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“Bet it hurts like fuck,” I growl, stomping down the stairs, pausing only to glare at the wall where he...
My shoulders sag.
He didn’t rape me.
I mean, in the strictest sense, I suppose he did. I didn’t consent with words, but if I hadn’t wanted him to take his frustrations out on me, I would’ve fought harder. I would’ve told him no.
A sick part of me wanted him to exert his power and control over me. It wanted to be calledhis,and it wanted his claim, his mark, on me. It’s not that what he did was right, but I can’t justify it being completely wrong, either.Ididn’t speak up.
I wonder if I’d fought and made it clear I didn’t want it, would he have stopped.
I think he would’ve.
Call me crazy, and most probably will, but I feel like I know him better than anyone ever has or ever could from this one action.
Ciarán has shown me who he really is, and it’s not the tough guy he shows to the world but a broken little boy who needs to have control over every aspect of his life. Fuck knows how I know this, but I just do. He allowed me to see it whether he wanted to or not, but it’s out there now.
Turning from the living room, I go into the kitchen to make coffee. Glaring at the once pristine white countertop that is now a shade of gray from the blood and bleach and scrubbing, I sigh and run a hand through my bird’s nest hair, making a strong cup of coffee and going back to my bedroom to wallow and figure out what I’m going to say to Gary tomorrow. If he even lets me within a hundred feet of him after what Ciarán said to him.
Jesus. What was that even?
Picking up my phone, I tap the screen as I curl up in bed, trying to avoid any pressure on my back. This is the thing that pisses me off the most. It’s permanent. Unless I fork out for laser surgery, which is a huge no on my salary, I’m stuck with it.
“Bastard.”
But still, I stare at the screen, wondering if he will call me.
I don’t even know how to unpack that thought.
What would I say to him if he did?
Clenching my jaw, I realize I’m losing it. Big time. But he has driven me to this. Maybe that was his plan, to drive me crazy.
If so, he’s succeeding.
Throwing the phone on the bed, I finish my coffee and close my eyes, needing to sleep to stop thinking and to help heal the rip in my soul that he tore open and bled into without even realizing it.
15
CIARÁN
Staring at the half-empty bottle of whiskey, hoping it has some answers, I hate myself for what I did to Summer. The memory of her fear-filled eyes haunts me, and I can’t shake off my disgust. The penthouse apartment that usually offers me comfort only feels cold and empty, reflecting the darkness inside me.
“Fuck,” I mutter, taking another swig of the burning liquid, trying to drown my thoughts.
My phone buzzes relentlessly on the counter, but I ignore it. The men in my gang can wait; I’m not in the mood for their bullshit. My mind is consumed by my obsession with Summer and the terrible thing I’ve done. As the night drags on and the whiskey bottle empties, my mind becomes cloudier and my thoughts more muddled.
Knowing I need to apologize to Summer, grovel at her feet and hope she finds it in her somewhere to forgive me, I close my eyes, trying to stop the room spinning, but it doesn’t help.
Slumping onto the leather couch, I fall into a state of self-pity so deep, I want to end it all, but I can’t do that until I’ve spoken to Summer and tried with everything in my beat-up soul to make it right.
My head is pounding as I force myself to stand and make my way to the bedroom. The room spins around me, the darkness pressing at the edges of my vision. I stumble towards my bed, collapsing onto the soft mattress and pulling the blankets over my head.
As I lay there in my drunken stupor, I can feel the weight of my guilt crushing me. I know I need to make things right with Summer, but I don’t know how. I’ve never been good at apologizing, never been good at admitting when I’m wrong. But this time, I know I have to try.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, I drift off into a fitful sleep.
* * *
