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Colt turns his head toward me. Our eyes lock.
“Was I wrong?”
“No, but it doesn’t make it less bad. None of this should happen.”
“It was the best-case scenario I could think of at the time.”
Part of me wants to ask him why Nix wasn’t there, but an even bigger part doesn’t, so I remain quiet.
“How are you feeling? Are you still crampy?”
“Yes,” I admit. “But it’s not too terrible today. I’ve had worse days.”
“What does it feel like?”
“Are you seriously asking me that question? Or are you just screwing with me?”
“I want to know. I always hear girls talking about cramps, but I don’t know what it feels like.”
“It’s kind of like having a stomachache you can’t get rid of,” I explain, even if that doesn’t quite describe it. “I mean, it’s a muscle, you know that, right? A uterus?” He grimaces a little at the word but nods anyway. “So it cramps up. It tightens. And sometimes, it feels like there’s something kicking me half to death from the inside out.”
“That sounds like hell.”
“It’s even better that you’re supposed to walk around like everything is normal and you feel fine. And that’s only one symptom. You don’t want to hear about some of the other ones.”
“That really sucks.”
It’s definitely a surprise when he reaches out and places a hand on my stomach. “Do you need anything else? You didn’t really eat very much lunch.”
“I usually feel nauseous on my first day. Another lovely symptom. Besides…” My throat tightens up, and my tongue is heavy and clumsy. How am I supposed to have an appetite when I know what’s going to happen later?
“You know, I wanted to apologize for something.” He won’t look at me, just at my stomach, which he rubs in slow, gentle circles. It’s almost sweet. “When I let Deborah write on you after the wedding. That was wrong. I shouldn’t have let that happen. We should have never brought her home. Shit, we shouldn’t have invited her to the wedding.”
Am I hallucinating? Or did he seriously just say that? “For real? That’s what you’re apologizing for?”
“It was a shitty thing… and unnecessary. I’m sorry.”
“After everything you’ve done to me, you’re apologizing for that? That’s probably the least of what I’ve had to deal with.” I can’t help but laugh—quietly, gently since I’m still in that warm, fuzzy place the pills have taken me. I’m only dimly aware of how hilarious and sad it is at the same time, hearing him apologize for something so trivial in the grand scheme of things. Back before James came home, and things took this sickening twist? Yes, I would have appreciated an apology.
Now, I haven’t even given it a moment’s thought. It’s amazing how quickly perspectives can shift when all hell breaks loose and everything falls apart the way my life has the past several days.
CHAPTER 33
He expects me to wear this? I’m not even sure if I can figure out how to put it on. This so-called dress Nix dropped off in my room is so flimsy, it might as well not exist. “Trust me,” he muttered when all I could do was stare in a mixture of surprise and revulsion. “Just wear it and don’t make a big deal over having to. It’ll all be over after tonight.”
Somehow, that doesn’t make me feel much better as I stand in front of my mirror, having worked out how things are supposed to go. This isn’t a dress. More like a fetish outfit—if that’s what they’re called. Tight and black and sheer and barely long enough to cover my pussy. My nipples are tight points pushing the see-through fabric, and every time I move, the hem hitches up over my ass. I pull it down a little, but that’s no use. It will only creep up over my cheeks again.
The butt plug is still firmly in place, and I’ve started to adjust to it a little. Not that I have any plans to make this a regular thing, but at least I’m not in pain. I can almost imagine how the sensation would be pleasurable if it wasn’t for the circumstances, and once again, I have to mourn for something I’ve lost. I will never be able to wear one of these again without so many ugly memories bubbling to the surface. The man has taken so much from me, things I didn’t even know existed until now. How much more is he going to take before this is all over?
I shouldn’t let myself think like that, but I’m so tired, so sore and used. Heartsick. On top of that, there’s my whole hormonal situation. I’m already miserable, so this isn’t exactly helping.
Hanging out in my room isn’t doing anything to get this over with. I have to survive; that’s all I need to do. I have to get it over with. After tonight, it’s finished. I’ve gotten through everything else they’ve done to me. I can do this, too.
