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Chapter Eleven
I turnto my side and stifle a groan. Waking up on top of Rhys’s chest, my neck is stiff, and all I want is to turn on my back. The urge to change position and alleviate the stabbing sensation overcomes me. However, it takes about .3 seconds after starting to roll over for yesterday's events to come back alongside the feeling of someone peeling the worst sunburn off my back—with a blunt knife. During the blissfully numb hours of sleep—courtesy of pills the nurse made me take before we left—I suppressed what had happened.
Where are the pain meds they handed me last night?
Rhys begins to shift underneath me at my sudden movement.
"Babe? Everything okay?" His voice is raspy from sleep, and it stirs something inside of me that makes me momentarily forget everything else. Instead of responding, I press myself closer to him, nuzzle my nose in the crook between his ear and collar bone as he lifts a hand, gently pushing the strands of hair from my face.
"Cal, talk to me."
I angle my head upward to meet his gaze. "I’m fine," I lie. Of course I’m not fine, and he knows it. His narrowed eyes say as much.
"Try again, babe." A smug smile tugs on the side of his lips. He can read me as well as I can read him. Why I try to pretend is beyond me.
"I’m angry." I pause. "No, scratch that. I’m fucking pissed!" My tone is hard, and Rhys cocks an eyebrow.
"You have every right to be upset—" he begins, but I interrupt him by jerking into a sitting position.
"I’m not up-set," I enunciate the two syllables. Upset doesn't come close to covering the turmoil inside of me. "I'm pissed. Furious. Livid. All of it. Those bitches attacked me like cowards in the shower. Naked. Four against one. Who does that?" By the time I finish, I'm breathing heavy, and I'm fisting the duvet, one of the pin-tucks having ripped.
Just awesome.
Gaping with an open mouth, Rhys clearly didn't expect this outburst from me upon waking up.
I inhale and exhale slowly. "I’m sorry. It’s just... I’m sick of being a target."
He dips his head in a small nod before asking warily. "What do you want to do?"
I sigh. "I have no idea. Yesterday changed things."
Once again, my emotions are all over the place, and I need time to sort through them. The anger clouding my vision when I think of what happened in the locker room makes the fear of the unknown—my past and future—shrink to a barely noticeable tickle in the back of my mind. But it's there. The question of what Turner wants with me hangs over my head. Between the kidnapping and incest scandal, the media follows my every step. The desperate need to hide is at war with my instinct to fight back. To get revenge. I'm not a naturally violent person, but I refuse to cower to Katherine Rosenfield with her psychotic delusions.
"I'm gonna take a shower," I announce. That wasn't the response Rhys was looking for, but that's all I can give him at the moment.
"Do you think that's, uh...okay? With your injuries, I mean?" His forehead wrinkles. He doesn't press me for more answers, and the ache in my heart lessens, knowing Rhys is on my side.
Sliding off the bed, I turn. "They said as long as the water doesn't hit the burns, I can shower. It just has to be quick."
How fast is up for debate. I'm in desperate need of my purging ritual.
In the end,reason wins out. I keep the shower short, not to worsen my condition. The skin on my back feels like it's stretched to the max, and every movement hurts. After letting the hospital gown drop to the floor, I chance a glance in the mirror. I wish I hadn't. I heard the nurse and doctor talk about the blisters, but seeing them is a whole different thing. I'm not super squeamish, though taking in the extent of the burns makes my stomach churn.
Sitting in front of the vanity, I have a towel wrapped around my lower half and one on my front side, tucked under my armpits. The cool air feels good on my back, and I need to ask someone to help put more aloe on.
Slowly, I lean forward and pull the cabinet door under the sink open. I study the pink box with its writing for a moment before digging out the burner and headphones I left there.
Without thinking, I initiate a video call. The phone rings five times before his face appears on the screen.
"Lilly." My brother is breathless. In the background, a door closes behind him before he lowers himself into a desk chair similar to the one he has at the vineyard. His face is red, his blond hair plastered to the sides of his forehead, and sweat drips from his chin.
"Are you okay?" I tilt my head to the side.
"Shouldn't I be asking you that?"
If the dark circles under his eyes weren't a dead giveaway, him rubbing his hand over his face for the third time since picking up the phone would be. His demeanor mirrors his behavior from when the first article about my kidnapping was released.
"Talk to me, big brother," I prod gently.
