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In the kitchen I watch her from the doorway as she gets another pop from the fridge. She pauses for a moment in front of the open door, taking deep breaths, like she’s drawing strength from the chill.
“Don’t you care?” I spit as soon as the door closes and she spins around to face me.
I take three long strides towards her and thrust my left hand under her nose. “Look what you did! You did that! And it could have been so much worse!”
Her eyes drop to my scarred palm and she gives a surprised gasp that ends on a sob. Her hands fly to her mouth and tears instantly spill down her cheeks.
“Wh-what happened?” she stammers.
“I grabbed the door, tried to open it,” I tell her, shaking my head. Jax had shouted at me to stop, but it was too late. The instant my hand wrapped around the handle, white-hot pain seared my flesh and I couldn’t let go. Eventually I wrenched it free, but the damage was done.
“Thorn, I’m so so sorry!” She sobs, really sobs, like she feels my pain, and her slender fingers delicately trace along the edge of the puckered scar. “I’m sorry for everything. I regretted it the moment I did it, I never wanted to hurt you.”
“But you wanted to hurt someone. Most people,” I don’t word it as a question and she doesn’t answer it anyway. Instead, she grabs my hand and raises it towards her face, like she needs a closer look at the mutilated skin that’s twisted and puckered up.
“This kills me,” she tells me, her warm salty tears flowing freely onto my palm. That’s when I realise that she’s wounded too. Only, aside from the one on her arm, I can’t see her scars.
All of the fight leaves me.
I feel like an absolute dick. I didn’t come here to make her cry. I didn’t want to hurt her. Hell, I didn’t even want answers, not really. What do I want? Why am I here?
Because I’m a fucking addict and I need another hit.
My injured hand tangles itself into her wet locks and I wrap the length of her black tresses around my fist. With a short, sharp tug, I jerk her head back so that it’s tilted up to meet me. I take another step, pressing my body into hers, pushing her back against the cold stainless steel fridge.
“Wha-?”
I cut off her questions by crushing her lips in a bruising, punishing kiss. My hips pin her against the unforgiving metal and I devour her relentlessly. Body has overtaken brain at this point. I don’t question it.
She gives a strangled sort of gasp, then a long low groan that has my erection straining against her. She wants this as much as I do! The realisation is the green light I need to really let loose.
I bite her bottom lip, loving her mewls. My tongue forces its way between her teeth and tangles with her own. I chase her, stealing her breath, her gasps, her moans of pleasure. I punish her with my kiss, using it to send the message that what she did is not okay. I was not okay.
I am not okay.
Grabbing the bottom of her shirt, I fist it and rip it up over her head. Her arms automatically shoot up, and she gives no protest. My hands find her breasts and cup them, before tweaking her nipples. Her sharp intake of breath at the pain I’ve caused her has my dick dancing.
I close the space between us and return to kissing her.
Suddenly, it’s like I’ve been burnt. The heat of her body pressing against me transports me back to the night of the fire. The heat of the blaze presses down on me, choking, threatening to consume.
Instantly, I pull away, dropping Raven down onto her feet. I need space. I withdraw, putting distance between us. I need air. I’m panting hard, heart pacing, temples pounding. I need to breathe. I move into the hallway.
“Wha-?” I hear her start to say.
But I’m already out the door.
Charlotte’s Diary
03/02/20
I phoned Baxter in a panic today. A routine growth scan showed reduced movement and the hospital is worried that the baby may be in distress. They want to keep me in to monitor me, and induce me if necessary.
I was terrified.
I phoned him in floods of tears because I don’t know what to do…I’m not ready. She’s not due for another month. It’s too soon, too early!
He was amazing; calming me down and instantly promising to be with me in a couple of hours. He even said he’d go to my flat first and collect my hospital bag with everything in it that I’d need for the baby.
There was a lot of waiting. I was so tense, so worried, so scared. There were tests and examinations and monitors, even talk of surgery. I kept praying that Baxter would get to me in time.
And then Bax was there and everything was suddenly calmer.
He instantly sprang into action, talking to the midwives and doctors, finding out what was going on, what my options were. I felt like I could finally breathe.
And then all hell broke loose.
