It helps. Sort of. Hot water sluices over my skin, washing away sand and sweat and the lingering, phantom weight of him – but not the way my nerves still feel stretched too tight. Not the strange heat pooling low in my belly. Not the ache at my neck that pulses dully beneath the spray.
I avoid touching it.
I towel off, dress in clean clothes. Dry ones. Soft ones. The nicest pyjamas I own. I clean the bite carefully, wincing as antiseptic burns into raw skin. It’s deep – but not deep enough to be a claim. I know that much.
When I finally crawl into bed with the firm intention of sleeping until morning, the storm howls on around me.
Instead of being climbed by slumber, I lie awake for hours, staring at the ceiling, my body restless and over-aware. Every sound outside feels amplified. Every gust of wind sets my pulse skittering.
When sleep finally comes, it’s shallow and strange.
I wake late the next morning to silence.
No rain. No wind. Just pale sunlight spilling across the floorboards and the distant cry of gulls. The storm is gone, as if it never even happened.
I feel…off. Not sick, exactly. Just wrong around the edges. My body feels heavy, leaden, like it’s been wrung out and put back together wrong.
It takes me a moment to remember.
Everything.
The storm. The chase. The man who left me marked and didn’t look back.
I probably over-exerted myself last night. And I didn’t have the best night’s sleep, so I’ll chalk it down to that.
I sit up slowly, testing myself. Sore, yes. But functional.
Then I remember the plants. Regardless of how I’m feeling, the plants need to go back out and I have strict instructions from my grandmother to return each one to its rightful place. Apparently they’ll know if they’re moved and they’ll rebel.
With a groan, I haul myself out of bed.
In the bathroom I get ready for the day but when I catch my reflection I freeze.
The mark on my neck is darker today. Angry-looking. A curved impression where teeth broke skin, healing slowly beneath the surface.
I touch it lightly and swallow.
Anyone could mistake it for a love bite – though that thought doesn’t comfort me the way it should – but it’s really hot to the touch.
God, I hope it’s not getting infected. That would suck.
A wave of nausea rolls through me without warning. I grip the sink, breathing hard until it passes.
Probably nothing, I tell myself.
Just exhaustion. Adrenaline. Too much all at once.
Still…unease curls low in my gut, cold and persistent.
I cover the mark with my jumper collar and turn away from the mirror.
I don’t know why I suddenly feel like something has already been set in motion – whether I’m ready for it or not.
A shiver runs through me that has nothing to do with the temperature. My skin feels…sensitive. Too aware. Like every nerve ending is turned up a notch higher than it should be.
I hug my arms around myself, frowning.
Probably just adrenaline.