Phoenix Rising Issue #3 - S. R. Watson Page 0,8

desperate to chase down the orgasm that got away from me, but the reality of what I’m doing decides to fuck off that quest. Here I am, masturbating to the memory of a man who has only looked through me since his return. A man who openly threw me under the bus to my brother, lit a match to the proverbial bridge as he walked out, and didn’t even look back at the flames. I’m pretty fucking pathetic. Ugh. Okay, I guess I won’t be giving him my nut. I let the water run cool over my heated skin and chastise myself for wanting to cry. I’m stronger than this. I can’t keep giving in to the ambivalence. The shit that I’ve had to get over was much more detrimental than any emotional yo-yo that he can yank me on. I’ve survived physical and verbal abuse, so this should be a cakewalk. He will not win.

When I step out of the shower, I realize I’ve indeed used all the hot water. Maybe I should go back up front and chill with Lily until it reheats. Sadly, I recognize the stall tactic even as the thought crosses my mind. I will not cower. So what if he’s still awake? I change into my sleep clothes and head straight to my bunk. Climbing into bed, I turn and face the wall, proud of myself for taking some of my power back. That is, until his familiar virile scent invades my senses. It taunts me, invoking more memories that I try to push out of my mind. Some of my resolve dissipates, and sadistic sadness is there, ready to fill the void, so I let the fucking stubborn tears fall. One day at a time. The tears he rips from me are limited, and once my heart rids itself of him, he will not be allowed back in. That mission begins tomorrow. Tonight, I’ll let my body purge itself in the form of tears. Book … Jack … repeat. My time on this bus will serve one purpose. Get the story. There is no Phoenix and me, so the sooner I acclimate to what that picture looks like, the better. A few sniffles escape me, and I curse them. He changes position above me, so I know he heard them. Not that he cares. I let the remaining tears wrack my body until sleep eventually wins out.

Chapter Three

Harlow

I wake to the sound of sizzling bacon and the smell of coffee brewing. I attempt to run a single hand through my tangled tresses, courtesy of going to bed with it wet. Geez. I blow out a frustrated breath because I know I’ll have to rewash and condition again. I hop out of bed, stealing a glance toward the kitchen. Sevyn’s tending to the pancakes he has on the griddle, his distinguishing tattoo giving him away. Phoenix is busy with his phone at the dining table … too occupied to notice me. I make my way to the bathroom, caught off guard by my reflection. With puffy eyes and matted hair, I’m quite a sight. Flicking the middle finger to the mirror, I start the shower. I step in and get lost in the mundane task of washing my hair. They probably think I’m working toward a record for the most showers taken. I guess it has been my little haven—a place to escape where I know I won’t be followed. I mentally make little to-do lists to focus my attention on anything other than Phoenix. I only manage to rinse the remaining suds from my hair before the shower door swings open unexpectedly. I use one hand to cover my breasts and the other to cover my lady parts as a reflex.

“Time’s up,” Phoenix says as he stares through me. Water drips from my hair down into my eyes, but I don’t have a free hand to wipe my face. “Are you just going to stand there foolishly covering shit I’ve already seen, or is that an invitation to join you?”

“Don’t be a dick,” I retort. “You can wait the few minutes it will take me to finish my shower.” So this is how he wants to play it. His day one immaturity from when we first met.

He begins to undress, and I’m stuck. I look away, unsure of what to do. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Showing you how much of a dick I can be, princess.” It doesn’t go unnoticed that he