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Suddenly, it feels like I can't breathe.
“It's all my fault,” I choke out, the words tasting like ashes in my mouth.
A look of shock flits across Logan's face, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
A bitter laugh escapes my lips, and I press my hands against my temple, as if trying to contain the pain. “He found it, Logan. He found the journal. That's why he snapped. That’s why he took Hannah from me.”
His hand reaches out for me, as if he wants to pull me into his arms, to shield me from the horrors of my past. But I'm beyond the point of comfort now. As his touch lands on my shoulder, I feel my body rattle, my breath hitching in my throat. The world blurs around me, the edges of my vision fading into blackness.
“Fuck, baby, please don’t flinch away from me.”
“I need you to go. I just... I just need to deal with this on my own. Please, Logan. I just… I need a night.”
The reality of my plea lands between us, heavy and palpable. I don't want him to go, but I need him to leave, and he recognizes it in the hard resolve in my eyes. This is something I have to confront alone.
The helplessness in his gaze tugs at something within me, but I force the feeling away, unable to afford any more heartache tonight.
His curt nod tells me he understands. He always does.
But he doesn't retreat immediately, not before he takes my face in his hands, pressing his forehead against mine. His voice is a whisper but strong. “None of this is your fucking fault. None of it. You're stronger than him. You always have been. Face whatever you need to face but come back to me.” His thumb tenderly strokes my temple, soothing and grounding me. “Don't disappear in here. Stay with me, baby.”
I want to promise him, but I can't. Not when I don't know if I can keep it.
“If you need me, I'm right here. You hear me?”
I manage to swallow past the lump in my throat. “Yes.”
His fingers reluctantly slip away from my face, a torturous release, before he turns and walks away, his steps heavy, his frustration echoing in the curses he mutters under his breath.
With him gone, my gaze falls back to the journal discarded on the floor. I steel myself for the emotional turmoil that awaits.
I still feel Logan’s lips on mine, and it’s in that touch I take some strength.
It’s time to spend a night with a ghost.
Forty-Six
Blood fell from my face, dripping into the sink and staining the porcelain until I washed it away with water. Hands trembling, I brought them to my nose and felt the sticky liquid smudge on the back of my hand. My heart was hammering too hard, my legs shaking until I was sure they would give out and I’d crumble.
I gripped the counter and inhaled a shaky breath before finally lifting my head to stare at myself in the mirror. I didn’t recognize my reflection. He made sure of that. I was under there somewhere, under the swelling and the angry red marks that will be purple by morning.
I fucked up. Why couldn’t I have kept my mouth shut?
Tears fell, stinging the cut on my bottom lip. My face needed ice, but I couldn’t move my legs. I couldn’t go back down there until he cooled off. But I needed to clean up. Hannah couldn’t see me like this. A sob ruptured in my throat. It hurt, aggravating the skin marred by his fingerprints around my neck.
Grabbing a washcloth, I soaked it in warm water and pressed it to my face. At least my nose stopped bleeding.
My little girl is going to be so scared. She didn’t hear. I always make sure she doesn’t hear, but how do I explain my face? He rarely touches my face for that reason. It’s too visible.
At least he didn’t kick.
I rinsed the cloth, watching the blood swirl in faded pink as it mixed with the water and disappeared down the drain like it was never there. Erased.
I felt his presence before I saw him. Standing at the doorway, eyes glassy, tumbler in his hand before he took a drink and raked his eyes over my bruises. I’m not sure if he even saw them, if he saw what his hands created.
His dirty blonde hair was disheveled, tie loosened after a day at work. I wondered how he managed to get away without destroying his white shirt in blood. It was pristine. His knuckles weren’t so lucky. They were cut and red, wrapped around the glass.
Hazel eyes locked with mine in the mirror, but I chose to see my daughter in those eyes, not the monster who was really staring back at me.
