He puts his hands up in surrender. “Okay, let’s just get you inside and cleaned up.”
I keep my distance from him but follow him up the solar-panel-lit path. He puts in Axel’s code and opens the door, giving me a wide berth to enter the home. I don’t let him speak or attempt to console me. I immediately go to the primary suite, lock the door, and begin to undress.
There’s a light tap on the door, and I sigh.
“Go away.”
“Lily, you can’t be left alone.”
“I’m not going to fucking kill myself; I’m going to take a shower,” I reply and wait a moment until I’m greeted with silence.
I turn the shower to scalding, and my skin abhors it. Every inch of me is recoiling at the sensation, but my mind welcomes it as I sit on the tile shower floor and let the water pour over me. Dirt and blood circles down the drain, and I just watch.
Tears don’t fall from my eyes, but my mind goes slightly blank.
I just stare at the tiny cyclone of water disappearing down the drain. It’s comforting but I don’t know why. I get more vigorous about cleaning under my nails before I wash my face.
I wince as I touch the fresh, forgotten cut. My finger doesn’t move even though it hurts.
Sometimes scars are reminders of what you survived, and other times they symbolize what you haven’t. Only time will tellwhich this scar will be for me, but I don’t loathe it the way I thought I would when he cut my face.
I’m not worried about my vanity at this point, far from it.
As I work to clean the rest of my body, I can’t help but knead my breasts a little, the small touch bringing me immense pleasure. I go to slide my hand to my pussy, but stop myself.
No.
The only way I’m going to get through this heat is by not starting it at all. I have to push through. That means no touching myself or seeking comfort from others.
I can bear the storm.
With a dull ache in my stomach and a desperate need deep in my core, I cut off the water and exit the shower.
The towel feels like fucking sandpaper on my skin, but I dry off with it nonetheless.
Thankfully, the drawers are filled with Axel’s clothes. I throw on a pair of his boxers and a large t-shirt before I sit on the bed.
Four walls surround me, but they somehow feel like they’re boxing me in. A cramp rips through my side, and I find myself whimpering, lying down as I curl into myself around the pain.
I can do this; I can get through this.
Pain is nothing in the grand scheme of things. I just need to survive.
There’s no fucking way I can go through my heat, to get fucked within an inch of my life after everything I just went through.
My body has other thoughts in mind as my lower stomach clenches so hard my vision goes black for a few moments. There’s a loud bang on the door, and I muffle my cries of pain into the pillow.
Tate doesn’t knock the door down, but he manages to unlock the simple household knob.
I squeeze my eyes shut tightly so I don’t have to see his face. But when his hand cups my cheek, the side with the cut, I break.
Tears fall down my face with silent sobs.
Tate doesn’t speak right away, but he lies in bed with me. I don’t tell him not to touch me, because I think if he stopped I might cry harder.
“I can’t do this right now,” I tell him between sobs.
“I know. I know, darlin’,” he consoles me.
