Total pages in book: 235
Estimated words: 224334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1122(@200wpm)___ 897(@250wpm)___ 748(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 224334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1122(@200wpm)___ 897(@250wpm)___ 748(@300wpm)
I lift my eyes but not my head when the door knocks. “What?”
John enters, takes in the scene, and starts to shake his head in despair as he strides over, placing a bowl of liquid and some pads on the table. Ava’s clothes are placed carefully on the back of the couch before he leaves quietly, and I swallow, finding the strength I need to face the results of Ava’s recklessness.
I shift, only a fraction, and she immediately hisses in pain, so I still, clenching my eyes closed. “Oh, Jesus,” I breathe. “Baby, I need to move you, I need to see your back.”
She starts to protest weakly, and I exhale, gingerly dropping my lips to the back of her head. “Why?” I ask. What is this madness? “I don’t understand.”
She doesn’t speak, and I don’t know if it’s because she can’t or simply doesn’t know why herself. It has to be the latter. I’ve sent her crazy. “Ava, I need to see your back.” I move again, and this time she lets me position her upright on my lap. She seems okay for a moment, and then quickly she’s far from it.
Catapulting forward, she starts to retch, yelping in between her heaves. “Oh, God, Ava.” Fuck. I instinctively place my palm on her back to rub and she jerks.
And vomits everywhere.
I curse and apologize, over and over, doing my best to pull her hair back, feeling utterly useless. “What have you done?” Her retches continue, as well as her cries. I can’t stand this. “I’m going to move you now, okay?” I take her gently under her arms and start to lift, but a pain-filled yelp halts me, and I growl to myself. “I can’t lift you without touching you,” I say, gingerly negotiating her body, wincing every time she cries out. “Get on your front.” I gently help her down, the full, brutal mess of her back coming into view. I have to swallow to stop myself from throwing up too. At least a dozen lines span her back, all straight, all evenly placed, all red raw, but only one has broken her skin. This is the work of an expert—the work of a man who knows what he’s doing. None of the lashes lap, and none will leave permanent damage. Not that these trivial points dilute my fury or lessen his punishment. He won’t be able to hold a whip again by the time I’m done with him, let alone thrash it.
“I can’t believe you’ve done this.” I drop to my knees and reach for the bowl of water John delivered, pulling it closer. I soak some cotton wool as I warn her quietly of the coming sting. “I’ll be gentle.” I drop forward to find her eyes, to check she’s hearing me. It’s all I can do not to sob at the sight of her looking so vacant and hollow. The eyes that possess me, the eyes I can read like a book, are empty. So I lean in and kiss her gently, hoping for the usual heat that any one of our kisses stokes.
Nothing.
God damn you, Jesse, you twisted, fucked-up piece of shit.
You. Did. This.
I tentatively reach forward and unfasten Ava’s bra, flinching when she hisses, and then gently swipe the cotton wool across the angriest of the lashes. I quickly withdraw when she cries out and apologize again, getting more stressed, shakier, and angrier.
It’s a few minutes of cursing and whimpers, and when I’ve done the best I can and am no longer able to stand the constant flinches of her body, I toss the cotton wool in the bowl and push it away. I jump up, sidestep the vomit on the carpet, and grab a bottle of water off my desk. “Can you sit up?” I ask as I lower to my haunches by the couch again.
She starts gingerly moving. “Shit,” I mutter. “Fuck. God damn it.” I squeeze my eyes closed and try to get myself together, knowing I’m of no use flapping like an old woman. Her unfastened bra drops, and she feebly attempts to cover her dignity. “Leave it.” I brush her feeling hands aside and place the water in her grasp. “Open your mouth,” I order, slipping two painkillers past her lips. “Drink.” I help her get the bottle to her mouth, feeling her shake as I do. How the hell did I let it come to this?
I need to get her home. Away from here.
I go to my desk and collect my things, yanking my T-shirt on as I go back to Ava and snatch her clothes off the back of the sofa. “I’m taking you home,” I say as I crouch before her, indicating for her to step into her jeans. I pull them up and reach for her top, knowing this part of dressing her won’t be so straightforward. I glace at her exposed breasts. This is going to sting like a bitch. “Can we try?” I ask, pulling at the neck, trying to make the opening larger. I start to ease it over her head, but the moment she tries to lift her arms, she sniffles, shaking her head, and I plead with her not to cry, kissing her forehead and pulling away, seeing rivers of tears streaming down her cheeks. I curse and discard her top. “Come here.” I feel only mildly consoled that it’s her back that’ll be exposed to dozens of curious eyes, not her front. “Wrap your legs around my waist, arms around my neck. Be careful,” I order, lifting her, making sure I avoid her back. “Are you okay?”