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The trauma builds and builds like a volcano until the pressure becomes unbearable. It explodes from me with absolute devastation, a heartbreaking cry ripping straight from my brutalized soul.
Nikolai holds me tighter as if he’s trying to engulf me with his body. “I’m so fucking sorry you got hurt.” He presses a kiss to my damp hair. “It will never happen again. I promise you.”
I pull my arms free from between us and wrap them tightly around his waist, my fingers clinging to his shirt.
As I weep for what was done to me – what was taken from me – Nikolai holds me as though he would die if he let go.
He’s the last man I was intimate with, and there will never be another. The mere thought of sex repulses me to the point where I feel physically sick.
But having Nikolai’s arms around me offers me some comfort.
I mourn the loss of what could’ve been between us and feel feverish from all the crying when I finally manage to calm down.
Pulling away from Nikolai, I put a safe distance between us. I feel uncomfortable as I look at him. “Thanks, but if you don’t mind, I want to be alone.”
He tilts his head, a frown line forming between his eyes. “I don’t think you should be alone right now.”
“It doesn’t matter what you think.” My words sound too cold, but knowing I must stop whatever was building between us, I push through. “We both know things were never going to be serious between us. It was fun, but it’s over. Please leave.”
When he stares at me as if he’s trying to look into my soul, I turn my head away.
“Now is not the time to talk about us.” He takes a step closer, and I quickly move farther away.
If he touches me, I might weep myself to death.
“Please leave, Nikolai.” I suck in a shuddering breath. “Today was traumatic enough. I have no energy to deal with you.”
Silence follows my words, and when it feels as if his soul is reaching out to mine, I spin around and rush to the safety of my bedroom. I shut the door behind me and turn the lock to make sure he can’t come in.
Please leave.
There’s a lot I can endure and overcome, but the trauma and Nikolai Vetrov are two things I can’t handle.
The whiplash our weird and short relationship gave me will break me now. I can’t fight for him anymore, not when the battle for my sanity hangs in the balance.
Stepping away from the door, I walk to my closet and grab a baggy t-shirt and sweatpants. I quickly change into the clothes and feel a little better when my curves are hidden by all the fabric.
Moving to the bed, I climb beneath the covers and pull them over my head while I curl into a small ball.
Refusing to think of Nikolai or the rape, I imagine I’m painting, forcing myself to focus on the brush sweeping over a canvas.
“Palette,” I whisper, listing all the supplies. “Canvas. Easel. Brush.” I keep repeating the words until, finally, sleep takes me from this violent world.
Chapter 21
Nikolai
I’m going to lose my fucking mind.
For the past week, Abigail has been a ghost of her former self.
Even though shepretendsnothing happened, I see straight through her smiles and carefree demeanor. It’s all a fucking act, and everyone’s falling for it.
I see the terror in her eyes, the tight pull of her features. I can fucking feel her crumbling.
If she thinks I’m going to give up on her, she’s sorely mistaken. I’m giving her the space she asked for, but as soon as she’s recovered from the ordeal of having the shit beaten out of her, I’m chasing her down.
Make no mistake, Abigail Sartori will be mine.
