The showerhead’s back in its place. Skylar’s up in my arms, glaring at me with her fists clenched at her front. With her eyebrows lowered.
Ready to fight. Wanting to trust me.
Poor thing, she needs me more than she realizes. And I can’t be mad about that.
Can’t be mad about anything anymore. I finally understand what’s truly bothering her.
There’s this emptiness inside her. Loneliness.
The ones who were supposed to take care of her, they failed. No one’s ever been there for her.
On the surface, she looks like she’s lived the perfect life. White teeth, flawless skin, the picture of health.
But beneath it, her soul bleeds. Starving for someone to see it. To claim it.
After what her sister just admitted to, I bet Skylar doubts anyone would ever love her. Probably thinks she’s not worth the effort.
Not for long.
“If I were anything like the rest of my family…” I grab a clean towel from one of the shelves lined up against the wall. Throw it on top of her. “I wouldn’t have done this.”
“A towel? Really?” She’s close to losing the battle against her exhaustion, barely catching a yawn. “You’re proud of giving me the bare minimum?”
Instead of laughing like I want to, I just arch a brow as I carry her toward the kitchen. That’s all I give her.
She curls tighter into herself at my silence.
Tough luck. There’s nowhere for her to go but deeper into me.
“You were different back there,” she muses, as if she’s unable to help herself. I want her curiosity unrestrained. Want all of her. “In the farmhouse.”
“I’m the same as always.”
We reach the chair I covered in towels before I took her to the bathroom. I lower her into it, careful, before turning to the table.
“Wait,” she whimpers as I double-check that I have everything I need there. “Are you going? Don’t. Please.”
My heart is in my throat.
“My Skylar. You understand it now.” I use the towel I draped over her to dry her off, then tie it around my waist. Neither of us misses how hard I am beneath it. “You need me. You belong to me.”
“I just don’t want the others getting to me when you’re gone.” The corners of her eyes crinkle as her shoulders droop. “They’re awful.”
She doesn’t mean it, that she could see me walk away.
Skylar’s just crashing, and crashing confuses people. They say things they usually wouldn’t.
“You need to be bandaged.”
“It…” Her voice wavers with surprise as she glances at her leg, then at me. “It doesn’t look like it needs stitches.”
“That’s because I carved it clean.” I have one hand on her shoulder to offer comfort. Using my other hand, I grab the saline water bottle from the table. Drop to my knees. “No stitches. Just a scar. A reminder you’re mine. Now, quiet. Let me tend to the wound.”
My movement causes her gaze to slide to study the bottle I’m holding.
“Oh. You really are going to clean my wound.” Terror widens her eyes. “It’s going to hurt.”
“Yes.” No point lying to her. “It will.”
