Page 42

“Ahh,” her exhausted sounds hit, and I want to tire her out more. Take everything that she has and leave her in a heap in my arms. She strangles my cock. In and out, again, and again. Her head falls back on the shower wall, her chest rising and falling beneath the cascade of water as I pick up the pace. Her core clenches, fingers digging in my back for a second before they go limp. I slam my body against hers, my cock pulsing inside of her, filling her wilted body with my cum.

“That’s my good girl.”

Violet

Chapter 18

“You need to eat something.” I hold out a plate with a breakfast sandwich to Pru. She’s slipping, her energy slowly bubbling beneath the surface. It’ll boil over soon, and her fear of that is what will make it happen faster.

“No, I’m not hungry.” She turns from me like a toddler. Her arms wrapped around her waist, and her lips turned downward in a pout.

“I’m not asking, Pru, you need to stay regulated.” She darts a glare at me and grabs the sandwich from the plate. I lean against the counter and grab my own breakfast. “What do you have going on today?”

“Oh, besides avoiding my fiancé, whom I regret making my fiancé? Nothing much.” She hops up onto the counter next to me and takes a nibble of the crust.

“Do you honestly feel that way?” She takes another nibble to avoid looking at me.

“It just won’t work, you know?” Her legs start swinging, practically vibrating from her uncomfortable energy.

“No, I don’t. I think he will be good for you.” This time, she shoves a large bite into her mouth before speaking.

“He’s controlling. He has rules for me. But I’m a free spirit!”

“From what I’ve gathered, his rules seem reasonable. And you’re someone who could use a bit of structure provided for you.” She glares at me, but I smile back at her. She knows I’m right.

It’s been interesting hearing her talk about Cal in this new way. Cal always came off as this pure golden retriever—sweet, happy-go-lucky ray of sunshine. It turns out he's a lot more like Cain than any of us realized. Cal’s rule number one for Pru is no alcohol, and he has a zero-tolerance policy for this one. Pru tends to hide her alcohol, an unfortunate habit that started when she lived at home with her mom. Cal found the bottles and punished her. She said that she was mad at him, but I could tell that she liked the reminder of him when she sat down. She’s been sober for two weeks right now, the longest stretch I think I have ever seen her go without alcohol since she started drinking.

“I think you should go see him. He’d be happy to see you show up to watch him train.”

“And why would I want to make him happy?” I glance at her with a raised brow. “Ugh, fine. I’ll go. Will you come with me?” I take the last bite of my sandwich and guzzle a glass of water.

“Sorry, I can’t. Going to the hospital this morning before the clinic. But I will next time, okay?” She nods, and I kiss her forehead. We do a quick cleanup then head our separate ways.

My mom’s been in the hospital for so long that her room looks more like a true bedroom. A regular bed frame and mattress, a dresser with a vanity, a small bedside desk, and a chair. Partially because I have spent so much time here over the years, and partially from the hope that someday she would need these things to help her through rehab.

I grab a new gown and a fresh hygiene brief from the top drawer of the dresser, hugging them to my chest when I turn around to look at her. The ache throbs deep in my chest every day when I see her. When I think of her, it’s like she’s frozen in time; she’s just sleeping, it’s just been a night. But she’s aging, all while not having lived her life over the past three years. Eight years in the hospital, three on life support.

But are we really supporting her life? Or just keeping her body going?

She’s still beautiful. I like to think that maybe I’ll look like her when I get older. After all, I got my blonde hair, freckles, and complexion from her. Looking like her isn’t enough, though. It’s not enough of her to have with me. I want to talk to her. She’s been non-verbal since I was twelve. There were many times when I wished I could have gone to her: when I got my first period, when I had my first kiss, when I was struggling between nursing and working full-time at the theater. Although if she were well, I wouldn’t have been at the hospital so much and probably wouldn’t have been thrown into nursing in the first place.

I’d tell her about Cain. Or maybe I wouldn’t. It’s not like her being around would change our non-relationship.

I get to work. Pulling the blankets back and then tugging at her dress. Then I swallow a thick lump that’s formed in my throat, my stomach knots, and my hands and feet turn cold. Leaning down, I take a closer look. Bruising on her arms, rub marks in the center of her back, and a mild scab from where the skin broke.

Bile rises, and I quickly grab the trash can, tossing up my breakfast. My hands and feet turn colder, clammy, and the heat leaves my face.

She doesn’t move. She doesn’t speak. She’s on life support.

And there’s only one thing that I can think of that makes marks like this, and it’s nothing we would do for her medically…

Rinsing out my mouth, I spit in the sink before grabbing a pair of gloves and examining her further. Removing her hygiene brief, I suck in a breath and hold it.

White, dry, flaky.

There is dried cum in and around her vulva, on her thighs.

I close my eyes as the tears begin to well. I suck it in, hold it down. Now isn’t the time to lose control.