Page 20 of Twisted Love

Her arms wrap around me, holding me close as she tries to steady her breaths. I should pull away. I know I should, but I can’t. Just for a moment, I let myself savor the way she clings to me, the way her perfume lingers in the air, and the way her body trembles against mine.

But I can’t stay. I won’t let her have that power over me again.

It takes everything I have to pull away and get off the bed. My chest feels tight as I move to grab my clothes.

I want to walk out without looking back. I look over my shoulder. She’s splayed out on the bed, her skin flushed, her hair wild, her chest rising and, between her open legs, her glistening just fucked, swollen pussy. She looks beautiful. Ravaged. And the best part is, I know I’m the one who made her feel this way. I know now. She will always be the wound that refuses to close.

I dig into the pocket of my pants and my fingers curl around my wallet. I pull out five one-hundred-dollar bills and place them on the side tab.

When I lift my gaze, she’s watching me, her hazel eyes wide with confusion and hurt.

I give her a dry smile, one that doesn’t reach my eyes, and turn away. I shut the door behind me and stand in the corridor for a second. Then I make my way back to my own bedroom.

CHAPTER12

RAVEN

Ican’t move at first. My breath is caught somewhere between my chest and throat, shallow and shaky. My shocked gaze returns to the crisp bills lying there on the side table, their edges too sharp, too neat.

Did he just …?

I sit bolt upright. I can’t believe it. The money stares back at me, loud and vulgar against the polished surface of the wood. My heart pounds as sheer disbelief floods me, a hot, nauseating wave that leaves me utterly bewildered.

I glance toward the door he exited out of, then back to the money, my vision blurring as tears threaten to spill. Slowly, I lift my gaze to the ceiling, as if the answer might be there, etched into the plaster. But it’s not.

I can’t think. My mind is a jumbled mess of questions, anger, and hurt. The significance of what he’s just done settles over me. He didn’t just leave—he left me like .. like …

A prostitute.

The word claws at my chest, tearing through whatever composure I thought I had left. My throat tightens as I stand on shaky legs, my eyes darting around the room. The nearest thing within reach is the blanket sprawled across the bed. It’s disheveled and warm from where we’d been on it. I grab it and huddle into it, as if it could shield me from the sting of what he’s done.

The fabric is soft and heavy, holding the faintest trace of our shared heat. It doesn’t comfort me. It doesn’t numb the hurt. Instead, it weighs on me, reminding me of him, of his hands, his voice, the way he looked at me before he walked out.

I need to move. I need to do something—anything—to escape the smothering thoughts in my head. I shove my hair out of my face and make my way hastily to the bathroom. I throw off the blanket and step into the shower. The freezing water shocks my system. I turn it almost all the way up until the water becomes almost scalding hot. The water pounds against my skin as I scrub myself with a desperation that borders on madness. My hands shake as they move over my body, trying to erase the way he touched me. He made me feel so alive, so wanted, only to leave me hollow and raw.

But no matter how hard I scrub I can’t rid myself of him. His touch lingers, searing and cruel, a brand I can’t escape.

By the time I step out, my skin is red and stinging, but it’s nothing compared to the ache in my chest. I wrap a towel around myself and stare at my reflection in the mirror. At the large love bite he’s left on my neck. My hair is wet and clinging to my cheeks and my eyes are swollen and glassy. I don’t recognize the woman in the mirror—She looks like someone broken.

I glance back at the bedroom, the crumpled sheets, and the side table where those bills still sit, mocking me. My breath hitches, and I feel like screaming, tearing the room apart, and erasing every trace of him. But I can’t. I have my father to think about. That is what this marriage is about. Saving my father. That money will go into the little kitty that holds all the money I’ve saved up so far for Dad’s medical expenses. Mom remortgaged their home, but that money is almost all gone, and soon I’ll have to start dipping into my fund.

I get on the bed and close my eyes, but find I can’t fall asleep. No matter how hard I try, images of me crawling towards him play in my mind. Then I think of the portrait depicting me as a gold-digging whore downstairs and my entire body burns with shame.

Why? Why does he hate me so much?

CHAPTER13

RAVEN

By the next afternoon, I make my way to Sunny’s little bakery.

I slip inside, the bell over the door chiming softly. The bakery is warm and bustling, the scent of sugar and vanilla filling the air. Sunlight streams through the windows, glinting off the glass cases filled with pastries and macarons. It is a little early so there are no customers yet. Sunny is in her usual spot behind the counter, piping delicate swirls of buttercream onto a cake. I make my way over to her. She looks up, her brown eyes sharp and perceptive, and immediately sets the piping bag down.

“Raven,” she says in a concerned voice. “What’s wrong? What did that man do to you? You look terrible.”

The bakery is warm, the faint hum of the ovens in the background, but it does nothing to soothe the cold knot in my chest. I smile, but it feels hollow.

“Thanks for the confidence boost,” I say with forced humor.

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