Page 92 of Jacob

Staring at each other for a while, he finally breaks the silence. “I love you,” he whispers, sending a thrill of energy up my spine.

I go to speak, but he places a finger over my lips. “Don’t.” He shakes his head. “Not yet.”

He kisses me softly, setting my heart on fire. “I’ll go get a washcloth to clean you up.” Turning over, he jumps off the bed, and he’s back before I know it, cleaning me between my legs.

“No one has ever done that before.” I suddenly feel self-conscious.

He clenches his eyes closed with a half-smile, half-cringing. “I didn’t want to know that.”

Shit. I’ve only ever been with Owen.“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” He urges me to get under the bed sheets. “C’mon, Butterfly, shuffle under.”

I struggle because I can’t be bothered moving. I’m so tired, my body feeling like a dead weight, I can barely lift my head off the pillow. I do an awkward worm type movement, making Jacob laugh until I snuggle deep inside the covers.

“Your bed smells nice,” I mumble.

“Does it?”

“Yeah, it smells like you.” I inhale his scent again. It instantly makes me feel calm.

Jacob slips in next to me and I wiggle in closer to his bare chest when he threads his arm under my head, snuggling me into him like this is the most natural thing in the world and we’ve been doing it for decades.

Resting my hand on his chest, he lays his hand over mine. Almost asleep, my heavy limb is lifted off his chest and is held up in midair. I open my tired eyes and watch him as he examines the bruises around my wrists, running his thumb over my deep blue and purple marks.

“Are they sore?”

“No.” I pull my hand out of his and tuck it under the covers to hide my injuries. At least those will fade; others will last longer and be embedded in my memory forever.

“You know I’m here for you come rain or shine. You can talk to me about anything.”

“I know.” I turn onto my back, moving his arm from behind my head, and stare at the ceiling.

Jacob turns onto his side to look at me; he props his head on his hand. “Tell me what you’re thinking?”

I dive under the covers to remove my long socks. “Well, for a start, these have to come off, because I get really hot feet at night.”

“Righhhttt. And…”

I throw them onto the floor and turn to face him again, tucking my hands under my cheek. They aren’t so sore anymore and even though I was hit hard, the skin on my face is healing quickly, with fewer blood spots around my ear now, too. It’s less red than it was and the scratch has almost gone. It was mostly superficial but still hurt like a bitch, and I still look like I’ve been slapped across the face, worse on one side than the other.

“I hate what he did to me and how he made me feel,” I whisper.

“How did he make you feel?”

“Stupid.”

“You’re the smartest woman I know.”

“Not smart enough to see the signs or not meet him or share things with him in private emails.” I don’t know how many times I’ve voiced this to my mom already.

“He’s a predator. That’s what they do.”

“He’s a maniac.”

“That too.”

“He made the room he kept me in look like a replica of my bedroom.” I pull a little thread from the pillowcase. “He bought clothes from the same shop I go to. He even bought the same makeup I wear. He said he did it to make me happy, but all I felt was scared. I was petrified.”

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