He nodded, his nose now red, eyes watering from the cold.
“Are you sure?” I wasn’t convinced, but I wasn’t about to force myself into the man’s house. “Here, let me put my number in your phone. Call me if you need me, okay?”
He nodded again. I was worried about him. What if he had a concussion?
“Do you feel sick or anything? Blurred vision?” I peered closely. His eyes looked bright enough, and his pupils looked okay to me. Not that I knew much about it, and I could have been totally wrong. The bruise on his cheek had darkened.
“I’m fine. I just need to go home.”
“Let me come with you. To the house, at least, so I know you’re home safely.”
“You don’t need to do that.”
“I know, but it’d put my mind at rest.”
Five minutes later, we hopped in a taxi and drove to his house. It was a nice area, better than where I lived, but that wasn’t difficult.
He said nothing on the way, just stared out of the window, the streetlights illuminating his face.
“You’re staring,” he said but didn’t look at me.
“I’m making sure you’re okay. I can come in with you. I’m worried you have a concussion.”
“I don’t. I’m fine. Really, there was no need for you to come all this way.”
It didn’t sit right with me, but before I could get out of the car, he’d thrown a few notes at me and was walking up the driveway and through the door.
Well, fuck.
Chapter 7
Harvey
The following morning, I woke with a banging headache. I walked to the bathroom on unsteady legs. I ached all over, especially my face.
I peered at the colourful bruise on my cheek and the dark circle under my eye. How the fuck was I going to explain that to anyone?
I’d always tried to fly beneath the radar, keep myself to myself, but there’d be no disguising this. At least I hadn’t got it in a fight.
How in God’s name I’d taken such a fall, I didn’t know. It wasn’t like the sight of Killian had knocked me off my feet. Or had it?
Maybe I was coming down with something, but tempted as I was to stay in bed, I wouldn’t do that. I turned on the shower and stood under the hot spray, letting the needles of water prick my skin. I lathered up my body and inhaled sharply as pain shot through me.
Fuck, there was another patch of darkened skin on my hip, blending in with the myriad of coloured tattoos on my legs and body.
I pressed it and winced at the pain. Funny, I could cut myself and not flinch, but this fucking hurt more than any cut I’d made.
I checked out the small nick from a week ago. It had healed well, adding another scar to the hundreds I already carried. Some were no bigger than a fingernail; others were long and thin, the puckered skin raised.
The urge to cut often sat just out of reach, and most times, I could control it. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d done it, other than last week. It’d been months. Six or more, but the sight of Killian had all my old insecurities and self-hatred surging to the surface.
I checked my body for any more bruising and, other than a small one on my knee, there were no more.
Why had I gone last night, knowing it might lead to another night battling my demons? But I’d gone anyway, desperate to see the man I couldn’t get out of my head. Every night, he invaded my dreams. Most nights, I woke in a panic, my heart racing, sweat dripping from my prickly skin, but other nights, all my fears and insecurities disappeared.
We were lovers, inextricably entwined, our bodies connected. His lips were rough against my skin, teeth sharp as he nipped and sucked on my sensitive skin. His tongue was warm as it licked each scar, his kisses soft as he worshipped my body reverently.
I felt no shame then, no disgust or self-hatred. In those moments, my heart swelled with love, and I’d take hold of myself, my back arched from the bed as I’d bring myself to a much-needed release.
