Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 113473 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 454(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113473 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 454(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
One of his T-shirts.
Sig dropped his clothes wherever he took them off, but that wasn’t what bothered her about it.
No.
That wasn’t it at all.
With a groan and her hand planted on the couch’s armrest to keep from toppling over, she reached down and picked it up. She shook it out and turned it to see the back more clearly.
She pressed a hand to her mouth and struggled to breathe.
Why...
A noise escaped from between her lips just as she heard him enter the room, his normally loose and easy gait stuttering to a halt.
She lifted her gaze from the tee in her hand to him, a tightness in her chest and her thoughts spinning.
She didn’t move but kept her eyes glued to his tight expression as he approached. She noticed the second his eyes slid across the couch first and landed on his shirt within her fingers.
“Red...”
“You’re hurt.”
“No.”
Of course he was, no one bled that much who wasn’t injured. “Then whose blood is that?”
“Red...” He yanked the bloody T-shirt from her fingers and balled it up in his fist. “Ain’t nothin’.”
“The hell it isn’t.” He was wearing a shirt now. Covering what she missed last night and again this morning. How had she not seen it? With the amount of blood...
He’d purposely kept his back to her, except for in the dark. That’s how.
He’d hidden his injuries from her.
Why?
Was he afraid it would trigger something in her?
Would it trigger her?
She swallowed hard and moved to stand behind him, but he turned with her. “I want to see.” She was not asking, but demanding.
“No.”
“I need to see.”
“No. Not a good fuckin’ idea.”
“For who? You? Or me?”
He shook his head, his brow furrowed. “Both of us.”
“Sig...”
“Red...”
“I need to see it!” burst from her in a scream, surprising both of them. She slapped a hand over her mouth, shocked at her sudden loss of patience. Shocked at once again feeling something other than nothing. Of no longer being dead inside. Feeling a real emotion other than just despair.
He stared at her for the longest time, his face paler than usual, his mouth tight, his eyes troubled.
“Please,” she finally whispered. Still not asking, because she was going to see it one way or another.
“Red, you can’t tell anyone. Like the lock, you need to fuckin’ promise me.”
“Promise.”
“I mean it. Not to Stella, not to Shady. To no one.”
She nodded, dread beginning to fill her chest and make it tight.
“Need to hear it again.”
“I promise.”
He dropped his head for a minute and his chest surged as he sucked in a deep breath. Then he nodded and grabbed a handful of the worn cotton at the top of his back, tugging it up and over his head.
Her heart began to pound in her throat as he slowly turned and revealed his broad, muscular back to her.
She quickly covered her mouth to keep from crying out, but her heart broke for him. And she didn’t think she had one left to break.
She tentatively reached out but only touched where the skin hadn’t been broken. Where it hadn’t been flailed to the point of splitting and bleeding.
The shower this morning had to be painful. His skin was still raw and swollen, and a few spots were shiny with fresh blood.
Somehow she managed to ask, “You... wanted this?” Who would want this? Ask for this? Take this kind of damage willingly?
“Red...”
She pulled her hand back and curled her fingers into her palm. “I need to know. I need to know you wanted this. You asked for this.”
She almost didn’t hear his quiet, “Yeah.”
Autumn closed her eyes and just breathed for a moment, trying to wrap her head around what it all meant. Why he would want, or need, something like this.
Why he would feel the need to be struck over and over with something that would mutilate the skin of his back like that. To cause pain. To feel pain. To feel pain that wouldn’t be just temporary. Discomfort that would last for days.
Like a reminder.
Was it some sort of punishment?
“Is this what you wanted Billie to do to you?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“Wanted to do it to her.”
“Like that Amish girl your brother talked about?”
“Yeah.”
“You like it.”
“They like it.”
They like it? But he was the one bearing the marks. He’d had it done to him, instead. Why? “You get off on that.”
He stepped away and turned to face her, his Adam’s apple jumping in his throat and every muscle tense. “Red, can’t fuckin’ discuss this with you.” His voice was tight and almost pleading with her to let it go.
She couldn’t. She needed to understand. “You want to know what happened to me. You want me to open myself up and tell you everything. But you can’t share this with me?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“’Cause I can’t explain it.”
That was an easy copout. “Yes, you can.”
He shook his head. “Can’t explain how it works.”