Page 30 of Kings Fear No One
He’s agitated.
“The annulment,” I say.
“That’s right. We agreed, didn’t we? It’ll be the quickest way for this to be over.”
“This…?”
“This situation,” he answers, his muscular back turned to me. He twists on the shower, pretending as if I’m not standing a few feet away.
“Our marriage,” I say slowly.
“That’s what the clerk is for. We’ve come full circle.”
A sharp bout of nerves pricks at me. “Then what?”
“Then it’s over.” His fingers undo the button on his denim jeans, and he raises his brows at me before he continues undressing. “You mind?”
I’m rocked to my core as I step out of the way in time for the bathroom door to slam shut. There’s so much to work through processing the annulment. What direction do I even go in?
The knowledge the vows I took meant nothing. My once-in-a-lifetime marriage has been reduced to a blemish on my record. My virginity has been stolen when I’d only ever saved myself for my future husband. I’m unwanted and used and lost in every way. How can I ever return to my old life when that version of myself is gone?
Everything is ruined.
Logan and my friend Sydney, who happens to be dating Logan’s brother, have both asked me about my family. They’ve made it clear they’ll reach out to them the moment I’m ready. Sydney seems lost about my reluctance while Logan’s growing impatient by it.
Neither understand why I’ve stalled as long as I can.
The thought of being bombarded by Mama and Grandma Renae feels like it’ll be its own traumatic experience. They’ll have a thousand questions and a thousand more judgments. There’ll be lectures and prayers and unsolicited advice. I’ll be under their microscope and married off to the first man willing to wife up someone as damaged as I am.
Just so they can preserve my—their—reputation around town.
Whereas Logan’s apartment has been quiet and lonely, being under my family’s roof will be like standing in the middle of the spotlight. I’ll be studied, analyzed, broken down a hundred times over. I’ll be reprogrammed to be the born again, virtuous, perfectly clean woman.
It’ll be like my time with the Chosen Saints never happened.
At least at face value.
They’ll never understand the pain that’s invisible on the outside but unbearable on the inside.
I return to the safety of the sofa in the living room and fall asleep to the white noise of Logan showering. It’s well past four in the morning when I wake up. The TV’s still on, lighting the dark room in a bluish white filter.
I move through the apartment on memory, cloaked in shadows. Logan’s bedroom door squeaks as I nudge it open and pad gently into the room. He’s offered me the spare bedroom as my space, but I’ve never slept in there. I’ve spent my time on the couch, unable to rest.
At least when I’m not seeking out my husband.
I peel back his bedsheet and slide in next to him. His body serves as an anchor on the bed, warm and heavy as I scoot closer. I’m drawn to his scent that invades my senses. The natural, clean smell of him after a hot shower. Pressing my face into the knotted muscle of his back, I take a slow inhale.
Logan stirs at once. He jerks awake and his hands fly out fast. They clench shut around my wrists as his eyes open to assess the threat.
…then he realizes it’s just me.
He lets go as quickly as he’d grabbed hold. “I’ve fucking told you about doing that.”
“I didn’t want to sleep in the living room.”
“That’s what the other bedroom’s for.”
“I don’t feel comfortable in there.”
