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Slowly, I turned to see her pointing to the zipper at the back of her dress. She refused to meet my searching gaze.
“Sure,” I bit out.
Lifting her dark hair, she exposed the back of the dress to me. As my fingers gripped the zipper, I longed to trail my lips along the bared skin of her shoulder and up her neck. The faint scent of her perfume seemed to twist through me, pulling me closer.
With supreme willpower that I didn’t know I was capable of, I lowered the zipper and stepped back. If I was a lesser man, I would’ve taken what she offered and damn the consequences, but I couldn’t do that to her.
“I should’ve known you wouldn’t want me again,” she muttered.
“What?” I asked incredulous.
“Oh come on.” She held the front of her dress up as she faced me. “Don’t act like that’s not the case. If I can’t forget what happened, I can’t very well expect you to.”
“Jazz, this isn’t the time to discuss this. You’ve been drinking, my head is less than clear, and my brothers are down the hall,” I said as I dragged my hands down my face.
“When is the time,Chains?” she asked, sneering as she spoke my road name.
“I’m not sure if I’m the one that you should discuss your—” I swallowed hard. “—ordeal with.”
“Ordeal?Ordeal?I was beaten and raped, Chains! Over and over. My brother may have been able to erase the physical damage, but he can’t erase the fucking memories! I’ll never forget that man’s dirty hands on me—his smell, the degradation, the fear, the helplessness. That doesn’t go away! Since your gift is your ability to see everything in someone’s head, I can’t very well expect you to want to touch me, now can I? Can I,Chains?” She was shrieking like a banshee by the end of it, and her hands trembled violently as her teeth chattered.
Pain ripped through me, but I didn’t know what to say or do.
She nearly went to her knees, but I grabbed her and helped her to the bed. She rolled away from me and was still. Unable to leave, but not knowing what the right thing to do was, I laced my fingers at the back of my neck.
When she didn’t make any attempt to finish undressing, I moved to her dresser and pulled out an old T-shirt for her to change into. My chest caved when I realized it was one of my old shirts. I had no idea how she’d ended up with it, but I imagined she grabbed it from the laundry room.
Gently, I set it in front of her.
“I don’t blame you for hating me,” she whispered as I crossed to the door.
My head hung, then I looked back at her, still curled up on the bed.
“I don’t hate you, Jasmine. Hate’s the farthest emotion from my feelings for you.”
As quietly as I could, I left her room.
It was one of the worst nights’ sleep I’d had in a long damn time.
The next morning, there was a knock at my door.
“Yeah?” I called out, not in the mood to talk to anyone.
“Can I come in?”
Fuck.
It was Jasmine.
