Chapter Eighteen
Emery
My eyes snap open as I wake with a cry that’s cut off by the bruising hand around my neck. Clawing at his arm to no avail, I try to throw him off me, to escape the crushing weight that’s cutting off my air even more.
“Scream for me,” he says against my lips as he shoves his other hand under my nightgown, finding the tender spot between my legs. Loosening his hold around my throat, he thrusts a thick finger into me, and the scream he wants so badly lodges in my throat, my breath rattling out through the space he opened by adjusting his control of my airway.
Please, no…
With a sigh, he adds another finger, his movements becoming rougher, and a strangled whimper leaves me.
“We can play this game all you like, Emery, but we both know you’ll give me what I want eventually.”
My nails scratch at his arm. I know I’ve broken through the skin when his breath rumbles out of his throat, and he rips his hand away from my neck. I try to scramble back, away from the fingers assaulting me, but his weight is still too heavy. Only seconds later, his hand is back, clasping my chin in a tight hold, and another whimper escapes me. “You know what happens when you draw blood,” he says, his voice low enough that I realise I’ve screwed up.
His fingers disappear from between my legs, giving me a moment’s reprieve, but my chest rises and falls at a rapid pace knowing it won’t last long. There’s some rustling before he hikes my nightgown up, but I grasp the ends, trying to hold it down. “Please, don’t…”
Tears leak from the corners of my eyes, and the sharp sound of fabric tearing rips through the room. “No, stop,” I cry out as the cool air hits my body, and his hard length stabs at my inner thigh as he positions himself.
More of his weight settles on me, and I suck in a breath at the pressure in my chest as his mouth finds my ear. “Why would I ever stop?” he asks and thrusts into me with a grunt. And despite it being exactly what he wants, a scream breaks free from me, except it’s nothing compared to the guttural sound that escapes when the cool metal blade slices across the side of my stomach. It cuts open my skin, letting my blood run freely from the gaping wound, and his mouth spreads in a smile against my cheek as agonising pain sweeps through me.
A low whine cuts through the room, then again. The heaviness on top of me fades away, replaced by a weight at my side. My hand brushes over fur as I gasp for breath through the phantom pain aching from my scars, even after waking from the nightmare.
By the time I manage to pull myself out of bed, Sebastian is long gone.
Ikissedhim.
Not only that, I let a piece of him in. I knew exactly who he was talking about last night—the unknown girl in the park. That should have been my answer—a stranger. It would have been true.
It doesn’t feel true, though.
And I told himwhy.
Why did I tell him anything at all?
You know why.
From across the room, my gaze gravitates to my pillow, knowing what’s underneath. I couldn’t have imagined how much harder the fall to reality would be when he’s not just words on paper or a portrait behind a lens. I need distance. Distance from both Sebastian and my journal, except only one of those is going to be even marginally possible.
I march over to the bed, my limp stealing some of the urgency, and pull the pillow back. My leather-bound journal sits underneath—a black stain nestled in pure white sheets. When I reach for the book, comfort immediately seeps into me, but now there’s also confusion.
With a deep sigh, I close my eyes and squeeze the journal in my hands, my fingers digging into the leather. This is what I need to do. It’s already hard enough being around Sebastian, but yesterday was proof that the thing I’d been using to keep my mind safe wasn’t going to do anything but harm me now.
It’s been three months since I ran fromhim, I shouldn’t need my journal anymore, or at the very least, I shouldn’t still be feeling the crushing urge for the escapism writing in it brings. And I hadn’t, really. Not until yesterday. The only connection isSebastian.And since I’m stuck with Sebastian for the near future, I need to do something with the book in my hands.
Taking a deep breath, I search the room. Apart from the bedside tables, the only other piece of furniture is the round chair by the windows that I’d almost hedge to say was a couch, it’s so big.
At first glance, the panels on the far wall look decorative. With my journal in one hand, I run the other across the wall, my fingers dipping into the subtle grooves. This close, however, the gaps between each panel are more noticeable.
Huh.
I press my palm into the panel in front of me, and it doesn’t take much pressure before a soft click sounds through the silent space, and the panel pops open, revealing part of a wardrobe. A robe hangs from the otherwise empty rack, and a spare pillow sits high on the top shelf. There are three other panels, but the last one is partially blocked by the chair.
As I eye the last panel, I squeeze my journal tighter before placing the leather-bound book in the centre of the round chair. I grab onto the side of the chair and pull. It’s heavier than I expected, and it takes a few hard tugs before there’s a big enough gap.
In the same way I opened the other one, I press my palm to the end panel. A folded blanket takes up the whole top shelf and is the only thing in this part of the wardrobe. Turning back to the chair and my journal, I hesitate with my hand hovering over it.
It’s for the best.