Page 45 of Lust
What the fuck?
“Hello,” I called out.
No response.
My head throbbed in pain and confusion, but at least it didn’t sound like Tristan was around. Disoriented, I fumbled into the bathroom to relieve myself, then gurgled with mouthwash and splashed water on my face.
Having gotten a hold of my faculties, I returned to the room, optimistic that I could think of a way out with a clearer head. However, I spun in panic at the unmistakable shuffling of Tristan’s footsteps coming from the hallway. When the bedroom doorknob rattled, I pressed my back against the wall and suddenly wished for nothing more than to stay locked in here by my lonesome self.
Balancing the tray with one hand, I unlocked the door and turned the knob. It was preposterous to bring her breakfast like we were lovers. But Sara had slept past dinner time last night. The French Toast was for nourishment and sustenance purposes rather than a grand romantic gesture.
She would no doubt try to run for the hills, so I had locked both the doors to my room while preparing breakfast. Once we discussed the extent of our new relationship, my mind would be at ease.
She will agree,I repeated the mantra to myself.
To entice her into my proposal, I had straightened myself out. My face was marred from Sara’s assault, a hangover, a day-old stubble, and eyes sunken deep from a restless night. It was the first time the ladies were more likely to use the word ghoulish—rather than ethereal—to describe my physical appearance. It was also the first time I couldn’t stand the sight of my own reflection. I had almost punched the mirror to shatter the evidence of my undeserving face, to feel the shards cut deep in my skin. I wanted to erase my reflection because it wasn’t the evidence of God after all—like they claimed—it was the reflection of a monster who hurt the only woman to matter.
It was Sara who had made me feel human, who had brought me back from the brink of nothingness. So why had I done such an awful thing to her?
Unfortunately, my contemplations paled in comparison to Sara’s trauma. With a deep breath, I pushed the door open to find her pressed against the wall in an innate response to my presence.
“Morning, Angel,” I said hoarsely.
Sara said nothing, her head hung loosely to stare at a spot on the ground.
She looked like a gift from God in my oversized shirt that only reached past her thighs. My heart started beating so erratically at the suffocatingly appealing sight of her that I wondered if the damn thing might break loose.
But when she pushed away handfuls of curly mounds covering her face, it revealed the swelled bruising on her forehead. Rays of the morning sun cast light on the dark marks glinting on her beige skin. And I certainly didn’t miss the trembling or the remnants of fear evaporating from her.
I dropped my gaze and replayed the horrors from last night in my mind to fight away this temptation. She wouldn’t survive another bout of my attack—physically or emotionally—so soon after the fact.
Instead, I set the tray on the nightstand and reached into my dresser for a pair of sweatpants. When I solemnly held them out for her, she looked suspiciously at my outstretched hand. Taking the hint, I placed the pants on the corner of the bed and stepped backward until I was far enough that she didn’t fear an attack. Like an animal worried about their last morsel of food being taken away, she grabbed for the pants and pulled them on. Sara flinched at the movement, an aftereffect of the physical injuries she had sustained.
The ones Ihad caused.
My chest ached in self-deprecation, unsure if I’d ever succeed in erasing her forlorn looks. Blinded by a haze of sorrow, I watched her swim in pants much too large for her petite frame. Meanwhile, Sara eyed the bedroom door.
Well, this was going great.
I sighed. "Even with a head start, I’ll catch you within seconds. Not to mention, you have neither your car keys nor cell phone on hand. So, can we skip the part where you try to run and discuss last night instead?”
I knew she heard me by the barren expression. “You can’t keep me locked up in here for long. Mom and Dad will return home soon.” My heart skipped at the raspy way she spoke, having lost her voice after last night’s screaming match.
“I don’t intend on keeping you locked up.”
“So, you plan on letting me walk out of here; just like that?” She stared out the window, giving me the nonverbal permission to divulge. Clearly, she was only focused on escaping this room and me. So much so, she hadn’t demanded an explanation about last night or even so much as cursed me out.
Sadistically, her numb mood worked in my favor since she might be just shaken up enough to listen to my proposal. “That’s right,” I replied softly.
“Then why did you lock the doors?”
“I wanted us to speak before you ran off.”
“You mean, before I ran to the authorities,” was her rebuttal. The composed nature of her tone stunned me.
“I’m not worried about you going to the cops.”
“And what do you plan to do to stop me?”
