agony.
He walked away
then came back, and the mattress sagged as he sat beside me. He
took my right hand first, gently washed it with warm water then
applied cream to my burned-raw skin. He slowly massaged my cold,
numb fingers then repeated the process with my other wrist and
hand. I closed my eyes and let him do whatever he wanted. It felt
good, and yet I wanted the pain as a reminder of what he’d done to
me.
He placed the
cream on the nightstand, and grabbed a bottle of water beside it
and held it to my lips. I didn’t hesitate as I greedily drank. When
I’d drained half of it, he pulled it away, and put it back. I
watched as he stood, peeled off his clothes until he stood naked.
Was he going to sleep with me? Have sex with me? Was he going to
make me? Did he think it was okay because I’d willingly had sex
with him once?
He stared down
at me. I stared back. Neither of us moved for what seemed like
minutes but was probably only seconds.
He looked
beautiful, and it pissed me off that he could look so beautiful
when he was so ugly. He pulled back the sheet and then slipped in
beside me. I turned around and tried to scoot away, but he expected
it and was ready, arms locking around my middle and dragging back
against him, so my back was tight to his chest. I tensed as the
pain from the welts intensified. He didn’t lighten his hold as he
then hooked his leg over mine like an anchor, the weight pinning me
in place.
It was weird,
the touch of his warm skin and his arms around me ... it was
comforting. As if I’d been starved that feeling of kindness, and
that I’d take it from the man who had stolen it from me in the
first place.
God, was I
that weak to take any gentleness that was offered?
His lips
pressed to my ear, and my breath caught in my throat. Why? Why was
he doing this? I was so confused at who he was. Cold and unattached
one moment and now ... now he was holding me in his arms as if he
cared.
Logan’s
fingers splayed over my stomach just below my belly button. I
wanted to cry. Not for the pain that he was putting me through but
for this moment that made me love him again.
I needed him
to be cruel. It was easier to be disgusted by him.
But this
...
I tried to
push his arm off and move away, but he tightened his hold. “Stay
still, Emily.”
I stopped.
He won. He’d
told me that once. He always won.
As I lay in
bed staring at the wall, my wrists sore, muscles aching from
shivering for so long. I felt myself slipping. Not my mind, but
myself. It was as if my body was separated from my thoughts and
emotions.
I realized it
felt safer this way. My body was just an apparatus, something to be
used. It had no real value any longer. I could let it go and drift
away to safer pastures with my mind. Some place where no one could
reach me.
Even
Logan.
But I missed
him. It was crazy, I knew, but somewhere a part of me still loved
the man that I’d fallen for. The man who kissed me and made love to
me as if he thought I was the most precious woman in the world.
But that tiny
memory of the Logan I knew was slipping past my reach. He was
fading, and I wanted to latch onto him before he slipped away from
me forever. In the darkness, in the familiar arms of a man I once
loved, I pretended. I pretended that he was the Logan I fell in
love with and he was here to protect me from the daylight and the
reality that came with morning.
I closed my
eyes; the heat of his naked body up against mine and then ... then
just as I was falling asleep I felt his fingers interlink with mine
and his lips kiss the back of my shoulder.
Day 8
I woke to find Logan still curled around me,
his head nestled in my shoulder, lips on my skin. His heated breath
was slow and even to match his heartbeat against my back. His arm
lay heavy over my side, and our fingers weaved together like lovers
after a night of passion.
I squeezed my eyes shut imagining nothing in
the last week had been real and that I lay in Logan’s arms
He walked away
then came back, and the mattress sagged as he sat beside me. He
took my right hand first, gently washed it with warm water then
applied cream to my burned-raw skin. He slowly massaged my cold,
numb fingers then repeated the process with my other wrist and
hand. I closed my eyes and let him do whatever he wanted. It felt
good, and yet I wanted the pain as a reminder of what he’d done to
me.
He placed the
cream on the nightstand, and grabbed a bottle of water beside it
and held it to my lips. I didn’t hesitate as I greedily drank. When
I’d drained half of it, he pulled it away, and put it back. I
watched as he stood, peeled off his clothes until he stood naked.
Was he going to sleep with me? Have sex with me? Was he going to
make me? Did he think it was okay because I’d willingly had sex
with him once?
He stared down
at me. I stared back. Neither of us moved for what seemed like
minutes but was probably only seconds.
He looked
beautiful, and it pissed me off that he could look so beautiful
when he was so ugly. He pulled back the sheet and then slipped in
beside me. I turned around and tried to scoot away, but he expected
it and was ready, arms locking around my middle and dragging back
against him, so my back was tight to his chest. I tensed as the
pain from the welts intensified. He didn’t lighten his hold as he
then hooked his leg over mine like an anchor, the weight pinning me
in place.
It was weird,
the touch of his warm skin and his arms around me ... it was
comforting. As if I’d been starved that feeling of kindness, and
that I’d take it from the man who had stolen it from me in the
first place.
God, was I
that weak to take any gentleness that was offered?
His lips
pressed to my ear, and my breath caught in my throat. Why? Why was
he doing this? I was so confused at who he was. Cold and unattached
one moment and now ... now he was holding me in his arms as if he
cared.
Logan’s
fingers splayed over my stomach just below my belly button. I
wanted to cry. Not for the pain that he was putting me through but
for this moment that made me love him again.
I needed him
to be cruel. It was easier to be disgusted by him.
But this
...
I tried to
push his arm off and move away, but he tightened his hold. “Stay
still, Emily.”
I stopped.
He won. He’d
told me that once. He always won.
As I lay in
bed staring at the wall, my wrists sore, muscles aching from
shivering for so long. I felt myself slipping. Not my mind, but
myself. It was as if my body was separated from my thoughts and
emotions.
I realized it
felt safer this way. My body was just an apparatus, something to be
used. It had no real value any longer. I could let it go and drift
away to safer pastures with my mind. Some place where no one could
reach me.
Even
Logan.
But I missed
him. It was crazy, I knew, but somewhere a part of me still loved
the man that I’d fallen for. The man who kissed me and made love to
me as if he thought I was the most precious woman in the world.
But that tiny
memory of the Logan I knew was slipping past my reach. He was
fading, and I wanted to latch onto him before he slipped away from
me forever. In the darkness, in the familiar arms of a man I once
loved, I pretended. I pretended that he was the Logan I fell in
love with and he was here to protect me from the daylight and the
reality that came with morning.
I closed my
eyes; the heat of his naked body up against mine and then ... then
just as I was falling asleep I felt his fingers interlink with mine
and his lips kiss the back of my shoulder.
Day 8
I woke to find Logan still curled around me,
his head nestled in my shoulder, lips on my skin. His heated breath
was slow and even to match his heartbeat against my back. His arm
lay heavy over my side, and our fingers weaved together like lovers
after a night of passion.
I squeezed my eyes shut imagining nothing in
the last week had been real and that I lay in Logan’s arms
Similar Books
