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“Jesus fucking Christ, Princess,” I groan, walking straight for the bathroom. I drop her on the floor before pulling my shirt off and leaning into the shower to turn it on.
I glance at her slumped on the tiles and something aches inside me. I’m just doing this to keep her safe, I tell myself. To keep her away from Bexley and his wandering hands.
Biting down on my lip, I think about what to do for the best. She’s going to be pissed in the morning when she finds out I stripped and showered her. But what’s the alternative? Allow her to sleep with her hair caked in her own puke?
Pushing my concerns aside, I reach down and pull her own shirt off before standing her up and pushing her skirt down her thighs. I unclasp her bra and tell myself that I’m not going to look, no matter how much her dusky pink nipples might call to me. I remember all too well how sweet they were as I sucked them into my mouth. The little moans of pleasure that fell from her as I ran my tongue around them.
My cock swells as I remember her in that bathroom, totally at my mercy. Fuck, I need that again.
I carry her into the shower and allow the water to soak us both. Rinsing her hair, I ensure she’s puke-free before stepping out and wrapping her in a towel and attempting to squeeze the water from her long locks.
This isn’t the first night I’ve stayed out here when I’ve needed space from the house and the asshole who owns it, and thank fuck, because when I step from the bathroom, I find an old t-shirt I abandoned on the chair waiting for me.
After sitting Remi on the edge of the bed, I pull it over her head and remove the towel from her body before dragging the sheets back and laying her down. It takes me forever to tug my sodden jeans from my legs, but after I do, I have the quickest shower ever before climbing into bed with her.
I want to pull her to me. Tell her she’s safe. But I don’t.
I can’t.
It’s not my place.
Chapter Sixteen
Remi
I wake to the sound of drums. No, that isn’t right.
Ugh.
My head.
What the hell happened?
I lie as still as a statue, staring up at the ceiling, trying to piece together the night before.
The pep rally.
My plan to ruin Michaela’s night and make Ace jealous.
Bexley.
Oh god, Bexley.
A wave of nausea hits me, and I scramble out of bed, almost tripping over my own feet. Rushing into the unfamiliar bathroom, I drop down and dry heave into the bowl.
Bexley tried to...
Shame burns through me. If I hadn’t gone there dressed like a cheer slut, rubbing myself all over him—
No.
I steel myself. Nothing I said or did or wore excuses what he did—what he tried to do.
Finally convinced nothing is going to make a reappearance, I sink back against the tiles, giving myself a second to calm down. Pulling myself up, I run the faucet and splash my face with cold water. I’m a mess. My hair is damp and matted, and I have last night’s mascara still caked around my eyes. I frantically search the cabinet for supplies. Relieved when I discover toothpaste, a new toothbrush, and a packet of facial wipes, I set to work on making myself feel human.
But even when I’m done, I still want to die.
Movement from behind me startles me, and then it hits me.
