Fear

41

The door slammed.

I barely turned my head before—
The knife—
Coming down.

A gunshot.

So loud it cracked my bones.
So loud I thought my skull split open.

The blade froze above me.
Then dropped.
But not into me.
Just to the side of my head.

Dylan's head... exploded.

Blood sprayed.
Warm. Wet. Hot.
In my mouth.
Up my nose.
Across my eyes.

Chunks.
Not just blood. Not just liquid. Chunks.
Brain.

I choked on it.
Spat, gagged, retched.
My body seized.
Hands clawing at my own face.
Tears stinging.
Snot running.
My throat raw with shrieks and gags I couldn't stop.

I couldn't get it off.
It smeared worse.
Slick. Slippery.
Every time I wiped, it spread.
His pieces. His flesh. His life.
Inside my mouth.

I vomited. Hard. Acid burned my throat.
Screamed into it.
Choked on it.

Hands grabbed me—
Pulled the weight off me—
Arms caging me in, locking me against a chest.

Tyler...

Tyler.

He crushed me against him.
Tight. Unbreakable.
Rocked me like a child.
My nails tore into his shirt, clutching, needing, begging.

His heart hammered.
Against my ear.
Too fast. Too alive.
Not calm. Not collected.
Terrified.

His face buried in my hair.
Breath hot.
Muttering something over and over.
Couldn't hear.
Couldn't make sense.

I couldn't breathe.
I couldn't see.
I couldn't think.

All I could do was scream.
And cry.
And cling.
And sob.

Time didn't exist.
Could've been minutes, hours.

Then—
I was lifted.
Arms under me.
Held like I weighed nothing.
Carried away from the smell, the blood, the body.

My head on his chest.
My cheek sticking to his shirt with gore.
I didn't care.
I couldn't.

Light.
Bright.
Bathroom tiles.
Cold under bare feet when he set me down.
My knee ached.

Hands on me.
Fumbling. Trembling.
Pulling my clothes off.
Sticking. Peeling.
Soaked in red.

I let him.
No words.
No breath.
Just shaking.

And Tyler.
He was shaking too.
I could feel it.

His eyes.
No malice.
No cruelty anymore.
Now tears.

Fear.

The shower roared to life.
Steam swallowed the room.
Mirror blurred.
No reflection. Thank God.

He stripped down.
Boxers clinging.
Skin streaked with blood.

He helped me in first.
Supported me as I stepped in.

Warm water poured down.
Turned red instantly.
Flooded the drain.
Swirls of pink, crimson, brown.
Endless.

Tyler got in behind me.
Closed the glass door.
Caged me with him.
But not unsafe anymore.

Safe.
Reassuring.

Hands spun me round to face him.
He cupped my face.
So gentle.
So wrong.
So needed.

He wiped at my eyes.
Thumbed away clumps from my eyelashes.
Hair sticking to my cheeks.
Blood streaking down my neck.

Hot water. Too hot.
My skin burned.
But I clung to him anyway.

His voice.
Low.
Fractured.
Whispered.
"I'm sorry, princess."
"I've got you."
"I'm right here."

I pressed my face into his chest.
Sobs wracking me.
Couldn't stop.
Couldn't control.
Only muffled against him.

I clawed at his shoulders.
Fists locked.
Wouldn't let go.
Couldn't.

He held me tighter.
Arms banded iron around me.
Pressed his forehead against mine.
Shaking.
Breath ragged.

His lips moved against my skin.
Kissing my cheekbone.
My nose.
My ear.
My neck.

All I remembered was him.
Only him.
Not Dylan.
Not the gore still washing down the drain.
Not the body in the lounge.
Just Tyler.

He washed me.
Hands steady now.
Ran fingers through my hair.
Shampoo.
Conditioner.
Shower gel.
Careful, methodical.

He washed me like I mattered.
Like I wasn't filth.
Like I wasn't ruined.

I didn't stop him.
Didn't resist.
Didn't want to.

The water slowed.
Turned cold.
Didn't matter.

Eventually, he shut it off.
Wrapped a towel around me.
Another around himself.
Carried me again.

Back to the bedroom.
Sheets clean.
Room quiet.

Sat me down.
Dried my body. Towel.
Dried my hair. Hairdryer.
Wrapped my knee in bandages and gauze.
Apparently, the wound had only been shallow.
I don't really remember it.
I felt numb all over.

His touch was reverent.
Not like the man who'd kidnapped me.
Not like the man who'd tortured me.
Not like the man who'd ruined me.

He laid me down carefully.
Tucked the duvet around my shoulders.
Slid in beside me.
Close but not too close.

His arm hovered.
Then settled.
Around me.
Heavy. Warm.
Pulling me closer.

I didn't fight it.
Couldn't.
I was too tired.
Too broken.
Too relieved.

I pressed my face to his chest.
Listened to his heartbeat.
Still fast.
Still alive.

His fingers stroked my hair once. Twice. Stopped.
Like he wanted more but didn't dare.

I slept.
In his arms.
Against reason.

Dreamed of the gunshot.
And the blood.
And the body.
And his voice.

And I knew now the only safe place left was in Tyler's arms.

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