“Fuck,” he hissed. I jerked, almost falling over.
I didn’t drop my eyes fast enough when he looked around the room, spotting me. His eyes widened as he was the one to jerk, shooting up to sit.
“Fuck.” Another curse as he jumped from the couch, running out of the room. Then, a door somewhere nearby slammed moments before what sounded like a toilet lid hitting more porcelain.
I stayed where I was. Part in fear, part out of not knowing what to do.
Sir vomited a lot, always making a mess that I’d have to clean up. I think he did it on purpose, puking on the floor just to see me clean it, fighting against my own gagging while doing so.
I didn’t know Sabastian well enough to know what he wanted of me. Heck, I had yet to figure out what he wanted of me period. I didn’t think he really wanted me in the first place, since he had pretty muchignored me. Which was better than anything else, I reminded myself.
Sucking at the pacifier, feeling the plastic almost suction to my skin before I let up, I took a breath through my nose. I had to calm myself. Fearing what I didn’t know would come when it came. Whatever it may be.
Settling my weight against the heels of my feet, shoulders slumped, I debated on hiding. I wasn’t tied to anything. I could try to hide somewhere in the house. I could find the smallest corner, and become invisible in it.
Before I could get my body to do just that, Sabastian was back, sitting on the couch, head in his hands.
He was close enough that if I wanted, I could lean into his leg. But I didn’t. That’d be stupid. Sir never liked me doing the touching. He was to touch. He was to look. So, I could only guess that was how Sabastain was, too.
It didn’t matter that I missed nice touches like that. Mom used to hug me, tell me she’d always be there with open arms. Even though Sir sneered at her for saying such words. Mom had been there, offering nice touches. Touches I had long since lost hope of having.
Crybabies like me didn’t get that, though.
Blinking back tears, and trying to make my mind go back to the blankness of before, my body shuddered. On instinct, my arms wrapped around my torso, trying to keep the parts that were falling apart inside.
Sir’s words were still bouncing around my head, and most likely stay there forever.
“Worthless piece of junk. Can’t get hard when you see my big cock. Can’t keep the tears away. Such a crybaby. Filthy shameful slut.”
I held my breath, forcing Sir’s voice away. I didn’t need reminders of how bad I was. I didn’t need to remember how his hands felt on me as he chocked tears from my eyes.
“Settle, little one.” At his voice, a hand landed in my hair, tangling against the already tangled strands. I held my breath, waiting for the grasp to pull or push. Or both, for all I knew. Instead, fingertips rubbed along the top of my head, which only caused more tears that I didn’t want to lose.
What the heck was wrong with me? I only cried when I couldn’t take life anymore. I only shed tears when I was terrified. Not when a simple touch against my skin happened.
“I think I messed up.” He kept speaking, not stopping his fingers. “Ididmess up. On many things. But the way I’ve treated you.”
As his fingers moved from my hair, I couldn’t stop myself as I followed. I didn’t catch myself until it was too late. Leaning against his leg, I just stayed there, too defeated to try to do anything else at that moment.
“I don’t know what I’m doing here,” he went on with a deep sigh. “And I’m fucking hung over, which isn’t helping. But I’m an asshole. One that promises to right things.”
His hand went back to my head, this time just petting me, as if I were a dog. But maybe, I did something right. Maybe, Sabastian was a lonely man, and only wanted company like this.
Because, this right here, I could do. I didn’t have to fear his touch as I leaned against him, soaking up whatever attention he’d give me.
“Attention whore,” Sir spat.
I jerked, hearing that voice in my head. It got me to remember my place.
I didn’t deserve this touch, but until Sabastian pushed me away, I was going to stay right there and take it.
Chapter 17
Sabastian
I felt horrible.
It was a rude reminder why I didn’t drink myself to sleep. I may be twenty-five fucking years old, and most people my age did drink themselves to sleep almost every night. But me, I hated it.
