Stained

Chapter 56

I scream, lurching forward. I don't know why I think I can catch Damien, but my body most definitely thinks so because I stretch my arms in his direction.

Damien grabs onto the rim, but the bottle topples off the edge. Straight toward my head. "Move!" Damien shouts and turns onto his stomach to grab the bottle.

He misses, but I'm quicker, and I jump back. The bottle shatters to the ground, inches away from my feet.

But as safe as I presumed I was from the bottle by jumping back, I don't anticipate the two giant shards of glass flying out toward me until they stab into my foot. A sound somewhere between a wince and cry escapes my lips.

"Fuck," Damien curses sharply. I look up just as he jumps down onto the bin.

"Careful!" I yell, moving for him. I try to grab his arm to help him down, but he doesn't accept it. Instead, he jumps off the bin and gets down on both his knees.

"Shit Rose. I'm so sorry." His voice and face are full of so much regret and pain.

I want to respond, to reassure him I'm fine, but I'm too busy trying to breathe through the pain. Inhale. Exhale. God, it hurts so bad.

He grabs my foot, gently takes it out of the slipper and then places it on his knee. I hold of his shoulders to steady myself.

He inspects my foot, the glass embedded deep into my skin. It's looks as if someone physically plunged them into my skin.

When he lifts his gaze back to mine, I see self-hatred carved into every dip curve and angle in his facial features. It causes my heart to cry out in a way it never has.

"I'm so so sorry baby."

I find myself tying to do anything and everything to get rid of it. "At least I don't have to kiss your alcohol-induced mouth," I pant out in an attempt to make him feel less bad.

But the self-hatred doesn't budge. Not even an inch.

"Hey," I capture his face between my hands. Thanks to the cast, it doesn't hurt to do that now. "I'm okay. It's not that deep." I think. I don't have my glasses on. It doesn't feel that deep.

"At least you didn't fall," I whisper to myself, rubbing my thumb over the cut on his cheek.

"I wish I did." He frowns, looks down at my foot. He looks like he's going to puke any second.

And then it hits me. What if blood makes him squeamish? My little cousin faints at the faintest sight of blood. 

Before I can ask, he grabs my slipper from the floor and then, in one fluid motion, lifts me off the ground, bridal style.

The sudden movement erupts a low squeal from the back of my throat as I wrap my arms around his neck.

Damien closes the door with his foot, and I push my hand out to lock the door. He throws my slipper on the large rectangular brown doormat and takes his shoes off with his feet.

A smile tugs at my lips. "Who knew you had manners," I tease.

He looks down at me and smirks. "Shut up or I'll show you my manners with my tongue."

I suck in a sharp breath and then hold it, feeling my core clench deliciously. But then my skin heats from both the memory of his mouth and the dirty words that have just left them.

His smirk deepens. He knows the effect he has on me.

He walks me past the staircase. I expect him to open the door that's straight ahead, the one that leads into the kitchen, but instead, he opens the one beside it, the one to our left that leads into the living room, which so happens to be known as my mother's husbands room. Who has major OCD.