In His Bed (18+)

Chapter 45

Dumping my bag on Faith's bed, I rushed into her bathroom, out of breath and shaking.

Sierra looked up from her phone, boredom morphing into concern as she caught sight of my face.

"Hales, are you okay?"

Swallowing roughly, I nodded, skin crawling as phantom hands continued to paw at me.

"You don't look okay..." Sierra started to stand, but I shook my head, inventing a lie.

"It's fine - I just tripped on the stairs. These heels, you know..."

Turning, I glanced toward Faith, staring into her vanity mirror and furiously applying concealer.

"Anyway," I pointed below us, "Amanda wanted to know what's keeping you guys?"

Faith snarled, "Then maybe she should have hired a makeup artist."

I knew that tone - Faith's temper was at the breaking point, and we hadn't even left the house.

Fantastic.

"Oh?"

She clenched her hands into fists, exhaling slowly, "I keep fucking up my eyeliner - and fucking that up forces me to redo everything else."

Oh.

"You want some help?"

Off to the side, Sierra muttered, "Already tried that..."

Faith scoffed, "I am not goddamned thirteen anymore - I should be able to handle eyeliner."

Clearly.

Stepping closer, I spoke gently, not wanting to provoke her any further, "Think about it like this; If I do it for you, and it's not perfect, then at least you have me to blame."

Her scowl wavered, and for a moment I caught sight of the exhausted, anxious mess she was trying to hide.

"Fine." Sighing, she picked up the pen and handed it over. "I don't even know what's wrong with me - I do this every damn morning, but for some reason today I'm suddenly all thumbs?"

Removing the cap, I took her chin in my free hand, angling her cheek toward me. "It's just nerves - now, don't move."

As I painted short strokes against the line of her natural lashes, I let muscle memory take control as my mind wandered back to the incident on the stairs.

Should I say something?

I mean, Paul - Faith's stepfather and Amanda's husband - just groped me...

I should say something, right?

Images filled my thoughts, visions of what would happen if I went downstairs and told Amanda what happened.

Or Mom - Jesus, if Mom knew, Paul wouldn't be leaving here with a pulse...

Finishing one eye, I tilted Faith's head to get a better view of the other.

It'd ruin prom...

The thought settled in my stomach like a stone, heavy and cold.

If I told anyone, then there'd be no salvaging the night.

Holding my breath, I angled the tip, trying to craft Faith's trademark wing.

I'm never going to see Paul after graduation anyway...

My insides churned as I let the idea stew within me.

Maybe... maybe it's for the best?

I mean, part of me desperately wanted to pretend it was an accident anyway. The rest of me, though... the rest of me wanted blood.