There’s water running in the background of the call as Kane says, “You didn’t do anything wrong. Remember your plan, okay?”
Lennox turns rigid, turning his head to stare at the wall. No, he staresthroughit. He doesn’t give warning as he ends the call before I can even say bye. He slips his phone into his suit pocket then scoops me up like I’m child to carry me into the bathroom and place me in the empty tub.
I’m dazed and tired as he walks out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. He must keep hold of the handle because it rattles as his voice turns more forceful.
“She’s still sick.”
Holding the edge of the tub, I pick my head up to listen for any other voices or tapping. There’s no response. But the door handle rattles again as I flinch at the booms of the whip piercing the air.
Whipping.
Like Kane was whipped.
Each strike of the whip cracking against skin gets faster, yet no one screams. Other than the handle rattling there’s only the sound of the whip.
He’s getting hurt because of me. Another life changing because I was an idiot. He’s helped me. He hasn’t violated me the entire time he’s been here, not when he was feeding me soup or rubbing my back when I was sick. He kept his gloves on without taking.
I climb out of the tub, swallowing around the lump in my throat as I walk to the door. The handle trembles as I wrap my fingers around it and pull. The edges of the door shake within the frame, but it doesn’t open fully. I have to plant my feet and use two hands, still it remains in place from how tightly Lennox is gripping the handle.
Until the whipping gets faster, distracting him.
I catch sight of Helene standing on the other side of the room, whipping her adult son when I manage to pry it open an inch.
The door is pulled back in place.
I pull harder and shout, “Leave him alone, you stupid bitch!”
One.
Two.
Three more whips before I manage to pull the door open to have enough of a gap to see her again. That small inch is enough for me to glare at her, but I soften my voice as I say to Lennox, “Move out of the way. I’m not afraid of her.”
He tightens his hold on the door as she loses control, the boom of the whip louder with how quickly she flicks her wrist to send it flying back towards him.
“Stop!” I curl my fingers around the door, pulling it harder as Lennox’s shirt tears, the leather parting his skin. “He didn’t do anything! What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Helene tilts her chin in the air, the same way my mother always did whenever she felt like she was being undermined. She doesn’t whip Lennox again. I don’t know how he’s still standing, never mind how he manages to straighten his spine, holding his arm out to block me exiting the bathroom as I face his fucking mother. She snakes the whip against the floor to loosely wrap it around her fist.
“Does this make you feel less fucking pathetic?” I ask, sounding stronger. “Does it make up for the fact your children hate you and your daughter left you? That she never even spoke about having a mother, so we all thought you were dead?”
Lennox bristles as he fully blocks me from view. Ripping the door back, I hold his bicep as I lean up on my toes so she can see every bit of disgust and hate I harbor for her.
“I understand why now. She wanted you to be dead because it was her dream, you miserable fucking cu?—”
“Enough,” Lennox grits, pushing me back while he stares at his mother. “She is still sick. Delirious. She needs time to heal.”
Why the fuck does everyone jump to sacrificing themselves to help me? I’m not some damsel who’s refusing to accept the responsibility for my actions. I’ll take them, like I should have when I killed her motherfucking grandson. I’m about to taunt her with every detail of his death when Lennox pleads, “Mother.”
She shifts her eyes to her son’s bowing head before she abruptly turns, marching out of the room. He doesn’t fall back or limp as he turns to stop blocking the door. Blood stains his chest through the crisscross rips in the material. The lacerations are deeper than the ones Kane had, ripping his skin in bursts. He talks in the same soothing cadence since he stopped me killing myself.
“Get back in the bed, little doe. You need rest.”
“You’re hurt.” I sound dumb as fuck, like he’s unaware of his own body. He’s taller than Kane and I feel like a child as I look up at him. “Why did you get hurt for me?”
“You’re my niece now,” he says simply as though no other explanation is required on his way to the sink.
My parents never provided me any care as their daughter, but he’s showing me loyalty over a fake marriage. When he removes his suit jacket and torn shirt, I wince at the large purple burn on his back. There’s a long thin shape before it widens into a curved arrow with different spikes.
