the niggling desire coursing through me. The need for more. But the shame I’m feeling outweighs it, and I sink to the tiles.

‘Is that why that man attacked me? Because he could smell I was about to go into heat?’

‘That man attacked you because he was a piece of shit.’

‘He said I was asking for it. And I was.’

‘Sybbie, no. Don’t you fucking dare.’

‘You can’t stand there and tell me you don’t regret what we just did. What I just made you do.’

‘I could’ve left the room. I could’ve left you to fend for yourself. But I’m… I’m not… I don’t…’

‘You can’t even say the words.’ My vision clouds with tears.

‘Sybbie, please, there are things you don’t understand. Things I can’t tell you.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I shouldn’t have to. And the fact that I do tells me that you’re not ready to know, and that’s okay. I just… I’m a fucking idiot.’

I suck in a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry I asked you for more.’

‘You don’t have to apologise.’

‘No, I am. And I think I should. I… I wasn’t myself.’

‘I-I’m sorry if you’re regretting this. I-I wish I could take it back.’

A shard shoots through my chest at his words. I don’t regret letting him touch me. I want him to touch me more, even now. But I’m ashamed by the intensity of those feelings.

‘I’m, er, happy to put this behind us,’ I whisper. ‘I think I feel better, and I won’t be jumping your bones again.’

I feel his forehead smack softly against the other side of the door, and a soft sound, like one of his breathy laughs. My chest aches.

‘I’m glad you’re feeling better,’ he murmurs. ‘First heats are unpredictable, but they usually don’t last long.’

My brows knit together. ‘Am I going to have another one?’

He’s silent for a moment, and I almost think he’s stepped away, but then he says, ‘It depends on how much of each other we see in the coming weeks.’

‘What?’

He sighs, and I hear him get off the door.

‘Have another cold shower,’ he murmurs. ‘You’ll feel better. And then go to bed. I’m sure you’re exhausted.’

This time, he does step away from the door, and I’m left with my thoughts. But I do what he says, stripping out of his T-shirt and showering. I use soap and do two washes to make sure his scent is washed off me, as much as I can get it off. As much as it hurts me to feel it slough off my skin. When I’m done, I walk out in a towel and go to the bed, taking it off to creep under the covers.

Jude’s already in his chair by the bed, and he has his eyes closed, the back of his head resting against the wall.

I sigh, watching him as I lie there in the pillows, observing the strong column of his neck. His dark beard and the clipped sides of his head. The scar I noticed on the edge of his face the first day I met him.