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Maybe then…
Maybe then she would have never fallen for someone as vile as Michele.
But she wasn't. And now she was dealing with the dire consequences.
THIRTEEN
MICHELE
Michele wokeup with a crushing pain in his head, the images of the night before flooding his brain as did the soreness in his body.
Opening his eyes, he came face to face with the wreckage he'd made of his room—the busted screens, the broken furniture and shattered glass.
He'd destroyed his entire bedroom.
Andreas, bless his heart, had seen his dark mood and had taken Lovely to sleep with him for the night, leaving Michele to drown himself in the bottom of a bottle—purely at the mercy of his guilty conscience.
The first thing he'd noted when he'd arrived back home had been the blood.
The dried blood on his cock.
There had been so much of it that he'd felt himself blanch, his entire body rebelling at the thought that he'd done that—that he'd hurt her like that.
But then he'd looked at his video feed. Right in time to spot his pet in her bathroom, blood running down her thighs as she tried to clean herself up—blood that simply wouldn't stop. She could barely tend to herself as broken sobs erupted in the air. Sounds that stabbed him so deep, they made him want to fucking end himself on the spot.
In his frenzy to get a reaction from her, he hadn't realized something was wrong. He'd been pissed about her indifference, but he'd never intended to hurt her like that.
He'd been rough before with her, but never to that extreme, and that only made him spiral further into self-loathing.
He'd replayed everything that had happened in his head, but even that was skewed as his emotions had clouded all attempts at rationality, the moments hazy, untrustworthy. So in an attempt to get some clarity he'd played back the footage from when he'd been in her room, watching all his movements as he'd interacted with her.
And that was when he'd seen it.
The monster in him.
The true monster that had…
Closing his eyes, he'd tried to regulate his breathing, panic taking hold of him as never before.
He'd seen everything for what it truly was.
Rape.
He'd…raped her.
Maybe before he could have excused his behavior in light of her love. Because she was so enamored of him, she would agree to everything he wanted—no matter how rough, or how degrading. Since she was in love with him, her consent automatically applied to every dubious situation.
It was a loophole, but one he'd used to the fullest to justify his treatment of her—because back then she was just a means to an end. Just someone to use and discard.
Not anymore.
He'd already decided he was going to keep her—make her his forever.
Then how could he do that to her? How the hell could he…
He'd seen her struggles to clean and patch herself up, the loud cries of pain and earth-shattering sobs.
He'd seen and felt her pain as his own.
