“Just arrived,” he said. “I had a study group that went late, but I knew this might be the only chance to see you.”
Yeah. With the trouble on the road the other night, who knew if he’d be admitted to the house. And if he were, how would it play out once Damon came home.
Home. I held onto the railing as we took the stairs two flights down, still holding onto Ethan with my other hand. Damon—or his family—owned my home now, and while he’d been clearly sleeping elsewhere all the nights since the wedding, he could still come and go whenever he liked. Without knocking. Without permission. Without an invitation.
He controlled every key in the house. The realization curdled my stomach.
“Are you okay?” Ethan asked. “I mean…not just the leg.”
“Yes, I’m fine.”
I knew what he was worried about, and I was grateful for his concern, but he couldn’t help. And I wasn’t sure I would tell him if there was something to worry about.
“Don’t worry,” I assured.
I may not be able to handle Damon, but Ethan definitely couldn’t.
He led me to the women’s bathroom, knocking and calling out before we entered to make sure it was empty, and I walked in, releasing him and reaching for the wall to the left I knew was there. Coming around the corner, I found the sink counter and hopped up on it, immediately reaching for the paper towel holder.
Ethan reached for it, too, trying to help.
“I got it,” I told him. “Can you grab the first aid kit? It should be inside the box on the wall.”
While he walked over and lifted the lid, I wetted a couple paper towels and dabbed at the skin where it hurt. They said I was bleeding, but I had no idea how much.
I groaned as the cool water stung my cut. It was always the smallest things that hurt the most. Forming a little circle of claws, I dug my nails lightly into the skin surrounding the pain to deflect it a little. A trick my dad taught me when I was about six. The sharp ache eased a little, and I stayed like that for a moment, enjoying the slight reprieve.
“Hey, there’s nothing here,” Ethan called out. “Let me run upstairs and see if the girl at the desk has it.”
I nodded, not sure if he saw. The bathroom door creaked open and closed as he left, and I pulled the paper towels off, folded them, and re-applied them to my leg, leaning back on the mirror and closing my eyes.
What the hell was I going to do? I was twenty-one, no job prospects, and I was scared. I would never be free while he was alive, and there was still so much he could take from me. He was already heavily at work on my peace of mind.
He’d been out of prison for over a year before he made contact, and two years before he set his plan into motion. I’d gotten complacent in my sense of security, thinking he might’ve moved on. I was wrong.
My eyelids grew heavy, and my head started to float as the pain in my leg subsided. I yawned, letting the sleepiness take over. At least when I was tired, I couldn’t worry.
Just as I was about to nod off, propped up against the mirror, I heard the whine of the unoiled hinges on the bathroom door. That was quick.
“Did you get it?” I asked, keeping my eyes closed and breaking into another yawn.
He didn’t answer me, though, and I opened my eyes, blinking. Someone had just opened the door, right?
“Ethan?” I called, sitting up straight.
The theater was about to close, and other than the front desk attendant, I didn’t think anyone else was in the building anymore.
And then…he was there.
He rested his hand on top of mine where it laid on my thighs, his chilled fingers making me suck in a breath and laugh. “Hey, you scared me,” I said. “Did you get the Band-Aids?”
Fingertips came up to my face, brushing a strand of hair out of my eye, and I recoiled at the icicles on my skin. What was he doing? I took his hand off my face and held it in mine, reassuring him.
“I’m okay.”
His body came in closer, though, forcing my knees apart and his clothes chafing the inside of my thighs. He took his hands off me, and I stilled, feeling the warmth of his breath right in front of me, on my face, as he leaned in.
What the hell was he doing?