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“I’ll be seeing you, Tinks. This isn’t over.”
“Get out!”
Stepping outside, the humid air coats my exposed skin as I close the door behind me. The silence that follows is deafening, the stillness only disturbed by the distant sounds of sirens and car engines.
“Fuck!” I shout, slamming my fist against the brick wall, pain flaring up my arm. It’s nothing compared to the agony I’ve caused her, though. I light a cigarette, inhaling the smoke and letting it fill my lungs, hoping it might numb the pain.
The drive home is a blur, my thoughts full of the night’s events. As I park my car, I sit there, filled with loathing for what I’ve just done.
“Summer,” I whisper, her name tasting like ash on my tongue. My heart aches for her, for the woman I hurt when all I wanted was to protect her from men like me.
14
SUMMER
The silence that hangs heavy in the air only amplifies the tension and fear coursing through my veins. Despite the comfort of my familiar surroundings, that has now been violated.
Glancing over at the door, my heart pounds in my chest as I push myself to my feet. My back screams with pain, and I let the tears fall freely. Pulling my panties up, I cross over to the door and lock it, knowing it won’t stop him anyway. The back door is already secure, so I walk slowly and steadily to the stairs, my torn dress and ripped bra fall away from my body. I leave them in a heap where they land, stepping over them and kicking off my shoes. In just my panties, I take the steps one at a time, needing to get to the shower. The blood is trickling down my back, sticky and tickly.
Immediately crossing into the bathroom, I turn on the shower, setting the temperature to cool. Turning to face myself in the mirror, I cringe. I’m a mess. Gathering my loose hair over my shoulder, I wince and, with a deep breath, turn around. Looking back over my shoulder, I see the bloody scratches of Ciarán’s name etched into my skin.
I make it to the toilet just in time.
Bending over, one hand gripping the side of the bowl, the other tangled in my hair, I vomit up the entire contents of my stomach, tears streaming down my face as I retch until my stomach hurts.
Wiping my mouth, I straighten up and flush. Shoving my panties down, I climb into the shower and scream as the water hits the cuts on my back. Hot tears mingle with tepid water, I stand there, drenching my hair and body, but not moving.
The strange thing is, I’m not scared.
I should be fucking terrified, but I know he won’t come back. Not yet, anyway. And even when he does, I’ll be ready for him because he has armed me with something deep and dark that ravages his soul into tiny pieces to form the beast that just hurt me. He uses sex and violence as power and control, and that tells me more than words ever could.
My battered heart shatters for him, and I sob for both of us as the water eventually runs too cool to endure.
Turning the shower off, I grab a towel and step out, drying my face first and then patting down the rest of my skin, leaving my hair a sodden, tangled mess. The wounds have been cleaned as much as I can, and the blood washed away. They are mere scratches. He branded me with hisbadge of honor,but it could’ve been a lot worse. I don’t think he really wanted to hurt me. They will scar, and I will bear this brand for the rest of my life, until they fade with old age.
Flopping face-first onto the bed, I’m relieved I don’t have work tomorrow. But Monday is only a day away. Somehow, unless Ciarán bloody Gannon is going to pay my bills, I’m going to have to get myself together enough to get out of this bed, get dressed, drive to work, apologize to Gary for that shitshow outside and do eight hours on my feet without wanting to cry in frustration and pain.
Fun times.
Closing my eyes, leaving my back open to the elements to hopefully dry and scab over sooner rather than later, I drift off into a restless sleep where nightmares are close but never really make it there to haunt me.
Only Ciarán’s intense blue eyes, filled with so much pain and darkness, linger in my dreams where I am his savior.
Dreams.
Just dreams.
* * *
I’m not sure how long I sleep, but when I wake, the sun is rising, and the clock reads 4:59 AM. I’m tangled in the sheets, and my body is stiff and sore from the position I slept in. Right now, it feels like every one of my bones aches, but I’m not in pain. I’m empty.
It feels as if every emotion in my soul has just drifted off into nothingness, leaving me a shell.
That is until I move, and the cuts on my back pull sharply.
“Fuck you!” I hiss and stand up, grabbing my thin summer robe and pulling it on over my naked body. “You are a fucking asshole, and I’m going to brandyounext time you dare show your face to me.”
Blinking, I realize that is kind of redundant. I saw my name gouged into his inner arm last night. He hurt himself more than he hurt me, that much is obvious.
