Page 138 of Crave
“Don’t fucking think about it,” I rasped. “Just do it.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she grabbed the shredded hem of my shirt. She hesitated for half a second too long.
Then she ripped it open.
A sharp sting raced across my skin as the fabric peeled away from the wound. I barely held back a hiss, biting down against the pain. Not in front of her. Not in front of them.
Angelica’s breath hitched. She wasn’t prepared for the sight of it.
I saw it in her wide, glassy eyes—the blood smeared across my ribs, the fresh, seeping gash, the damage she had indirectly caused.
She did this.
She fucking did this…
She fuckingruinedme.
Her fingers ghosted over my skin, barely touching, but I felt them like a brand. I hated how my body reacted to it.
Hated that I wanted more.
I clenched my jaw as she poured antiseptic over the wound. The burn was sharp, eating through my nerves like fire, but I didn’t make a sound. Not even when she turned, pushed to stand and moved silently to the cabinet.
We all watched her as she rifled through the drawers, pulling out a first aid kit and unclipped the latches, a staple gun was there, still sealed in the plastic. She tugged the edges, peeled it free before she came back to me.
One nervous glance and she eased to her knees once more. I fucking loved watching her kneel for me. I loved knowing it wasn’t that haunting piece of fucking shit from that recording she kneeled for now.
Clack.
I winced, held my breath with the sting of pain, but I didn’t move.
Clack.
Clack.
Clack.
Clack.
Each staple. Each breath. Each goddamn second stretched out in front of us until her touch jerked against my skin and she lowered the gun to the floor.
“Stop it,” I said coldly.
Her head snapped up. “Stop what?”
“Shaking.” My eyes burned into hers. “You don’t get to be afraid right now.”
Her throat bobbed. But she nodded. She pressed the cloth harder against the wound, whether out of defiance or punishment, I didn’t know.
Jude crouched beside me, probing the wound, watching every move she made. “Looks like our sister is rattled,” he muttered, voice unreadable. “She’s not usually this rough.”
Theo gave a snarl from the counter. “Guess we all have something to be pissed about tonight.”
Angelica swallowed hard, but she didn’t stop.
And I just sat there, hating her, hating myself, and wondering how much of me she had already ruined.
The silence stretched, suffocating.
