Blind Spot - Katana Collins Page 0,44
locked door. There was no way I was opening that door and seeing him. It was too humiliating.
There was a sigh from the other side. “Well…can you at least give me something? Just let me know you’re here and safe?” He paused, and there was a tap against the door. “Please?” he added more quietly.
“I’m here,” I choked out. “I’m safe,” I added a little louder, just in case he didn’t hear me the first time. “Please go. I just want to be alone.”
After a pause, he finally said, “Okay.” But there were no footsteps. “Shelby?”
I swallowed. “Yeah?”
He inhaled a sharp breath. “Thanks for letting me know you’re okay.”
He didn’t wait for a response this time, and I heard him walking to the elevator. When the doors closed, I exhaled in relief and rushed for the bathroom, brushing back my hair. A little bit of blood was drying at my temple where Tate had pushed my bangs. I clenched at the sight, kicked off my shoes, and pressed my feet into the cool marble of the bathroom floor. The here and now. I am in my bathroom. I am here. I am present.
The fear is real, but the threat is not.
Tate was not forcing himself into my mouth. He was a good guy, and a little bit of hair tugging was not a reason to flip the fuck out on someone. Hell, he wasn’t even tugging on it. He was brushing it back from my face considerately. But I’d never be normal. Never have a normal sex life like other women. I smelled him, still—not Tate, but him. That awful, shitty drug store cologne mixed with body odor. He wasn’t even a bad looking guy—there was no reason he had to force himself on women, other than the sick pleasure he got from it.
I gulped.
That man had ruined me, and he would never have to pay for what he did.
And that wasn’t something Tate should have to deal with.
When I opened my eyes again, the blood was still there but so was my consciousness. I ran some cold water, splashing it on my face and in my hair. Red circled the drain, swirling like a whirlpool. Snatching a towel from the rack, I wet it and scrubbed my face. I scrubbed my skin and hair until it was raw and red like my swollen eyes. And even when there wasn’t a spot of blood left anywhere on my face, hair, or hands, I wet the washcloth again and scrubbed some more.
Because that’s just how fucked up I was.
Chapter Fourteen
TATE
I spent my entire night tossing and turning in bed. To my right were traces of Shelby’s scent—coconut and vanilla along with that little bit of watermelon Chap Stick she always wore. And to my left was a small splatter of my blood. The very blood that had sent Shelby running in pure panic. What the hell happened there? Did I do something? I replayed the events in my head for the millionth time, still yielding no great epiphanies. Guilt gnawed inside of me, even though I don’t know what I did. I sighed, grabbing my phone, checking to see if she’d responded to any of my texts yet. Spoiler alert: she didn’t. Rolling to my right side, I inhaled her scent deeply—I was doomed to insomnia.
The next morning, she was still all I could think about, and as soon as the first shred of daylight sliced through my window, I popped out of bed, threw on some clothes, clipped a leash on Buddy, and ran down to Jolie Bakery. At seven, I stood outside her door, croissant in hand. I pressed my ear to the door and faintly heard a bit of shuffling on the other side and then a distinct sound of a faucet. I exhaled…she was awake. She was okay—or at least, okay enough to be up and walking around. Taking a deep breath, I raised a fist and tapped my knuckles to the door. All the faint shuffling sounds halted, and the water cut off from the other side. Silence.
Buddy barked once, and I shushed him, dropping my forehead to the door.
She was just—afraid. Of what, I wasn’t quite sure, because even though it had been a scary night, that wasn’t what seemed to be bothering her.
With a sigh, I set the plastic box with the croissant and the éclair on the ground. “Shelby,” I said through the door, running my fingers along the lock, tracing its circular