Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 127476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 510(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 510(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
"Oh God," Karissa whispers. "That's horrible."
"It's not so bad," I say. "It'll heal quickly. It'll all heal. A few days, and I won't feel it anymore. A week or two, and all I'll be left with are some new scars."
I turn away from her and climb into the shower, not bothering to close the curtain, not caring that I splash water all out on the floor. I'm too exhausted to care about anything today. I expect Karissa to leave me in peace, to walk back out the door, but instead she strolls closer to the shower. "Can I help you?"
"I don't know," I say. "Can you?"
She hesitates, wavering for a moment, before reaching for the hem of her tank top and pulling it off, tossing it to the floor with my clothes. I turn my head, closing my eyes, and let out a deep sigh as she undresses right beside me. I don't look—I can't. She steps into the shower behind me, her hands instantly running up my spine, sending a shiver through my body.
It's agony.
It's not in my nature to let anyone take care of me. I don't like relying on others for anything. But something inside of me breaks at the feel of her hands on my skin, her presence around me, as she tugs the shower curtain closed, casting the two of us in shadows.
She washes me as I stand there, gently cleaning the blood from around my wounds with a soft cloth, trying her damnedest not to hurt me any more. I stand under the spray letting the water rain down on me for a while, neither of us speaking, before the dizziness gets to be too much. Pulling away from her, I sit down on the edge of the tub, leaning my head against the tile wall.
She steps in front of me, under the spray of the water, and gazes down at me. No matter how hard I try not to look, my gaze rakes up her body, drinking in every inch of her frame, before meeting her eyes.
She says nothing.
I don't know what I'm supposed to say.
Instead, I wrap my arms around her, pulling her to me, my head resting against her stomach. She runs her hands through my hair, caressing it, as I close my eyes, letting myself, for the moment, feel it.
Feel it all.
Every bit of it.
Everything I avoid, and push back, and ignore.
I'm in love with the one woman I should never have fallen for.
We're a tragedy in the making. The game of tug-of-war we're playing will end up destroying us, because she doesn't have it in her to surrender, and I can't let go.
It's something else I love about her.
There's a fight in her.
But it's a fight that'll be our downfall.
Because I have that same fight in me.
We still don't speak. I hold her, until the water starts to run cold, a chill in the air making a shiver run through her. She pulls away from me, slips out of my arms, and climbs out of the shower. I sit there for a while longer, listening to her walk out of the bathroom, before reaching over and turning off the water.
I give myself one more day.
That's it.
Just one more, before the paranoia gets to be too much and I can't just lay around anymore.
I put on my brave face and force myself back on my feet. There's hell to pay with each small step I take, but I keep making steps despite it.
It feels like there's burning lava in my gut.
I grit my teeth and don't let it show, even when my vision gets hazy, even when my head feels dizzy, even when the pain makes my knees want to buckle beneath me.
Karissa isn't in the bedroom.
It's dusk, I think, or maybe it's nearing dawn. I'm not sure anymore. All I know is the house feels dark. Too dark. I lost hours, too many hours, hours that left me exposed and vulnerable. A nagging feeling continually hounds me, the silence deafening in her absence.
At first I think she's gone, but light streaming out from the bathroom pushes those thoughts back down inside of me. I find the bathroom door cracked open a bit and I push it open further, glancing inside.
She's in the bathtub.
I lean against the doorframe and watch her for a moment. The water teaming with bubbles shields the most intimate places of her body, but I can see enough for my imagination to take over.
Once again, I'm struck by how beautiful she is.
The relief of her presence is enough to dull some of the pain, at least temporarily. She's so ingrained in my life these days, burrowed so deep in my heart, that I think killing her now would really be the death of me.
I managed to survive last time love ripped me apart.
I don't know if I can survive that again.
And that's what Ray doesn't understand, I think.
Ray doesn't understand love anymore. He has a wife, and a mistress, hundreds of men at his beck and call, but I don't think he's ever loved anyone outside of his daughter. Love destroyed him that day, too, and he never recovered.
He doesn't understand how I can.
Karissa's reading, a familiar old book in her hands, one I recognize with just a glance. The Prince. I've read it so many times I can quote it verbatim. Based on the crease along her forehead, the puckering of her lips as she glowers, I'd say she doesn't find it nearly as fascinating as I do.
She's reading it, though.
I'll give her some credit.
"The Prince."
My voice sounds magnified in the silent bathroom. She jumps, startled, not noticing me until now. The book slips from her hands, hitting the water with a splash. Cursing, she snatches it back up before it fully submerges, shooting me a panicked look. "Shit, sorry, I didn't mean—"
I hold my hands up to stop her. "Don't apologize."
"But your book," she says, shaking the water off of it. "It's wet."
I stroll toward her, shrugging. "It's just a book."