As I ponder my words he brings a towel into the shower and wraps it round me, brushing back my short, wet hair. I flinch without meaning to, and he immediately drops his hand and watches me carefully.
His hands flex as I clench the towel, and then he turns and leans against the edge of the glassed-in shower. He could just as easily lean forward and get in my face, but I think he’s trying to give me space without giving up and letting me run out of here. “Was something I did out of line?”
“No,” I say right away. “It’s nothing like that.”
Rich drags his gaze over me once more, and I wonder how haggard I look. Finally he nods and steps back, and the tightness in my chest loosens as I dart out of the shower. Purposefully, I stand closer to the door so Rich isn’t between me and the exit.
He watches me the entire time, like he can pick apart what’s going on in my head. “I need you to give me something,Kim. Even if it isn’t a whole story, you gotta give me something to work with. You weren’t asleep; you were stuck in your thoughts. Reacting to them. Whatever it is, it’s affecting you more than you probably want to admit.”
I bite back a retort. He’s right, but my pride doesn’t like hearing it. When he breaks it down, it just makes me feel like I’m doing a shitty job hiding my sins.
This is why sleep is my escape. The silence I find in sleep when nightmares stay away is the best form of calm I have. My hands stay clenched around the towel as if I really need to hide myself from Rich after the ways I’ve let him fuck me.
He’s still staring, waiting but not pushing. If I don’t give him something, he’ll think it’s worse than it is. He might rescind the idea to go to the main springs and play. He could change his mind about the whole arrangement, and the weekend is already nearly over. “Um, I cut my hair because of him.”
His violet eyes flash up to peer at my dyed-red hair for a moment. “Who?”
When our gazes meet, I try and beg him with my eyes to not make me say it. But his gaze doesn’t waver, and I swallow back the disdain that rises up when I spit it out. “Jonah.”
~~~
Rich gives me just enough time to do my hair before he’s stalking me around the little cabin, waiting for answers. He changed out of the wet clothes and finger combed his hair. It’s a little messy at the top, but better than mine which is straggly and could use a blow out.
I walk to the mini bar where there’s a decent amount of probably overpriced shots. No chaser, but it won’t matter. I need something to take the edge off before I divulge anything to him, and at this point it feels like we’re a ticking time bomb. He’s not going to forget my freak out, and he’s going to start questioningthings with my behavior these past weeks if I don’t give him something.
But I hit him when I panicked, and the guilt eats at me as I dig out ten little plastic shot bottles and set them on the counter of the kitchenette. He was trying to help and I struck him.
Like a phantom pain, the old scars on my wrists itch and come to life. I rake my nails down then several times, feeling the old ridges of the cuts before I tear my hand away. I can remember how it used to feel to find relief that way… it was a different version of unhealthy, kind of like drinking.
“Kimber,” Rich says carefully, walking up beside me. He leaves more than an arm’s distance between us, and I worry that I’ve scared him off. “That’s a lot of shots.”
I shrug, breaking the seal on the first one. It’s an amber colored whiskey, and I don’t even look at the label to check the brand. “It gives me courage.”
He reaches out to push the plastic bottles away, and I smack his arm.Gently. It’s nothing compared to the mark on his cheek, and when I spot it a quiet whine builds in my throat. The noise draws all of his attention and he turns to watch me sharply.
I throw back the shot without looking at him, staring down at the counter when I set down the empty bottle. “It was an accident. The police ruled it as such, and the case was dropped.”
He’s quiet for a moment, not even commenting when I reach for the second bottle. I toss that back too, and then he finally finds his voice as he leans over, getting in my way of reaching for the other bottles. “Kim-”
“Your buddy Jude didn’t spill the beans?” I ask sarcastically, snorting.
His eyes narrow. “Jude didn’t tell me shit. What’s going on?”
I can’t meet his gaze. I already know he’s going to hate me because of what it makes me. Instead I decide to tell the counter, keeping my eyes trained there as I grip the edge. My voice should come out strong, because it’s the truth, but it sounds like a whisper even to me. “I killed him.”
Rich doesn’t say anything for a moment, and my shoulders rise to scrunch up by my ears. When I say it out loud without context it sounds so cold blooded, like I just decided to kill someone for fun, not out of necessity.
When his fingers grip my chin, I can’t stop myself from crying again. I shouldn’t cry over Jonah of all people. Maybe the tears are for Rich, who’s finally seeing my shame.
So when he asks the question, I snap my head up so fast my neck pops. “What did he do to you to deserve his death?”
There's no accusation. No judgment. Just cold acceptance like he fully supports this disastrous idea if I have some sort of reason for it. “That doesn’t matter.”
Rich grabs me then, lifting me up to set me on the counter before I can protest. He grips my chin now that we’re nearly at eye level, his violet eyes looking violent and angry for once as he stares at me. “It does. Tell me why the bastard had to die.”
He doesn’t expect that any of it’s my fault, which makes my head cloud with doubt and confusion. I can’t seem to form the words, staring into his eyes as I silently search for them.
What does he want me to say? I let someone beat me up? I foolishly decided to play victim? Some of its truth, some of it’s the toxicity in my head telling me I deserved it when other times I’m perfectly certain that I didn’t.
