Yeah. With the trouble on the road the other night, who knew if he’d be admitted to the house. And if he were, how would it play out once Damon came home.
Home. I held onto the railing as we took the stairs two flights down, still holding onto Ethan with my other hand. Damon—or his family—owned my home now, and while he’d been clearly sleeping elsewhere all the nights since the wedding, he could still come and go whenever he liked. Without knocking. Without permission. Without an invitation.
He controlled every key in the house. The realization curdled my stomach.
“Are you okay?” Ethan asked. “I mean…not just the leg.”
“Yes, I’m fine.”
I knew what he was worried about, and I was grateful for his concern, but he couldn’t help. And I wasn’t sure I would tell him if there was something to worry about.
“Don’t worry,” I assured.
I may not be able to handle Damon, but Ethan definitely couldn’t.
He led me to the women’s bathroom, knocking and calling out before we entered to make sure it was empty, and I walked in, releasing him and reaching for the wall to the left I knew was there. Coming around the corner, I found the sink counter and hopped up on it, immediately reaching for the paper towel holder.
Ethan reached for it, too, trying to help.
“I got it,” I told him. “Can you grab the first aid kit? It should be inside the box on the wall.”
While he walked over and lifted the lid, I wetted a couple paper towels and dabbed at the skin where it hurt. They said I was bleeding, but I had no idea how much.
I groaned as the cool water stung my cut. It was always the smallest things that hurt the most. Forming a little circle of claws, I dug my nails lightly into the skin surrounding the pain to deflect it a little. A trick my dad taught me when I was about six. The sharp ache eased a little, and I stayed like that for a moment, enjoying the slight reprieve.
“Hey, there’s nothing here,” Ethan called out. “Let me run upstairs and see if the girl at the desk has it.”
I nodded, not sure if he saw. The bathroom door creaked open and closed as he left, and I pulled the paper towels off, folded them, and re-applied them to my leg, leaning back on the mirror and closing my eyes.
What the hell was I going to do? I was twenty-one, no job prospects, and I was scared. I would never be free while he was alive, and there was still so much he could take from me. He was already heavily at work on my peace of mind.
He’d been out of prison for over a year before he made contact, and two years before he set his plan into motion. I’d gotten complacent in my sense of security, thinking he might’ve moved on. I was wrong.
My eyelids grew heavy, and my head started to float as the pain in my leg subsided. I yawned, letting the sleepiness take over. At least when I was tired, I couldn’t worry.
Just as I was about to nod off, propped up against the mirror, I heard the whine of the unoiled hinges on the bathroom door. That was quick.
“Did you get it?” I asked, keeping my eyes closed and breaking into another yawn.
He didn’t answer me, though, and I opened my eyes, blinking. Someone had just opened the door, right?
“Ethan?” I called, sitting up straight.
The theater was about to close, and other than the front desk attendant, I didn’t think anyone else was in the building anymore.
And then…he was there.
He rested his hand on top of mine where it laid on my thighs, his chilled fingers making me suck in a breath and laugh. “Hey, you scared me,” I said. “Did you get the Band-Aids?”
Fingertips came up to my face, brushing a strand of hair out of my eye, and I recoiled at the icicles on my skin. What was he doing? I took his hand off my face and held it in mine, reassuring him.
“I’m okay.”
His body came in closer, though, forcing my knees apart and his clothes chafing the inside of my thighs. He took his hands off me, and I stilled, feeling the warmth of his breath right in front of me, on my face, as he leaned in.
What the hell was he doing?
“Ethan…” I protested but wasn’t sure what to say. He’d gotten close a few times, and while I knew he wouldn’t say no to more, it just never happened between us. He wouldn’t try again?
“Shhh…” he said.
And I stopped breathing. The heat of his mouth was centimeters from mine, and suddenly, my heart started hammering. He’d never felt like this. He was never forward, and I was instantly uncomfortable, old memories coming back.
Please don’t try to kiss me, I begged.
Water pumped through the pipes above my head, and I could hear the dull hum of the furnace somewhere in the distance, but otherwise, it was quiet down here, and we were all alone.
“I need the Band-Aid,” I told him, forcing a little smile. “Come on…”
“So pretty,” he whispered over my mouth. I could taste the smoke on his breath.
Smoke…
“Okay, I got them!” Ethan suddenly shouted from around the corner, stunning me out of the quiet as the bathroom door swung open again.
I gasped, rearing back. Shit!
I darted out my hands, looking for the man who was just here, but finding only empty space.
Tears stung the backs of my eyes, my pulse throbbed in my neck, and I couldn’t catch my breath as I sucked in lungfuls of air.
Motherfucker. Goddamn him. Where was he? I searched with my hands. Where did he go?
“Hey, hey, hey, what’s the matter?” Ethan asked, coming to my side.
But I just grabbed onto his sweatshirt, fisting it as I breathed hard.
If Ethan didn’t see him, he was already gone through the exit on the other side of the bathroom.
I shook my head, trying to calm down.
I’d relaxed. Like an idiot, for five minutes, I’d relaxed, and he never did. He would always be at the ready.
“Just get me out of here,” I told Ethan. “Right now.”
“What about the Band-Aid?”
“Now!” I cried out.
And he didn’t need to hear anymore. Pulling me off the counter, he took my hand, and we left the theater as quickly as possible.
I let Ethan take me home, followed closely by my driver, I was sure. Even though I had transportation at my disposal, I couldn’t stomach anything to do with Damon. I got in Ethan’s car, told my driver to “go to hell” when he protested, and we left.
Once Ethan dropped me off and left, albeit with some hesitation, I walked into the house, Mikhail trotting up to greet me and hearing my mother’s voice coming from the dining room.
I leaned down to pet him and give him a kiss. “Feed you in a minute, boy.”
Walking into the dining room, I felt their footsteps and heard pages flipping from the dining table.
I hadn’t spoken to my family much in the past few days. Angry, I stayed in my room, chewing my nails and trying to figure a way out.
“We could do wallpaper in the kitchen,” my sister said. “Like just one wall. It’s back in style now.”
Decorating? They were fucking decorating? Jesus.
“I tried to leave a few nights ago,” I finally told them, brushing my hand against the doorframe and stopping there. “Back to Montreal.”
Silence suddenly filled the room, and I could guess both of them were trying to process if they should be angry or not. My mother wanted me safe, even though she wouldn’t do anything to ensure it herself, and I was pretty certain my sister would love having me out of the way. They would both know, however, that it would displease Damon, and there might be consequences if I ran and he couldn’t find me fast enough.
“The police,” I went on, “on Gabriel Torrance’s payroll, no doubt, caught up to me and turned me around.”
“Ethan was helping you?” my mother asked in a tone that said she already knew the answer.
I nodded. “And if I want him to stay safe, then he’d better not help me again. That was the gist of the warning anyway.”
I heard a slow but deep intake of breath and a quiet exhale, and I knew my mother was trying to stay calm, but I was done pretending to be. Damon was clever, diabolical, and patient. All of the things I wasn’t. At least not right now. I was too fucking angry.