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An involuntary shudder rolls through her body.
“It was like nothing I’d done at the club. It was excruciating from the first strike, and every one of them after was harder than the last. I thought I was going to pass out from the pain, but I knew I had to stay awake, I couldn’t leave myself even more vulnerable by losing consciousness because he could have done anything to me then.”
Anger vibrates through every fiber of my being, and even holding Wynter isn’t enough to calm the overwhelming fury. I should put her down so I don’t inadvertently hurt her, don’t hold her too tightly and mark her beautiful skin more than it’s already been marked. But I can’t bring myself to let her out of my arms. I need her close, I need to know she’s okay.
“You don’t have to keep going if you don’t want to.”
Part of me hopes she’ll take the out I’m giving her, because I don’t know how much more of this story I can handle, but she shakes her head once and takes a deep breath before continuing.
“It went on for so long I didn’t understand how his arm wasn’t sore. I could feel my own blood running down the backs of my legs, and I was questioning whether I wanted to survive or not. But then, by some miracle, my roommate walked in and heard me begging for him to stop, heard me sobbing and Craig sprouting bullshit scripture to make what he was doing to me okay. She knocked him out with a lamp and tied him up with the belt he used to beat me. She tried to help me but everything I did hurt. I couldn’t stand, or sit, or lay. I couldn’t get the cuts wet even though I knew they needed to be cleaned. I thought I liked pain until that day, and now the idea of a punishment brings me to the edge of a panic attack.” Tears roll down her cheeks in hot streams as she tries talk through her sobs. “I called Storm and told him what happened. I left out the part about the club and he flew out straight away and took care of Craig. My roommate was the one to deal with him, because I couldn’t get dressed and it took hours for the doctor he called to clean the wounds.
“Storm hung around for a few days, sleeping on our couch and making sure everything was in order with the school seeing as I couldn’t attend classes, and when I was finally ready to talk to him once I could put clothes on, I begged him never to tell you what happened. I didn’t want you to come back because you felt obligated to, or because you had some bullshit sense of guilt. He didn’t like lying to you, I could tell, but I thought it was for the best at the time. I was in such a bad place that I think if you came back just to leave again, I probably wouldn’t have survived.”
21
Wynter
Ihoped I would never have to tell that story again, that whoever I ended up with after all was said and done either wouldn’t notice or wouldn’t ask any questions. But that never would have been the case for Everett. The moment he walked back into my life I should have started preparing for the eventuality that I would have to tell him about the darkest day of my life.
Does that make it any easier now? Nope.
He holds me so tightly, and for so long, telling me silently that nothing will ever hurt me again, that he’ll make sure of it.
His fingers brush along my bare back gently and it’s the only thing keeping me together. The warmth gives me something to focus on other than the memories threatening to tear me apart. It’s been a long time since I allowed myself to think about that night, and even though at times I’ve craved the pain, I’ve always tamped it down because I could never allow myself to be that vulnerable.
Except, when Everett talked about punishing me when we walked into the room, the fear didn’t seem so bad, and if I’m really honest with myself, it was mixed with something else, something I haven’t felt in a long time.
Longing.
Need.
Arousal.
It’s been such a long time since I felt whole, since I had all the pieces of myself that make me, me, but maybe I can have it all now. Maybe I can have Everett, and I can have the pain, I can find that little place where everything around me is quiet and calm, but this time with a man who cares about me.
I didn’t miss the way his eyes flared when I mentioned enjoying the pain punishment gave. He liked the idea, maybe even as much as I did.
“I should have been here,” he says quietly. The room was so silent for so long the words almost startle me, but it’s the pain behind them that breaks my heart. It’s the reason I never wanted him to know. I thought if I could save at least one of us from the horrors of that night, maybe it would be enough.
I shake my head as I angle to look up at him. “Don’t do that.”
“Don’t do what, Wynter? I left and you were hurt. And worse than that, I wasn’t the one that killed the piece of shit,” he growls.
I push against his chest and stumble across the room to the bed. My legs are still shaky beneath me, but I need to put some distance between us. The closer we are, the harder it is to think.
“Stop it. It doesn’t matter now. It’s in the past. And even if you never left, I still would have gone to Boston, and you wouldn’t have. You would have stayed here. So I still would have had security, probably Craig, and I still would have got hurt.”
“If I was here, you wouldn’t have gone to that club in the first place.”
He follows me across the room, his body vibrating with barely contained rage. Every muscle in his body is so tense I wonder idly whether it’s possible for them to snap under such immense pressure. Everett doesn’t stop until he’s towering over me, his chest rising and falling so quickly his breath is coming out in rough pants.
“Do you know why, dove?”
I shake my head, trying to stand my ground. My own heart races, the heavy beats enough to make it hard to take a breath.
“Because I would have given you every fucking thing you needed.”
“He still would have had the same opinion,” I whisper. “I always would have discovered I liked aspects of BDSM, and while you may have given me what I needed, that still would have left Craig with the opinion I was a jezebel who needed to repent for my sins. I still would have been in a different city than you, I still would have had Craig as a guard. Everything still would have played out exactly the same way.” I try to reason with him, but from the looks he’s giving me it’s not working.
