Page 146 of Saving Her

I shouldn’t like any man.

So why do I crave things I shouldn’t be craving?

It’s disgusting after everything I’ve been through. Especially when the fluttering sensations were triggered from a moment filled with menace and danger.

I’d had a gun to his stomach. I’d threatened to kill him. All the while, my hands itched to drag him closer. To pull him into me. Against me.

I’d yearned for his proximity. The closeness that always makes me feel sheltered.

“Goddamnit.” I wince through the shame.

Luther did this to me. He’s turned me into a mess.

He influences every second of my life, and it’s got to stop. I refuse to continue being his slave. I hate myself for allowing him to shape me for this long. For not being able to sleep at night. For the inability to wear underwear. For the fear and the anger and the pain.

I cling tight to the vanity and fight the scream clawing up my throat. Iwill notlet that man defeat me. I refuse. He may have won the game with Abi from beyond the grave but he won’t regain a tighter hold on me.

“I won’t fucking let you,” I sneer into the mirror. “You’re dead, you son of a bitch.Fucking dead.You can’t control me now.”

I storm from the bathroom, yanking my sweater over my head as I continue to the wardrobe. If Luca thinks self-defense lessons will help me, then so be it. I’ll learn. It’s not like I enjoy being this broken shred of a woman. I don’t want to be useless.

I’m just not sure my shattered pieces can be recycled into something worthwhile.

I strip off my moist sweatpants without daring to look at them. That’s when I pause, my hand poised near another oversized outfit when my gaze catches on the only set of figure-hugging yoga pants I mindlessly purchased with Luca’s credit card when I first arrived.

I have a closet full of baggy items. But I no longer want to hide in those.

I want to be better. To be whole.

I’m not going to like this. I already hate it. Yet, I drag the stretchy pants from the shelf anyway and don’t allow myself to acknowledge an ounce of discomfort as I yank them on.

I ignore the snug fit as the material clings tight to my thighs. And I don’t take note of my figure after I drag a tank top from the shelf and pull it on. The inbuilt sports bra is the closest I’ve come to underwear in a long time.

Everything I wear is constricting. I try to make it embolden me, the taunting restriction working as a reminder of what I’ve been through. A conniving devil smothered over every inch of my body.

Then I turn on my goddamn heels and trek back to the living room, determined to find a piece of myself in whatever maddening defense lesson Luca has in mind.

If only the look in his eyes didn’t lessen my wafer-thin enthusiasm.

I wish I could ignore this, too. The frowned shock at my appearance. The wrinkles of disapproval.

“Something wrong?” I ask over the lump in my throat.

“No. Nothing.” His voice is gruff as he pushes the coffee table away from the sofa, creating space in the middle of the room. “Just surprised, that’s all. It’s been a while since you wore something that didn’t resemble a sack.”

I take a step back, my skin crawling with the need to hide.

“Get over here,” he growls. “Let’s get this done.”

“If this is such a burden, why are we even doing it?”

“It’s not a burden.” The growl deepens. “It’s—” He stops mid-sentence, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck.

“It’s what, Luca?”

“Nothin’. Just get over here.”

I bite my lip, not wanting to move, equally despising the warmth that has shifted from between my thighs to pool in my chest.

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