I climb up onto the edge of the bathtub and reach the window above. I slide it wide—not wanting to smoke out the bathroom—and drop back onto the marble floor. I look down at the destroyed clothes that hold my darkest secret and lean over it.
I let out a shaky breath and light them up as I struggle to hold back my sobs. I grab a few of the small white hand towels from the cupboard and throw them onto the fire, encouraging it to burn quicker, then stand back and watch as the sobs threaten to suffocate me.
Keeping my eye on the fire, I step into the shower and turn on the taps as hard as they will go. I stand under the scalding water and scrub myself. Once. Twice. Three times.
I do it again and again until the water at the bottom of the shower finally runs clean and all physical traces of what I did to Jude are gone.
How did I become this? I've said for weeks that if I was to find Jude that I'd end him, but never in a million years did I think I had the ability to take it that far.
What is Colton going to think of me now? What he walked in on ... that couldn't have been easy. It would have been the same as me standing back in that warehouse and watching as Nic ended those men's lives. They deserved it completely, just as Jude did, but it doesn't make it any less wrong.
I lowered myself to their standards. I should have fought like a hero, but instead, I fought like a villain. I tortured him; I stabbed him with a broken wine bottle. I kicked him while he was already down. Where's the honor in that? Where's the courage? Where's the fucking humanity?
I should have called the police. I should have had him arrested and taken away. Fuck, what good would that have done? Colton would have ended up in trouble and I refuse to allow that to happen. Colton deserves the chance to explain himself just as Nic and the boys had, and fuck, I'm hoping that what he has to say isn't going to kill me the way the boys did. I can't lose Colton too.
I fall back against the cold tiles of the shower and sink down to the ground. My arms wrap around my knees and I hold myself in a tight ball, wishing I could somehow go back and walk out of the wine cellar without laying a hand on him.
I've always thought that having the courage to deal with your problems meant being ready to end someone. But there is no strength in murder. I was wrong ... Nic is wrong. The fucking boys are wrong. Ending someone like that, that's weak. That's taking the easy way out. An eye for an eye.
I allowed my emotions to run the show instead of playing it smart.
I could have taken him out of there and hand-delivered him to the cops. I could have recorded a confession and had him locked up. There are so many things I could have done. I failed myself, and now I don't know if I'll ever get justice.
My head falls against my knees as the water sprays down over my hair and runs down my back. I wonder what Colton is doing. Is he staying behind to cleanup my mess or is he finishing off Jude himself? Hell, maybe he's out there somewhere trying to work out what the fuck he's going to tell me, how he's going to explain himself. Though, maybe I should be the one thinking about an explanation.
What's he going to think of me? The concern in his eyes was astronomical. How could he look at me the same after witnessing that? I turned into the one thing I hate. I turned into a monster with no self-control.
I should be in prison. I should be somewhere far, far away from the people I love. I should be suffering. I should be the one lying on the ground in pools of my own blood.
The bathroom door opens and my head snaps up, my eyes wide and frantic, terrified of who's about to walk in here and what they're about to see, but when I find Colton looking back at me, my fears settle.
He walks straight to the shower and opens the glass door, not bothering to strip off his clothes before he steps under the hot water and sinks down beside me. He ignores the shitty fire in the bathtub and pulls me into his arms, but I don't miss how the water runs red again.
My sobs reach their peak and I cry into Colton's neck, neither of us saying a damn word until I'm finally able to calm myself. He pulls me up onto his lap and I hold him closer, needing his comfort, but most of all, needing him. “It's going to be okay,” he whispers, his voice barely audible over the sound of the water crashing down against the shower tiles.