Page 32 of Fragile Twisted Vows

“Lucy.” It’s Damien’s voice, but it does nothing for me.

I’m worried I might be stuck like this forever.

“Lucille.” A growl now, a very close growl that’s somehow able to penetrate through my haze and roll over my body with its vibrations.

He grabs my face in his hands, forcing me to look at him, but I can’t. My eyes stay glued to the corpse on the ground.

“Look at me,” he commands.

“I…” I try to say, my voice low and shaky, unable to get the words out.

There are no words for this.

“How did you get here? How did you find this place?” he barks, and that’s when I lift my eyes up to his.

And in them, I see fear. I see panic.

I swallow tightly then, inhaling through my nose. The air smells metallic.

“I followed Bruno,” I choke out.

I am unable to cry. Unable to feel anything other than…numb.

“Why?” he growls as he starts to examine my body and I let him.

I let his hands roam over me even though he just shot a man in the head. A man that was charging towards me. He killed a man and he could’ve killed me.

“Am I…did you…” I stammer then, but my voice is low and oddly calm sounding.

He looks me dead in the eyes, serious confidence burning within them. It’s staggering, honestly.

“No. You’re safe,” he sighs, like a prayer.

It sounds like a prayer on his lips. Like he’s grateful.

Who is this man?

“Come on. I need to get you washed up,” he says in a low voice, pulling me into his arms.

He doesn’t turn me or force me to walk, he lifts me in his arms and carries me out the door.

“You’re going to get blood on you-”

“I don’t care,” he growls as he walks us around the lower half of the back building and into the car garage.

I’m quiet the entire way, staring at my new, ruined dress that’s covered in blood as he walks us past expensive cars and into the elevator. The ride up is quiet, but not tense.

I can’t feel anything right now.

And oddly, I am grateful for this.

When we get to his penthouse, he carries me straight to my bedroom and into the marble, adjacent bathroom. He sets me down carefully in front of the floating sinks and opens the large, glass shower door, turning the gold knob until warm, steamy water sprays from the waterfall spout.

I don’t see him turn to look at me because I’m staring at myself in the mirror.

I’m covered in another man’s blood, from head to toe. My freshly-done hair is now matted and my face is covered in red. I bring my hands out, staring down at them before I turn on the sink and try to start scrubbing.

“Lucy,” Damien says from behind me, his breath on my neck.

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