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“What were you thinking?”
My attention snags on the shattered pieces of glass and I don’t bother to look up at him. I don’t want to see the disappointment in his face.
“I’m done,” I say numbly.
Reed shakes his head. His foot gently kicks my arm. “Get up and clean the blood off your face. Knox is likely to smell it and drain the rest of it from you.”
Getting up is when my body starts to feel the pain. My head throbs and my knuckles ache. It feels like bruises are already forming along the side of my ribs, and my lips are clearly swollen with heat and a slicing, stinging feeling.
Simply breathing has me coughing, and coughing only makes it so much fucking worse.
Fuck.
Reed kindly ignores my total patheticness and starts picking up the mess. Groaning, I make my way upstairs to the bathroom.
Under the fluorescent lights I see my reflection and it’s sad. Knox kicked my ass. But did he hear me?
I swear if he hurts her, more than–more than I already have–
With that thought, I growl, slamming my fists against the sink. The decorations lining the counter shudder.
A soft knock rasps against the door.
“Busy,” is all I can manage to yell.
“I need to pee before you spend the rest of the evening jacking off in the shower,” Dee says. She isn’t quiet but she isn’t demanding either.
Fuck that was one time. One time.
What is she going to say when she sees me like this? Will she feel what I’ve felt everytime I see her distressed from this constant torment she is going through?
The door drags open slowly. I resist the urge to hide my face to keep her from seeing the mess that I’m in. The mess I helped to create.
Without my glasses, her pretty features are a blur until she comes a bit closer.
“Move it or lose it, I’m five seconds from peeing on my…” Her words dissolve as she looks up at me. Then she smirks.
Cruelly.
She doesn’t look sad, no trace of empathy whatsoever. It would be a stretch to suggest that she even cares. But a smirk was not what I was expecting.
I’m in a state of bewilderment. Her reaction stuns me and I hover in the small doorway expecting more. More of what? Honestly, I’m still expecting some form of compassion.
Dee takes half a step forward. The very tip of her finger draws easy lines along my stinging wounds. She doesn’t shy away from the bit of dried blood nor does she apologize when I wince away from her as she hits the tenderest of spots.
I’m doing this for you. I want to scream the words out. I took this beating for her.
But it’s still my fault. I’m not an idiot to not see that.
“How does it feel to be reminded of your weakness?” she says, her smile growing eerily.
My body moves without command. I push her delicate hand away from my face, stepping forward one step then another as she retreats until her back hits the opposite wall in the dark hallway. I’m easily half a foot taller than her, likely more, so my frame looms over her.
Green, wild eyes stare back at me unafraid. She’s gotten tough. Everything around me becomes something distant now that I focus on her. There’s no pain, no guilt, no regret. The only thing we hear is the constant and unsteady rhythm of our breathing.
My palms grip her hips pinning her in place. I’m only aware that she notices the touch because she glances down. She lets me hold her, linger in her presence. Gently, she places her head against my shoulder finally leaning into me too.
The way her shoulders sag into me, I know she’s carrying more than she lets on.
