My hand over her lips did nothing to stop the sickness. Her eyes widened and a squeal of pain escaped the gaps in my fingers. I hated the part of me that wanted to go back to just a few hours before. It was easier when she was bleeding out and begging me to fuck her, to take her, to make her mine forever.
She knows what you are.
They all know what you are.
“Don’t fucking push me, Bridget.” When the slightest mewl escaped her throat, I tightened my grip on her jaw. My thumb dug painfully into her cheek, and golden eyes tried to blink away tears. “Understand?”
From her place beneath me, golden orbs saw every piece of me. Her yip of agreement wouldn’t come until my fingers drifted to her throat, and for now, it had to be good enough. All those years ago, she’d given herself to me as a willing victim. The last time she was under me, she was there because she wanted me— a memory that only brought another wave of nausea.
The anger didn’t come with her fight, with her scream. The anger only burned my skin when that awful smell filled my lungs. Anger only came when I noticed the blood that had soaked through her shirt. My hand released her throat, lifting up her shirt as carefully as I could while I examined the damage I’d done, another scarI’dleft on her.
‘No one’s gonna want me now.’
“Fuck.” The snarl tensed her muscles again, but I couldn’t wait for her permission. A single motion scooped her against my body, and as her arm looped so naturally around my neck, I pretended memories didn’t fill both of our heads. In a different life, I’d be carrying her intoourbedroom. She could have been moaning my name instead of screaming for help. Reality was just another night of torture.
I wouldn’t let the sight of the discarded IV bag set my skin on fire. I wouldn’t get annoyed at the mess she left in her rush out of the room— there’d be time for that after I stitched her back together. Birdie clung to me as I carried her into the bathroom, pulling away from me the moment I dropped her onto the bathroom counter. My fingers looped around the bottom of her shirt without another thought, but when her squeal of protest filled the room, our eyes locked again. It was the fear that kept me frozen in place. It was the fear that fed this thing. A growl earned her obedience again, and without another thought, I tore the material from her body. Shaking hands tried to cover herself, but I wasn’t sure it mattered.
All seeing her naked did was remind me of the reasons I couldn’t have her.
All it did was make that awful voice in my head even clearer.
I tried to suffocate it as I searched for the first aid kit behind the mirror. I tried to live with it as my fingers grazed her skin, but I’d never been so strong. I was too tired to fight this shit now, too strung out to pretend those disgusting whispers didn’t make me rock hard. Her tremble reminded me how good it would be to taste her, to take her, to tattoo my mark on her skin. Her fight only reminded me how good her obedience, herrealobedience, would feel.
Take her. Break her.
“It doesn’t have to be like this.”
“Bridget—”
“I wouldn’t say anything.”
As the annoyance ripped through me, I kept my eyes glued to her side. Another examination of her wound calmed my nerves. She’d torn the skin but this time, she hadn’t torn the stitches. She just needed time. She just needed to be protected. She just needed me— even if she didn’t want to admit it.
“You know I wouldn’t say anything,” she continued, breath shaking with every gentle touch. “If you let me go, I’d never tell—”
“Tell them what?” This time, the snarl snapped us both upright. “Tell them what, Bridget? Finish your fucking thought.” When her lips pressed into a thin line, I bit back my hiss and instead, braced my hands on the counter on either side of her thighs. My tongue ran over my teeth, and when she still wouldn’t move, I tried to choke out the only thing that seemed to pull Bridget back into the dark. “You promised me you were going to stop this shit.”
Something in her face shifted. Her features softened and all at once, I watched Bridget change back to the girl I met all those years ago. I watched her fear for me fade into something much more confusing. Her brow knitted together, and her scars seemed to glow as brightly as they did in the library. Golden eyes flickered down to my lips before settling on my eyes, before looking straight through my anger.
“I did.”
“Then why the fuck did I find you on the side of the road?” A wash of sickness paled her further, and a few rapid blinks chased away another memory. My beast didn’t growl again until she tried to look away from me. “I left you alone because you promised me you’d stop letting these fucking losers near you. You promised me you’d never let someone treat you like he did.”
Like I did.
Her eyes narrowed. “I did,” she hissed through gritted teeth.
“Then tell me who the fuck did this.”
Fear had a way of collapsing her spine, my raised voice sending her back another inch. Her gaze fell again, and as the sickness took over, the only thing that kept me grounded was the feeling of her skin beneath my fingers. I was leaving bruises again, digging my thumbs into her soft thighs. Last time I touched her like this, she was begging for more. This time, she was begging to never see me again. Anger prickled over my skin, and when I reached up to grab her chin, Bridget gasped out in pain. I needed her to look at me, toseeme.
“Please.”
“Don’t give me this shit, Bridget.”
“I just want to go—”
“When have I ever hurt you?” Her body tensed, but Bridget wouldn’t so much as blink. “Why the fuck would I ever hurt you? Why would I spend all this time just to—”