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“Calm down.” He continues approaching me, stalking toward me with silent footsteps that I can barely hear.
“I said stay away from me!” I shriek, my voice turning hysterical.
He stops, raising one hand. “Fine. I’m staying away, so put that down.”
I shake my head frantically, nails sinking into the solid ceramic. “I’m leaving. I’m not spending another minute in this godforsaken place or with you!”
A shadow passes over his features, thunderous and quiet, almost as if he’s…angry. Why the hell would he be? I’m the one who’s angry. I’m the one who was forced out of my safe cocoon to be here.
“Give me that bottle, Lia.”
“No! And stop calling me Lia!”
My hands flail about and I hear the crack before I see it. The bottle hits the wall and crashes against it. White liquid soap drips down my hand and onto the ground, and then a trail of blood follows.
A broken ceramic piece has sunk into my skin. A sting of pain explodes on my flesh before blood flows from my palm. I release what remains of the bottle, letting it crash to the ground.
“Fuck!” Adrian hurries toward me, plucks the piece out, leaving a small gash that burns when soap mixes with the wound.
Adrian throws the bloodied ceramic piece in the sink and wipes the soap away. His brow furrows over his darkened eyes and his lips thin into a line.
I squirm against him. “Let me go, you monster! Let me go!”
“Stop,” he orders and I flinch, going limp.
The word, although singular, is so authoritative that my muscles have locked together at hearing it.
Adrian grabs a beige towel, runs it under the sink, and presses it to my palm. He releases a breath when the blood doesn’t soak it for long. As if he’s worried about me. As if my well-being means shit in his agenda.
Why is he acting like this? I just can’t understand why he’s not the callous devil he should be.
His attention doesn’t break from my palm as he speaks, “I don’t know why you’re behaving like this all of a sudden, but why don’t you tell me?”
“Are you trying to pretend that you don’t know?”
“Know what?”
I purse my lips. A second ago, I was so certain it wasn’t a nightmare, but now, I’m not so sure. However, the bite mark and the tattoos couldn’t have been a figment of my imagination.
“You raped me just now.” My voice starts low, then grows in volume. “You forced yourself on me, even when I begged you to stop!”
Adrian’s hand pauses at my wound and he meets my gaze with his darker ones. For the first time since I met him, I really,reallywish I could see behind those eyes. Just to know what’s happening in there. What type of thoughts go into his abnormal brain?
“I didn’t rape you,” he says ever so casually.
“You expect me to believe that?”
“You should.”
“I know what I felt.” It was too vivid of a nightmare, too…real. So real that I can still feel his thrusts in me.
“If I wanted to fuck you, I wouldn’t need to rape you for it.” He glides the towel over my hand. “What made you think that I did it?”
“I just told you, I felt it.”
“Felt it how?” His voice is too calm for this conversation. Too infuriating. I want to reach into his armor and yank him out—that is, if there’s anything to yank out. Sometimes, he seems like a shell.
A nothingness that can’t be touched or altered.
