“Hayes?” I called, poking my head out of the bathroom, steam flowing out into the hall, my wet hair clinging to my neck. The smell of garlic filled my nose and my stomach growled.
A second later, he was at the mouth of the hall. He’d taken his jacket and shoes off, leaving him in white socks, dark jeans, and a white T-shirt. My jaw nearly fell to the floor, his casual look making my knees weak. But by the grace of whoever was running my life, I managed to keep my composure.
How could anyone be that perfect all the time? Didn’t Superman have an off switch?
“What is it?” he asked.
I still had my body hidden behind the door, my towel wrapped around me tightly. “I, um, I forgot my robe in my room.” I tripped over my words, feeling my ears getting hot with embarrassment. “Usually, I would just go and get it, but you’re here and I…” I cleared my throat and looked away. “I just didn’t want to…”
“Is it hanging behind your closet door?” he asked.
My stomach clenched.He remembered.“Yes.”
He nodded once and moved to my bedroom, reemerging a second later, my black silk robe in hand. I took it from him gently, glancing up at his face. “Thank you,” I muttered. The blush was crawling up my cheeks now. “I’ll be out in just a minute.”
“Do you need anything else?”
I shook my head, muttered a second “thank you,” and closed the door. With my back to it, I listened to him walk away. “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” I chanted under my breath, letting my head fall back against the wood. I closed my eyes and counted to ten. When I reached it, I then counted backward. On one, I opened my eyes, righting my head.
I stilled at the sight of my reflection, the mirror no longer foggy.
“Holy shit. What did Marcus do to me?” I rasped, bringing my trembling hand up to my bruise. It took up my entire cheekbone, touching my under eye, and even a portion of my temple. I gaped at it, horrified. It was hideous, dark, and ugly; everything my bloodline represented.
And now it was all over my face, where everyone could see.
A lie exposed like a nerve under the sharp blade of a surgeon.
I dropped my gaze, focusing on my butterfly tattoo. I’d gotten it a week after I escaped my ex. Butterflies were a symbol of renewal and peace. And for so long, that was all I wanted.What I craved when I was trapped in his arms, lying on top of a dirty mattress. I shifted my focus back to the bruise and choked on a sob, my hand slapping over my mouth as I doubled over. My body jerked with each wretched cry, but I kept my mouth covered, not wanting or needing Hayes to see me like this. Before long, I fell to my knees on my fluffy yellow bathmat, my arms wrapped around my middle and curled into myself as everything hit me.
My lost degree.
My brother stealing everything I’d worked so hard for.
My abusive ex, who had made my life a living hell and now had my money.
Had I ever really escaped hell, or had it just been waiting for the right moment to strike, to drag me back under?
There was a soft knock on the door. “Margo?”
I looked over my shoulder, gasping for air, panic tightening around my throat. “I—I’ll…be…out…in…” Another sob left me, more hot tears flowing down my face, the damaged side throbbing with pain now. The door shot open behind me, hitting the wall, but I was too lost to look. “I can’t,” I rasped. “I can’t do this!”
“Jesus, baby.”
I felt his body heat at my back, then at my sides as his legs stretched out before his arms wrapped around me, pulling me up. “Come here,” he ordered. “Fall back into me. I got you.”
I twisted, burying my face in his chest as I stretched my legs out between his. “He made me ugly again,” I sobbed into his shirt.
Hayes stiffened, his arms tightening around me. “Nothing about you is ugly, Margo. Bruises heal.”
“These kinds of bruises don’t.” The truth, a damning omission, spilled from my lips before I could stop it, irritated the exposednerve, and as the last syllable left, the air in the room changed—morphing with a strange darkness, thickening.
The man holding me gave me an order then, soft but direct, leaving no room for me to refuse. “Repeat that.”
My hand was on his chest, resting directly over his heart. I sat there for some time, feeling the steady beat of it slowly increasing. All the while he waited patiently. His hand snaked up the curve of my spine to the back of my neck, weaving through my wet hair and taking a soothing hold. “Mercy, Temper,” he murmured. “I asked you for mercy.”
Keeping my head down, I gave him what he wanted, my tongue coated with shame. “These kinds of bruises don’t heal, Hayes. They fade into the skin and seep into your heart.”
His fingers flexed on my neck, his body practically vibrating beneath me. “I can’t have this conversation with you here.”