Page 16 of Serpent & Saviors

BLADE:

You got it.

I needed to talk it out, to get his counsel. My ability to remain in control had been an abject failure.

Fuck my life.

I slipped into the bedroom without a sound, closing the distance between us. His words echoed in my head. The regret lacing them landed harder than anger ever could. It was like an intense lashing with a cane. I choked back a harsh sob.

If he had actually used a physical cane, it may have been easier to handle. I could have at least braced for it. The intimacy of the shared moment, the intensity of it, shattered when he realized what he’d done.

Stupid me stayed in the haze too long after he pulled out. It had taken me entirely too long to catch up. And now all that was left was regret and a hollowness I’d never felt before. The way he stated he never wanted kids crushed me. If I had even thought about sharing, I knew better now.

My throat tightened as tears stung my eyes. I stared at nothing, willing myself not to cry. I should have known better. Hope was nothing but a liability.

When will I ever learn?

With trembling fingers, I reached for the zipper of my dress and tugged it down. The fabric slid away, pooling at my feet. I stepped out of it and picked it up. Dirty wasn’t the right word. Disgusting or filthy was more appropriate.

His cum had leaked out and covered part of the dress. It would need to be cleaned. His essence coated my thighs, and it brought an incredible, overwhelming sense of shame. A shower—that was what I needed.

Feeling numb, I tossed the dress into a service bag along with the knickers and ripped the bra off. I stepped into the bathroom to start the shower. The hot water washed away any evidence of him.

He referenced what happened between us as a mistake. I couldn’t blame him, honestly. My ribs felt too tight, as if my body was trying to contain emotions too big to hold. Finally, I let out a small sob, hearing his words over and over in my head.

Kids aren’t something I’ve ever wanted. Ever.

It was now more imperative than ever to keep my secret. I’d give anything to have a rewind button to undo…My thoughts stopped there. I couldn’t bring myself to say that if I had that power, I’d undo our encounter six years ago.

Declan was the only thing keeping me going. I’d only rewind the last few hours…Okay, maybe the last few days. Seeing Andrew, giving in to him, made the tiniest part of my foolish romantic heart want things it shouldn’t.

And as much as I tried to kill the part of myself that romanticized Andrew Marcel, it was the only thing that kept me sane while locked away. How many nights had I lain awake dreaming of running into him on the street, falling in love, and presenting him with a son?

Like all romance novels, it ended up with us hand in hand watching our son play football, or seeing him graduate, get married, and give us grandchildren. In my fantasy land, no matter the journey we took, it always ended with us together and happy.

I finished my shower, got dressed on autopilot, and then combed my hair out. The mirror caught me off-guard. I froze. There was an emptiness behind my eyes. Haunted. That was the word. As I always did when one fresh hell was eating at me, I allowed the self-loathing to take the reins.

Somehow, without even intending to, you’ve screwed up once again. What a disappointment you are.

My grip tightened on the brush. For one wild second, I imagined hurling it at the mirror, shattering that woman’s face and telling her to shut the hell up. Instead, I set it down with careful precision. I couldn’t afford to break. Not now.

I crawled into bed and pulled the covers over my head, sealing myself away. Sleep didn’t come. It never did when my thoughts were this loud. A dull, gnawing settled in my stomach, paired with a crushing weight in my chest.

Damn, it hurt to breathe. I took several deep breaths anyway and forced myself to refocus. Over the years, I’d learned to control my thought patterns. Since romanticizing the fucked-up situation I was in wasn’t an option, that only left one avenue.

Nightmares. I could invite one in. It was easy to do. Just a matter of summoning them by allowing my mind to drift in the direction I wanted it to. It was a defence mechanism. A twisted form of control.

After all, I’d survived that time in my life, so I could easily rationalize that if I survived the Mask and the Collector, I could survive anything. The logic had carried me this far. I closed my eyes and let go, picturing myself as I was that day.

Eleven years old. All knees and no grace. If I wasn’t sitting at the piano, I was useless. The castle took shape. I was outside on the playground. Castles were supposed to be beautiful—storybook places filled with warmth and magic.

But the one we lived in was nothing more than cold stone, overgrown yards, rusted toys, and locked doors. That day started with the sweetest sound. An innocent little giggle.

Focus on the sound. Let it play repeatedly. The nightmare took shape.

I was sitting on the seahorse, wishing it were a real horse instead, one that I could gallop away on. The four of us were outside for our daily playtime. X was by the swings, pushing Winter.

Autumn was drawing on the ground with the end of a paintbrush, and Spring sat on the grass. The sound carried across the meadow, snapping my head up. It wasn’t something we heard much—laughter.