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I can tell from the red splatters on his clothes and the cracked dirt on his hands that it’s been a long night. His eyes tell the same story.
He shuts the door with a heavy sigh, stripping off his cut and then his shirt before heading straight for the bathroom. He says nothing as he passes me, and I follow him, despite the vibe being loud and clear that he doesn't want me to.
I need to be close to him. I’ve missed him, and this is my chance to prove to him that I can be like the other old ladies. He doesn’t have to treat me like I’m fragile. He can talk to me about what happens with the club, and I won't judge him. I hate being in the dark. I want him to let me in and trust me.
“Rough night?” I ask, watching the basin turn red as the water pours from the faucet through his hands. He doesn’t answer, just eyes me through the mirror, warning me not to press him.
“Screwy, it’s okay. I—”
“It ain’t okay,” he interrupts, looking back down at his hands and scrubbing them even harder.
I lean forward to place my palm on his shoulder. His skin feels so cold and damp against mine.
“Don’t touch me,” he flinches, “not while I’m like this.” His reaction makes my chest sting, but I put on a brave face.
“I know what you do. You can talk to me about it like the others talk to their girls,” I assure him, and he spins around so fast that it makes me stumble backward.
“You don’t know shit, Lydia,” he snaps, clenching his fists and closing his eyes like he’s mad at himself. “I don't want you to be like all the others.” He lowers his tone and takes a breath. “If you do that, it means you accept me, and I can’t have you do that.” He’s speaking through his teeth now as if he wants me to be scared.
“That’s crazy.” I cross my arms over my chest and look up at the brute of a man standing in front of me. He may scare just about everyone else, but he doesn’t scare me. To me, Screwy is a wolf without a bite.
“You don’t belong to me, Lydia. You don’t belong here… Years ago, some family lost their perfect daughter. Hell, they’re probably still looking for her. That’s who you belong to. You deserve them. You deserve normal and good. Not this,” he snatches up his bloody T-shirt from the floor and holds it between us like it might make me run away.
But it doesn’t. Nothing scares me when I’m with him. This man may be broken, but he’s my confidence and my strength.
“And what if I don’t want to belong to them? What if I want to belong to you?” I look right back at him. This is a conversation we’ve needed to have since the day Maddy found my parents. I’ve felt his tension since then, and it’s been brewing like a storm.
“You can’t.” He shakes his head, looking like he could tear the place apart with his bare hands, but I know he won’t. He would never put me in any harm. He’d die before he let that happen.
“You saved me, you gave me back my life, and now you're telling me that I can’t decide what I do with it?”
Screwy lifts his hand to clutches my jaw, and the diluted blood running over his knuckles and onto my skin doesn’t seem to bother either one of us.
“Don’t lay that on me. You only like it here because you don’t know any better. Anywhere, even this place is better than that fucking hell you were kept in.” His words sound harsh and cruel, and I know it’ll be hurting him to say them. He hates thinking about my life before here.
“I thought I could do it, but I can’t,” he shakes his head slowly, still holding on to my face, and a lone tear trickles from his eye.
“I wish you could understand that I want you, Screwy… Like this, tortured and broken. Brutal and savage. I want every version of you, even the ones you feel like you have to protect me from.” I try to make him understand.
“I can’t be like them. I’m not them. I’m better off alone,” he explains weakly, his eyes begging me to accept what he’s telling me. He doesn’t want me to fight against him because he’s exhausted.
“I don’t want you to be like them,” I sob, my tears running through his fingers. “I want you to be you.” I shuffle closer and raise my hand to stroke through his beard.
Screwy inhales, holding on to the air like he’s too scared to let it out.
“Let me accept you,” I plead with him, knowing how he struggles to refuse me. He dampens his bottom lip with his tongue, the way he always does when he’s trying to resist.
“Please, Screwy,” I whisper and watch him become defeated, his shoulders leaning forward and both his large hands holding on to my face as he kisses me hard.
After a few seconds, he drops them under my thighs, scooping me up and spinning us around so my ass lands on the edge of the basin. His lips find the dip in my neck, covering my skin in kisses and I don’t care that whoever’s blood is on his hands is on me now. I don’t care that it’s fucked up, that I don’t care.
All I need to know is that Screwy isn’t going to let me go.
I fumble with his belt, pulling it from the buckle and popping open the buttons on his jeans. I can feel his cock beneath them, hard and stretching over to one side, and my pussy’s desperate for it.
Screwy moans when I take it in my hand confidently and release him from his jeans. I keep hold of him in my palm and pump him through my fist. Just how he likes me to. And he breathes deep into my ear and nips at my flesh, his fist scrunching the hair at my nape, pulling me back so he can see my face.
I guide him closer to where I need him, stroking his thick tip over the fabric of my panties and making a long moan of my own.
