It’s too much. The pain is too much. It doesn’t feel possible that Damien could do such a thing, and yet, he’s the one who locked me in the cell. Who let me wallow in the apartment. Who’s been fucking with my mind for nearly a month now. OfcourseDamien is behind this. The certainty of it shatters me.
I fall to the ground, my hands fisting the dirt, tears flowing freely from my eyes. I curl up in a ball, trying to comfort myself, as sobs rack my body. I cry until there are no tears left to cry. After that, I sink into numbness.
I don’t know how long I stay like this, in a fetal position in the middle of the road, but the pitch blackness of the night fades, blotted out little by little by pale swirls of purple and pink.
The early morning stillness is interrupted by the screech of tires.
“Are you kidding me,” mutters a voice, and I feel a hand roughly clasp the back of my shirt.
I’m dragged into a car, and I breathe in the familiar scent of new, expensive leather.
Logan’s car.
I hear him curse me out, curse out the road, the car, himself.
Even in my exhausted state, curiosity gets the better of me, and I mumble out the question.
“Are you going to shoot me?”
“Fuck you,” he growls. “Fuckyou. Guess you can’t wait to tell him all about it, can you?”
Those words don’t have the effect he probably intends them to have. In fact, it’s the opposite. I prop myself up on my elbow, a thrill of energy suddenly pulsing in my veins.
Damien didn’t order him to do this. Damien doesn’t know.
As long as that’s true, I can handle all the rest. I can handleanything.
He drives on in silence, and I find myself falling asleep, hugging the thought to me like a promise.
Damien doesn’t know. Damien doesn’t know.
-
Moments later, or so it feels, I’m awakened by a thick stream of warm water washing over me.
My eyes open, and I see Logan holding the shower head. I cringe, but there’s no anger in his face. His eyes are carefully averted, and I can’t read his expression.
“I had to take off your clothes,” he mutters, “they were ruined. I didn’t touch you or anything like that.”
He keeps his gaze away from me, and I stare up at him in shock. I don’t understand him. One minute, he was on the verge of letting me drown. Now he’s giving me a shower, and almost looking… apologetic.
At last, he turns off the water and throws me a towel.
“Dry off,” he mutters, “and go to bed.”
I hastily wrap my trembling body in the towel, and notice my blue lips in the mirror and my pale-as-a-ghost face. Coupled with my purple undereye circles, I look more than ever like a zombie.
Hugging the towel to me, I hesitantly make my way to my bedroom, where I find Logan has turned down the bedspread.
Then he leaves, slamming the door behind me, leaving me more confused than ever.
I sag onto the floor, still wrapped in my towel, and close my eyes. I don’t understand a thing that just happened. But I’m too exhausted to think about it much longer. I don’t even make it tobed before falling asleep. My eyes close in spite of me, and I keel over fully on the floor.
16
Damien
It’s four a.m. when I return, exhausted, my head aching, and on edge from dealing with the absolute clusterfuck that is the Cole situation.
