Mafia King (Young Irish Rebels #2) - Vi Carter Page 0,54

pass by and see me like this. I don’t want him to see that I’m dying inside.

I move slowly as the throbbing in between my legs increases. The door slams closed, and it’s not enough. I want to scream.

I’m standing staring at the door, waiting for it to open and for Shay to ask me if I’m okay. No one comes. He doesn’t come.

The water is warm. It runs along my flesh and washes Shay off me. It’s not enough. I’m waiting for an explosion of tears, but they don’t come. The flesh in-between my legs feels raw. I touch the ache and look at my hand, expecting to see blood, but I don’t. Most virgins bleed.

I soap up a cloth and continue to scrub the tender flesh—like I can remove Shay’s semen from me—like I might be able to remove the act.

He had made me feel dirty when he stepped out of the bathroom. I clench my teeth together as confusion assaults my body and has it vibrating with a want for a release that I don’t know how to give it.

I had wanted him. I wanted all of him inside me. It had been painful, but the pleasure had overridden everything else. To have his flesh on mine had been exhilarating until he had stepped away from me like I had done a dirty deed.

I had gone down on him twice, and he hadn’t just left me then. This was different. I had given him my virginity. I was now used goods. No matter what happened, no one else would want me.

I hated myself as I got out of the shower and started to dry. I hated that I didn’t want anyone else to want me. I wanted Shay to want me.

I dry quickly and remember I have no clothes. Opening a large door, a row of towels faces me. Below them is a row of hanging dressing gowns. They all look brand new. Why would one person need, I count quickly, seven dressing gowns?

The innocence in me says for each day of the week. In reality, I’m sure Shay has had more women than I’d care to know stay here. Did he fuck them in the bathroom too? I can’t look at the counter. Wrapping myself in a dressing gown, I dry my hair quickly and leave it down. I don’t see any slippers, so I leave the bathroom barefoot. A billow of steam follows me. My feet move me deeper into the large apartment, and I hate that I’m searching for him. I stop and count.

I was more than this. Turning around, I go back to a room that I had already been in. The bar; It’s empty. I close the door behind me and consider putting a chair under it, but if he wanted to get in, he would break down the door.

The excited part of me is taking in the extraordinary décor and the fact that I’m here. The thought of how high up Shay is should terrify me.

I don’t face the elephant in the room. I can’t face the fact that my dad and Shay are already tied together. I can’t allow my mind to go there. My earlier glass still sits on the snooker table, and I pick it up and drink all the liquid down. It burns, but it’s a good burn, one I want to increase.

I take the glass to the bar and refill it to the top. I start with sipping it as I step out from behind the polished bar.

“Who are you?” I ask the room. Shay is a mystery, and maybe that’s what’s drawing me to him. I shouldn’t be attracted to him. I should be repulsed, so why am I not?

Maybe his losing Frankie and my losing my mom has created a connection in my mind. Maybe seeing the softness in him toward his mom makes me believe there is hope for us. After giving him a part of me in the bathroom, and the way he dismissed me—my throat and nose burn, and I drink deeper. I drink until the glass is empty, and I refill it again.

The room is warm, and I’m surprised by how tired I feel. Taking the glass and my depressing thoughts, I sit on the couch and take another drink, spilling some on my nightgown.

My knife. I left my knife in the bathroom. I take another drink as my eyelids grow heavy. He took your knife, I remind myself, remembering