cut the power to the house.
I turn on the water to the shower, trying to calm down, but I feel like I might be having a panic attack. I take off my clothes and step into the shower, gasping for breath. I let the hot water beat down on me for a minute, hoping it will calm me, but it doesn’t.
Then, when the lights miraculously turn back on, that doesn’t calm me either. It just proves Saint is the one who turned them off in the first place.
Several seconds after the power comes back on, Saint knocks gently on the bathroom door.
“Get…out,” I say between sobs. I try to sound angry, but my voice is nothing but scared right now.
I hear the bathroom door open and my legs begin to tremble.
“Megan,” he says, his voice soothing. It does very little to ease the fear in me or the pain in my wrists. “Megan, I’m sorry. I thought—”
“You thought I wanted you to attack me?” I yell through my tears. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”
I hear him sigh heavily.
I squeeze my eyes shut. Did I ask him to do this?
No. I didn’t.
All I did was tell him about the book. It wasn’t an invitation to break into my fucking cabin.
But did he assume that’s what it was? An invitation?
Did I confuse him?
I don’t even know what to think.
I don’t even know if I have the right to be angry at him for doing this. Did I subconsciously want this to happen?
I lean against the shower wall, completely confused and still crying.
Did I even lock my front door last night?
I didn’t.
Right after Saint left, I took my laptop to my bedroom and wrote until I fell asleep.
In all the nights I’ve stayed in this cabin, I’ve never once not locked my doors.
My hands are covering my face when I hear the shower curtain pull back. I can’t even look at him. I’m angry. Embarrassed. Still a little bit terrified.
“God, Megan,” he says, his voice full of remorse. “I am so sorry.”
I keep my hands over my face because I’m still crying, but I’m shocked when I feel him step into the shower. I’m even more shocked when his arms wrap gently around me and I can feel that he’s still wearing his clothes. He’s standing in the water with me, getting soaking wet, but he’s holding me against his chest.
As much as I want to punch him right now, I want to be held by him even more.
Maybe this was nothing more than a terrible miscommunication.
“Last night,” he says, “I thought you were asking me to—”
I shake my head to interrupt him. “I know,” I whisper. I remove my hands from my face and wrap them around him, pressing my cheek against his wet shirt. “I don’t know if that’s what I was asking you. What we’ve been doing—it’s confusing. I barely know you, and then this…”
He presses a kiss against the top of my head, and then he just holds me quietly for several minutes.
After my tears have subsided, I finally pull away from his chest and look up at him. His eyes are full of remorse. He lifts a hand to my face and rubs his thumb under my eye, wiping away mascara that’s been smeared from all the crying.
“I’m sorry,” he says sincerely.
I nod. “Okay. Just…make sure I’m actually asking you to do something before you do it from now on.”
“Okay. I promise.” He cups my cheek and asks, “Do you want me to leave?”
I immediately shake my head. I know I was terrified of him a few minutes ago, but it wasn’t him, per se. It was the character he was playing. The scene I more or less asked him to act out. I can’t fault him for that.
“Don’t go,” I say. “But can we just…I don’t want to pretend tonight.”
Saint nods, and then pulls me back to his chest. “Okay. Let’s just be us.”
After what just happened, that sentence shouldn’t make me feel good, but it does. Those words send a warmth through me that I didn’t expect he could make me feel again after that.
I just can’t bring myself to be remain mad at him for something I inadvertently suggested he do.
The lights are on, and other than a few kisses, I’m not sure I’ve experienced enough with this man to feel comfortable being completely exposed to him. I have no idea how to get out of this shower without his eyes being fully