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Isadora
Present day …
The warmth of the bathwater surrounds me like a cozy blanket, as I sit on Lucian’s lap, my cheek pressed against his chest, listening to his heart. After another round of sex in the bathtub, he’s already washed every inch of me, including my hair, leaving me relaxed and content to fall asleep right here.
A part of me hates this comfort I feel with him, after we both agreed this was nothing more than sex, but I couldn’t have anticipated the emotions he’s stirred inside of me, the safety and trust. I expected him to treat me like every other asshole who’s taken a piece of me, and I hate myself for secretly wanting more from him, like some kind of betrayal.
Arms stretched across the edge of the tub, he breathes deep, and I lift my head just enough to peer up at him. The steam from the bath added to the soft glow of a candle casts a shine across his skin, emphasizing the muscles in his arms and chest.
He looks like a god. One roughened by life and wounded in battle.
Eyes on his, I bend forward and lick the dew from his skin, ru
“And you should’ve been a poet, instead of a big, bad shipping mogul.”
“I’d have been happier for it.”
I feather my lips over his and kiss along his jaw to his throat. “What makes you unhappy?”
“At the moment? Knowing this bathwater is going to get cold soon, and we’ll have to get out.”
Smiling against his throat, I drag my teeth over his skin, and he shifts beneath me.
“If you keep doing that, we might not be going anywhere for a while, though. Cold, or not.”
“We’ll be prunes.”
“A fitting match for my face, then.”
One arm wrapped around his neck, I trace the scar along his lip with my finger. “I happen to like your face very much.”
His palms glide up my thighs, coming to rest at my hips, while he leans into me for a kiss. “That’d make you the first.”
“I find scars very attractive.”
The sound of his chuckle echoes in the steamy room. “Is that so?”
“Yes. They tell the story of an interesting man.”
Brows lowering, he turns his scarred half away from me.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say something upsetting.”
“There’s nothing interesting about these scars. The only story they tell is regret and pain.”
I look down between us, to where the ski
He takes my wrist in hand and rubs his thumb over the scars. “Tell me.”
I don’t want to speak of it now and ruin the contentment, but his eyes implore me. Trusting and brimming with sadness, I recall the same look when he opened one of his own wounds, showing me the pictures of his little boy earlier in the evening.
What could be worse than the pain of losing a son?
Casting my gaze from his, I muster the strength to tear open these scars and let them bleed out for the first time in months. “It was January. My senior year. Everyone was counting down the days, and I was just … trying to hold on. I had no idea what I was going to do once high school ended. And it’s not like I loved the place, you know? Everybody hated me there, except Kelsey.”
“She’s your friend.”
I nod, ru
“What happened?” Lucian’s voice is a distant sound to the music blaring inside my head, as my memories transport me back to that night.
“I went to a party with her. Wasn’t my thing, but … it was senior year, and she begged me to go. Some guy she wanted to see there. Brady was his name.” I can smell the stale beer and the skunky, pungent odor of weed, from when we entered the house that night. The promise of bad things on the air and across my skin. “There was a boy there. One I’d seen around. Maybe nineteen. Everyone thought he was so hot. I used to hear the girls talk about him in the bathroom. Things they wished he’d do to them.” Shaking my head, I sneer at the stupidity, the naiveté of those girls now. “Imagine my surprise when he sat down next to me. He talked to me. Out of all those girls. I felt so … unique, for once. And he was nice. He talked about books, you know? Something I could relate to.”
“And where was Kelsey when you talked to this boy?”
“She walked off to find the guy she wanted to see there.” Closing my eyes adds vivid colors to the scene--the red lights around the room, the music blaring from the speaker, red cups of alcohol scattered over the floor. Red. “It was so loud. Everyone was drunk. Seemed like, just minutes later, she was stumbling after the guy out to the pool house.”
“Brady?”
I stare off, lost to the memory. The blur of the scene I’ve spent months pushing away with therapy and dark shadows. We’re just having a little fun.
“She stumbled after Brady?” The sound of Lucian’s voice draws me back to the present, and I nod.
“Yeah. Sorry. The beloved son of Tempest Cove,” I go on.
A flash of his naked torso flickers in my head, over the distant echo of laughter.
“She got drunk.”
Screams pierce my ears, and I screw my eyes shut, breathing hard through my nose as the sketchy memories arrive like half-drawn pictures with the edges erased.
“He tore her clothes off. And she was so intoxicated she couldn’t even fight it.”
The sharp tip of a blade scrapes over the stark white paper, co
“There were more of them. His teammates. Maybe four, or five, I can’t remember. They laughed, as he raped her. All of them watching, begging for a turn.”
A blackness stirs in the pit of my guts as the rest of the story seeps out of its locked compartment, the images clearer as more lines converge on the image, dark scratches filling with cold black ink, bringing details to life. Her half-drawn lids. The dirty carpet beneath her. Bruising marks where he held her too tight.
“Where were you when this happened?” Lucian’s voice fades beneath the remembered sounds of grunting and slapping skin, curses and crying.
“I was hiding. Hiding from all of them. I couldn’t breathe. But then I screamed. I screamed so loud, but no one could hear me.” I don’t even realize I’m clawing at Lucian’s chest, until my eyes focus in on the scratches streaked across his skin.
“What happened to the girl?”
What happened to the girl? His voice echoes inside my head.
“She screamed louder. Our screams were finally heard by a neighbor, who shined a flashlight. They all got spooked and ran off.”
“And the girl. Did she get away?”
“She did.” Like a movie reel, the memory continues to spin inside my head.
Wrapping my arm around Kelsey, both of us stumbling out of the pool house. The cold bite of winter air against my face, as the two of us made our way back to the car.
The urge to break down tugs at the back of my eyes, and I push off Lucian’s chest, concentrating on each breath, as my therapist told me to do whenever the anxiety struck me. Closing my eyes, I focus on every count, inhaling and exhaling, in and out, until the thrum in my veins slows, and when I feel Lucian’s arm tighten around my back, I open my eyes again.