Placing the empty bottle back on the bedside table, I glanced at the bathroom. There was no door or entry hidden with closet doors. It was just an opening in the wall leading to the bathroom.
I eyed the tub, which was right across from the entry. It wasn’t nearly as pretty as the bath I had in my other prison cell where they first kept me. It seemed old, smaller, and a little discolored.
When was the last time I had a bath or a shower? I couldn’t remember. And, frankly, I didn’t care. Since I was rotten on the inside, I might as well be filthy on the outside.
The door opened behind me, and a rush of heat flooded through me—from the back of my neck right down to my heels.
It was him. I knew it. I could feel it.
I closed my eyes. “Go away, Granite.”
The door closed, but I knew he hadn’t left. My skin was still prickling with his presence.
Silence filled every open space in the room, yet it was deafening, laden with unspoken words. The longer the silence remained, the harder I had to work at holding back my tears.
“Please leave.” My voice was soft and held no conviction. In that moment, I was hanging from that ceiling again, hooked to chains and possessed by pain…but relieved because he finally came. He came to save me. He came to take away the pain.
If only…
A tear slipped down my cheek. It was amazing how he could trigger these emotions in me merely by being close. He didn’t have to say a word. He didn’t have to touch me. He simply had to stand there and breathe.
I wiped at my cheek with the back of my hand. “Granite, please leave.” My voice was louder this time, sorrow slowly building my strength.
Nothing. Not a word.
I clutched my stomach tighter, heartache spreading everywhere, filling every crack, threatening to shatter me into a million pieces. I didn’t want to break in front of him. Not again. But I couldn’t stop it. This man managed to engrave himself on my soul, penetrating every part of my being, consuming me to a point where breaking was the only way to get a little relief from constantly trying to fight it. To fight him.
“Please,” I whispered as a tear rolled over my lips and I could taste my own sadness. “It hurts too much to be close to you.”
Pain built its way through every bone in my body until it finally erupted. I shot up.
“Please leave!” My voice slammed against the walls, anger echoing from my words. I turned around, ready to lash at him, only to find he wasn’t there. He was gone. He left, and I stood there staring at the closed door. Alone, hurt, and hating myself for being disappointed that he was no longer there.
My lips quivered, and I finally allowed the sorrow to consume me. It demanded tears. So many tears, I couldn’t stop it. I didn’t want to stop it. I wanted to crack and break in ways that would make it impossible to be put back together. That way I wouldn’t ever have to fight again. I wouldn’t ever have to try to scrape together every ounce of strength in order to survive. I could just give up, and not feel anything ever again. If I didn’t feel, I couldn’t long for something or someone I had lost—that was, if I ever had it in the first place. I’d simply be a void in a world thriving on pain and agony.
Burying my face in my palms, I continued to sob, the heartache throbbing like an open sore.
Images of him, of me, of us together flashed through my mind, and the memory of being with him worsened the pain tenfold. It made everything worse because I loved it. I missed it. And I wanted it again. I wanted to be with him, and I hated myself for it. Wanting him still made me weak. It made me pathetic. Most of all, it made me a fucking hypocrite because I longed for the man who tainted me with the blood of another.
God. How was I going to survive this? Was there ever going to be an ending to all this?
I wasn’t strong enough.
I wasn’t strong enough to fight him…or the hold he had on my heart. No matter what kind of devil he was.
6
Granite
Leaning against the door,I listened to her cries. Every tear she shed was like a hot knife slicing through my flesh. Every cry, every whimper had me bleeding on the inside, slowly rotting and dying.
When I walked into the room and my gaze fell on her fragile form, all I wanted to do was take her in my arms and carry her away—far away from all of this. I wanted to soothe her, comfort her, take care of her. But I couldn’t. I was the reason she was broken in the first place. If it wasn’t for me, she wouldn’t have been feeling all that pain right now.
Even through the thin fabric of the clothes she wore, I could see the bones of her shoulders protruding. Her arms were thin enough for me to wrap my fingers around, and her hair was a mess of dirty strands. She was in hell…because of me.
I stood inside that room, silently, listening to her soft whimpers, her rapid breaths. Being so close to her yet unable to touch her was the worst kind of agony a man like me had ever felt. I’d taken bullets, survived blades and punches. But her pain was something I wasn’t sure I’d be able to survive. It was too much, so I left, a bigger mess than when I went in.
“Fuck,” I whispered while leaning my head to the side and closing my eyes.