Finally, I feel her cold fingers brush against mine.
I turn my head to face her. But I don’t see the look of wrath I was expecting.
I see fear.
“Kai? Did something happen? Are you okay?” I ask, suddenly worried. I try to roll to her, to understand what’s happening.
She puts a hand up, pressing against my chest, stopping me from touching her.
The cold chill shoots through me. I shudder at how cold I feel. Usually, the cold settles my heat, calming me and making me feel whole. But this time, it empties me.
Kai looks at me unblinking. And that’s when I realize what’s happening. She won’t punish me with whips or beatings. She will punish me by showing me everything she’s feeling and everything she’s ever felt.
I will feel all of her pain. It will be impossible for me not to. The connection we share is too deep not to. I won’t be able to shut it out like she does. And I’ll never forget the pain.
The torment she has gone through.
Kai releases my hand and then moves her fingers to her neck where the doctor put the dressing. She removes the dressing. And I truly stare at the fresh wound for the first time. I could hardly look at it in the car except to ensure she was still alive.
She takes my hand again and moves it toward her neck.
“No,” I say, not wanting to hurt her or disturb the stitches. Like my touch might infect the wound in some way.
She holds my gaze, and her lips tighten. I know she won’t let me get away with not doing this. She carefully places my hand over the wound.
It’s hot as fire. The only part of her body that isn’t cold. And I can’t imagine what that feels like to her. Not only does her neck hurt, but it feels like she was branded with sizzling flames.
I close my eyes, and I can feel the sharp blade pressing against her skin. I feel the searing blood warming her much cooler skin. I feel the terror pulsing through her veins as blood spills and knowing the only way to stop it was to shut herself down. Knowing every time she shuts down, it takes a mountain of pain to reenter the world again.
She holds in her tears, but I can’t mine. I let a tear fall.
She growls at the sight of my weakness. And I suck the rest in. I pull my hand back, needing reli
ef from the pain and loneliness.
No, she mouths—her face stern.
She grabs my hand again and traces the bruises on her face with my fingertips. The thin lines on her face that will continue to soften with time, but never disappear completely. Most of the scars aren’t my fault. They are her father’s for selling her the first time. But this is what would have happened again to her if I didn’t stop Milo from taking her.
She lets go of my hand for a second and then removes her shirt, lifting it up over her head.
I wince at the discoloration of her skin. Purples, blues, and yellows cover her body, in much the same way her skin was when she first arrived.
I should kill Milo for what he did to her—I will kill him.
She takes my hand and moves my fingers over her broken and beaten skin. And with each touch, it’s like a knife is being shoved into my own flesh. I can’t imagine the amount of suffering she endured. I’ve lived with her for months now. But this, knowing I almost sent her to endure this again, it’s too much.
Tears fall as I feel everything and realize how much it would break me to see her suffer for even a second.
I feel the cold.
I feel the pain.
I feel the loneliness.
“Here,” she moves my hand over her shoulder to a mark I know. A similar mark to several I wear at the hands of my father.
“Here I was shot because I wouldn’t willingly suck Jarod’s cock. I bled for days. The wound became infected. I became delirious, sick with fever.”