Like I could ever relax after that fucking asshole touched me, not with Carrington’s ghost still slithering around my body like the snake tattoo on his throat.
My hands were stained.
I couldn’t find solace, not when every nerve in me still buzzed like I’d sold a piece of my soul to him and to my girlfriend’s fucking brother.
I nodded anyway, because I was too tired to fight her softness. And maybe, if I lay in her bed, wrapped in her arms, I could trick myself into believing it was enough, if not just to sleep.
Her lips curved in a relieved smile, shaky but hopeful, as she laced her fingers with mine and tugged me toward the looming Harding mansion. The windows glowed like watchful eyes, and the inside walls promised no peace at all.
As we crossed the threshold, I knew no matter how soft her sheets felt on my feverish skin, or how sweet her voice became to calm me, I wouldn’t find rest tonight.
Because he’s all I would see when I closed my eyes.
The Hardings’mansion swallowed us whole. The halls were too polished and quiet, like the kind of place that made you whisper without realizing you were even doing so.
Xanthy’s hand was warm in mine, but I barely felt it. My chest still burned, and my skin felt tight with the memories I couldn’t shake. She led me up the wide staircase, her skirt brushing the steps with her movements, her perfume trailing faintly in the air. It replaced his masculine pine, earthy scent, and for that I was grateful.
I stared at the sway of her curvy hips and her soft, golden hair. I tried to focus on the curve of her shoulders, needing to surround myself in her softness…Demanding I forget the taste of his sweat.
By the time we reached her room at the end of the hall, my jaw ached from how hard I’d been clenching it. She pushed the door open and ushered me inside. Her smile was bright and light as she shut us away from the world.
“See?” she said softly, turning to me in a little spin around the room. “It’s just us now. No crowds, no noise. Just us.”
Her old room looked like her. Filled with soft colors, little trinkets, and her favorite bands plastered on the walls.
It should’ve felt safe.
It should’ve calmed me.
Instead, I felt trapped, like the walls were closing in more, like Carrington’s smirk was carved into the paint, ready to destroy the gentleness here like boiling acid.
I sat on her bed, and she stepped closer, brushing her fingers over my exposed, sticky chest.
“You’re scaring me, Shiloh.” Her voice cracked. “You’re…so far away tonight. I don’t know where you are, or how I can bring you back to me.”
I grabbed her wrist before she could pull away, pressing her palm harder against my heart.
“I’m right here.” The words snapped out of me like a lie I wanted to believe in myself.
Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made you come. I thought it would be fun. That it would help you to relax from all your studies, but I just feel like something happened, and it’s my fault.”
I should’ve let her words soften me, but all they did was twist the knife deeper. If she felt the wrongness of tonight, she had no fucking idea how deep it went.
She swallowed, voice trembling. “We can just…stay here. We’ll curl up in bed. You don’t have to pretend. You don’t have to…be anything. Just be with me. We can talk about it tomorrow, maybe.”
Her hand slid to my cheek again, gentle and grounding. For a second, I almost let her pull me into that warmth. Almost let myself believe she could scrape Carrington off me with nothing but her tenderness.
But as she looked at me like I was still hers while sinking to her knees in front of me…
All I saw was him kneeling. I saw his eyes locked on mine while his wicked fucking mouth stretched around me, owning me in the silence.
The memory made my throat burn, and my stomach twist.
I leaned forward and kissed her, hard and wrong, forcing her back toward the bed. She gasped against me, her body so pliant while her hands trembled against me.
She wanted to comfort me, but I twisted it into something harsh and selfish.
Like my father.
