complete devastation and anger?
“Do me a favor?” he asks, pushing off from against the wall. He lifts his hand to my face, and I flinch, rearing away from him when I think he is going to hit me. He frowns, drops his hand a few inches, but decides to go for it. His massive, calloused hand cups my jaw, his thumb landing on the apple of my cheek, brushing the heated and wet flesh with the pad of his finger.
As much as I want to enjoy it, I’m scared.
I’m frozen in place, locked in a trance. I know I should jerk away, slam the door, lock it, and crawl back into bed where it is safe, but I can’t move.
My mind is yelling not to trust him or anyone in this house, but my heart is saying something else: to give an inch to someone, so I can feel a small amount of peace.
That tiny headway should go to Jolie, and while I can relate to her, I don’t have the same history as I do with Asher. After everything he and I have been through, trust is the last thing on the list that I need to worry about with him. That’s going to take forever to build. The thing with Asher, or at least it used to be, was trusting him with your life was simple. No question. If you needed someone, he was there.
Was he ever the person to trust with your heart?
Absolutely not.
And I doubt things have changed.
I take a step back, crossing the threshold of the bedroom, and the space causes his hand to slip away from my cheek. I stare at him from the other side, peering through an invisible barrier that separates us. What is it about a bedroom that makes it seem forbidden? He could easily walk into the room; it’s his house after all.
He doesn’t.
Like typical Asher, he keeps his space from me, and his shoulders sag when his hands drop to his side. He lifts his arms out to the sides and grips the crown molding of the trim. “Please let the doctor check you?” he asks, licking his plump lips with his tongue, wetting them, which causes a sleek shine against the yellow light of the chandelier.
My hand lands on the door handle, and the cool touch of the metal has me inhaling a desperate breath. “What?” I snap. I’m being nasty for no reason. I don’t want to be. I have a lot to figure out and work through, but I’m not mad at him or anyone.
Maybe I am.
I’m mad at the world, at the universe for doing this to me. I’m allowed to feel that, right? To have all these mixed up emotions bombarding me all at once?
“The doctor,” he repeats. “Let the doctor see you.”
“I don’t see why you care. I’m fine.”
“You are far from fine. You and I both know that and for a good reason. Health-wise, you need to make sure you don’t have any sexually transmitted diseases from him.”
“I don’t want to.” I don’t want to face more bad news. Mentally, I can’t handle what else that evil man has in store for me. I know Asher is right, but I’m not strong enough to face the truths yet.
“I know you don’t, baby, but the sooner, the better.” He lays his hand over his heart, and the white’s of his eyes turn red as he removes his palm from his chest and presses it over mine. Asher leaves enough space, so his skin isn’t touching mine, just air, but the gesture has a microscopic piece of my anger slipping away. “I’ll be here if you need me.”
“Yeah?” I sneer, preparing to shut the door. “Where were you for those six years when I needed you most?” I slam the door shut in his face, spin around, and slide down the smooth wood until my butt hits the floor. Bringing my legs to my chest, I wrap my arms around them and bury my face in my thighs, and cry.
I need to stop blaming the world. Asher, Jolie, Sebastian, the real person who deserves the blame is me.
If I wasn’t visiting Grace, if I was wearing something else, maybe a dress that wasn’t so snug, if I didn’t go alone, maybe none of this would have happened.
What goes around comes around, I suppose.
I did lie under oath, ruined a man’s life, and now I’m here, in his house, after the worst thing imaginable has