Page 66 of Scarred in Silence
I’m grateful he saved me. He accepts me for who I am. He doesn’t want me to change. He just wants me to be loyal.
I want to clear the air about everything that happened. I know Lucien doesn’t actually forgive me yet. He just wanted to fuck me. He told me to come out whenever I was ready. That was probably two hours ago. I don’t have the will to get up. Not yet.
It’s the first sleep I’ve had in a comfortable bed since the night I woke up in New Mexico in the stranger’s house. I needed a restful sleep. It helps that Dr. Marlowe gave me some painkillers to help.
Lucien has them, though. He won’t let me take them myself, which tells me he doesn’t trust me yet.
I sit up, and the room feels as if it’s spinning. I steady myself on the edge of the bed, letting the dizziness subside before I try to stand up completely.
I slowly stand and carry myself into the bathroom. When I look in the mirror, I startle. I can’t get used to my hair like this. I hate it.
I need to see if we can change it back.
The tub calls my name. I know I shouldn’t, considering I have a fresh brand mark on my thigh, but I can’t help it. I need to float.
I start the tub, making the water lukewarm, not adding anything else to keep the wound from burning.
I slip off my t-shirt and thong. Then I bend down, slowly peeling off he bandage from my leg. The skin pulls from the adhesive.
The skin is raised and blistering. It fucking hurts. The wet-looking marking looks angry.
I step into the water, slowly sinking. When I get to my thigh, I double over in pain. The sting pulses through my leg, making me want to jump out of the water, but I don’t.
I don’t want to look at it. The reminder of what I did to Lucien weighs heavily on my conscience.
Footsteps come closer as I submerge myself into the tub.
“What the Hell are you doing?”
Lucien rushes over to me, scooping me out of the tub.
“You’re going to get an infection.”
He grabs a towel and dries me. The gesture is so simple, but it means the world to me even though I didn’t get my bath.
He carefully dries the wound, and I look away. He applies fresh cream and a new bandage. He places a tender kiss over the bandage when he finishes.
“We need to talk,” I say softly, my voice cracking, and my jaw aches.
“I know.”
* * *
I sit curled up next to Lucien on his brown leather couch. He sits back with his arm wrapped around me.
“So,” he says.
“I’m sorry…”
He nods.
“Apology accepted.”
I stare at him, wondering if he feels sorry for anything. Probably not. He’s never sorry.
“Tell me what happened,” his tone low and cold.
I clear my throat before I begin.
