“Come on, heaven,” Ashes encouraged, his hands in mine, while he steered me to the bathroom. My body screamed at me to stop, but I needed to wash up.
When we got to the bathroom, the shower was already going. Church and Stitches had left an hour before to go into town to get supplies. They said it would be a few hours before they’d be back. I was OK with that. They needed a break from me. I could sense the stress I was putting on them, and I hated it.
“You can sit and wash,” Ashes said, stopping at the walk-in shower that had a built-in seat.
I stared at it for a moment before looking to Ashes.
“I’ll help you,” he murmured.
He reached for my nightgown. I trembled, fear taking hold of me.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, stopping.
I stared into his blue eyes, trying to figure out what was happening and why I was so scared. It was Ashes. My pyro.
“Heaven?”
I blinked at him, the answer coming to me.
I didn’t want him to see me. The cuts. The fading bruises. The ugly bits that had been taken from me.
“Sirena? Hey. Talk to me,” he urged, thumbing away a tear that had slipped down my cheek. “What’s going on? What can I do to help?”
When I simply stared at him, my chest heaving with each gasping breath, he wrapped his arms carefully around me and held me.
“I won’t look if that helps. I’ll turn my back so you can wash, or I can wait outside the door. My only concerns are your safety and comfort, OK?”
I exhaled, the panic slowly ebbing away with his words.
“There. That’s better,” he murmured, pulling away and smiling down at me. “Do you want me to stay or go?”
I stared into his eyes for a moment before exhaling and stepping away. I wanted him to stay but not look at me. He studied me, clearly understanding, before he turned his back on me, allowing me some privacy.
Quickly, I undressed and stepped into the shower. Seconds later, I was carefully washing myself, noting Ashes hadn’t tried to turn once. Instead, he seemed to be looking down at his phone and sending out a text. I assumed it was meant for Church or Stitches.
I forced myself to look at the damage and let out a shaky breath. I’d healed a lot. The cuts were beginning to scab over, and the bruises were fading to a dull purple and yellow. I would probably have some scars to remind me of the ordeal, both physical and mental. Even emotional. My body still hurt despite the fact that time had whizzed past since that night.
I ground my teeth as I struggled to get the flashes of that night out of my head. His laughter. The pain. The fear. The way his warm breath felt on my skin. His lips on mine. His teeth sinking into my lip.
Reaching out, I ran my fingers along my healing lip. The swelling had reduced a lot more, but it was still aching and bled when I moved my mouth too much.
Warmth rushed through my body as the images flashed even quicker through my head. One of them stopped and flared brightly in the forefront of my mind.
His soft moans as he fucked me. The sickness I felt. The defeat.
The defeat. The defeat. THE DEFEAT.
The warmth was replaced by cold slamming against my veins.
Rage. Rage. Rage.
Homicidal rage.
I didn’t feel like myself.
I felt powerful. Out of control.
He was dead, and I was the one who was going to kill him.
“Heaven?” Ashes called out, his voice sounding so far away. “Sirena? Hey—”
I ignored him, only one thing on my mind.
“What the hell? Sirena?”
I was cold. So cold. So angry.
He didn’t deserve to live. He needed to die. I had to kill him. Stab him like he’d stabbed me. Hurt him. Make him scream. Make him beg.
A cry left me as the cold intensified.
Warmth. Movement. I was being carried.
I blinked rapidly, the ugly thoughts and anger receding. The room came back into focus.
The living room. I was naked, and Ashes was cradling me in his arms on the couch.
“It’s OK. It’s OK,” he repeated, his voice trembling while he rocked me on his lap. “I’ve got you. I won’t let you go. It’s OK.”
I blinked rapidly before running my fingers through his soft hair. He pulled away and stared down at me, worry in his blue eyes.
“You scared me,” he murmured.
I took his hand and traced letters gently onto his palm.
Tired.
He nodded, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
“OK. Let’s get you dressed, and then we can rest.”
With ease, he lifted me into his arms and brought me to Church’s room, where he placed me on the bed. Quickly, he grabbed a pair of panties for me and shimmied them up my legs before pulling one of Church’s long shirts over my body and tucking me beneath the blankets.
Wordlessly, he rounded the bed and lay beside me after taking me into his hold.
“Sleep,” he whispered. “You’re not well. You need to rest.”
The way he said the words made the fear swell within me again.
Because he was right.
I wasn’t well. Something was happening to me.
Something really bad.
Something that could get someone killed.
