Page 17 of Bones

Because the real thing hadn’t happened. Even with an extra dosage of meds, I was wide-awake.

After Ryan took off earlier, I’d sat in my shock for longer than I cared to admit. I wasn’t sure what I was more surprised by.

That he’d hit me.

That I’d been insubordinate.

Or the sinful feeling of pride that had filled me at my defiance.

Something was changing inside me, and I wasn’t sure it was a good thing. It was like the curse had seeped from my visions to poison my brain. My very being.

Memories of Pastor Gideon’s sermons had haunted me all day until phantom burning spread across my chest.

Like the fires of Hell reaching out for me.

The fear of consequences had been far worse than the entire fight with Ryan.

I’d tried to pray for forgiveness. I’d tried to let the guilt swallow me in penance. I’d tried to beg God to return me to the status quo.

The place where I felt only gratitude and… nothing.

But my heart hadn’t been in it. My attention hadn’t, either. In the middle of my most fervent prayers, my thoughts had still drifted to Maine and what could be there.

It was yet another sign my curse was growing.

I’d been dreading Ryan’s return. I’d assumed he would wake me to continue said fight. Or maybe just drag me from bed into the prayer room—something I wouldn’t fight.

Instead, he stretched out behind me. His hand on my shoulder and his voice were both gentle as he rolled me onto my back. “Aurora.”

I pretended to wake, blinking up at him in the dim bedside light, though I remained silent.

“It took a lot of work on my part, but the itinerary is switched. We fly to Maine. The representative from Beacon won’t be there to meet us, though. He can’t get in until later.”

Maine.

Mainemainemaine.

That intoxicating feeling of…rightnesssettled over me. I couldn’t even explain it, other than I wanted more of it. Despite our argument earlier, I would’ve kissed Ryan for finally listening to me and—inadvertently—gifting me that fullness I so rarely felt in my chest.

It wasn’t my split lip that stopped me.

It was the strong scent of another woman.

I wasn’t surprised. What was unexpected, however, was how little it hurt. There was no painful jealousy or heart-wrenching inadequacy. It just was what it was.

His mouth still tipped at my happiness, and for a moment, he looked like the old Ryan. The one who stared at me with desire when he thought no one else was watching. Who pulled me into darkened rooms or secluded corners because hehadto kiss me, risk be damned.

But he wasn’t that man anymore.

And I wasn’t the same woman, no matter how desperately I prayed to be.

His hand hovered over my chest, and I wondered if he’d touch me.

I prayed he wouldn’t.

His lip sneered, seeming to remember what marred my skin under that spot. When he used to touch me, he’d had the decency to hide his disgust behind gifts of nighties that covered my chest. Even in the dark, he’d never touched or kissed my breasts.

And then he never touched any of me, period.

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