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Angel scrubbed his head. “Jesus.” He exchanged a look with Kristoff.
The older man standing next to Kristoff narrowed his eyes at me. I gave him a silent ‘fuck you’ look, squared my shoulders and walked away. One foot in front of the other.
Angel followed me. “You good?” he asked.
“Peachy.” I refused to break down in front of him.
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Staying tough. I get that.”
“How could you possibly get that?” I hissed between clenched teeth. “You’re a man.”
His gaze darkened. “Not all predators go after girls.”
Oh, God. Bile rose up my throat. I looked up at him. For the first time I saw beyond his beautiful face. Kristoff might have rage swirling in his eyes, but Angel had a hint of sheer madness lurking behind those baby blues.
I swallowed. “I don’t know what to say to that.”
He held open the back door for me. “You don’t have to say anything. Just know that you’re safe here. I won’t let anyone touch you again.”
I nodded and made it back inside. The party was still going strong, but luckily nobody paid me any attention.
The shaking didn’t start until I closed the door to my room. I made it to the bathroom without shedding a tear. The face looking back at me from the mirror was bruised. My hair was a bedraggled mess, and I looked as pale as a ghost. I held my hands underneath the faucet and the water turned red. I shed my clothes and took a quick shower, after which I put on my pjs.
A knock sounded on the door and Olga entered. She held up a first aid kit and gestured for me to come to her. My throat felt clogged, as if someone had stolen my voice. The housekeeper patted my shoulder when she finished her job, and left.
I might have sat on the bed for an hour, or maybe mere minutes, before I had another visitor. This time it was Kristoff.
He leaned against the door frame. “You could’ve died tonight.”
I shrugged. “Story of my life. The Grim Reaper and I, we’re buddies.”
“That’s all you have to say for yourself?” There was a hardness to his voice I hadn’t heard before.
I picked at the seam of a pillow. ”I’m not going to live my life huddled in a corner.”
“You were told not to leave this room.”
Something inside me snapped. “You can’t tell me what to do!”
He pushed away from the door and strolled up to me. “You’re wrong. As of today, I have complete say over what you do.”
Just because I was living under his roof did not mean he had control of me. “What are you going to do? Lock me up?” Desolate, I looked at the clock which showed two minutes past midnight. “On my birthday of all days? Typical. I just turned eighteen and back into a pumpkin.”
“Technically, the carriage changed back into a vegetable, not Cinderella.”
When he turned to leave, I grabbed his arm. “Wait.”
His eyes homed in on my fingers holding his sleeve. A curious expression crossed his face.
I couldn’t just let him go. I’d promised myself that my life would change for the better after I was in remission. I vowed that I would bury the pain, the endless days of vomiting and feeling weak.
Here goes nothing…
“So, like I said, I just turned eighteen.”
“Congratulations.”
Did he have to sound so impatient to leave? “Thank you. I have a request for my birthday.”
