Page 28 of Unveiled

It doesn’t work very well, but by the time I get home, I’m at least calm. Jonah didn’t call me with any updates while I was gone, meaning Ainsley is still somewhere in the house. As much as I want to get over this fight, we both still need our space.

All thoughts of keeping my distance go out the door when I walk into the house and see Ainsley standing there, looking nervous. Her eyes cast over me, taking in my clothes that have some added blood from the last time she saw more.

“What happened?” she asks as her hands hover over me, trying to find the source of the bleeding. “I saw you pull up, and I wanted to talk. I didn’t like how we left things, but I just -”

She stops, trying to decide what she wants to say as she takes a long pull of air into her lungs. “Are you hurt? You’re covered in blood. I can help, I can -”

This time, I cut her off. “I’m fine.” Two words. That’s all I can say right now. I don’t want her pity, nor do I want to make up just because she thinks I’m hurt and she’s afraid. Though, it feels a little good to know she still worries about me.

“You’re not fine, you’re covered in blood,” she says again, as if I’m unaware of the state my clothing is in.

“It’s not my blood,” I state calmly. Part of me wants to see the horror on her face, so I can feel like the monster she thinks I am. She’ll always see me that way, no matter how I act around her or how much she changes me.

“Whose blood is it?” Instead of being horrified, she still looks concerned, like she doesn’t believe it’s not my blood.

“Does it matter?”

I can feel myself getting frustrated all over again, and this time, I don’t even know why. She’s worried about me, trying to take care of me. I should be happy, yet I can’t shake my irritation. Is it because we’re acting like nothing happened earlier? Maybe. I don’t even know which part of today is more important, not after everything that happened.

“Of course, it matters! You just came home covered in blood, and you won’t even tell me what happened! What am I supposed to think?” Now she’s getting as frustrated as I was when I left. Good.

“What are you supposed to think? Isn’t it pretty obvious? I killed a man, Ainsley. I left the house, went to torture a man for no other reason than because I was angry, and then came back covered in his blood. Is that what you want to hear?”

Something in my words finally registers with her, and she takes a step back. Disbelief lights up her eyes, but I don’t comfort her. My arms itch to hold her, to tell her I’m still the guy she fell in love with, but I can’t. Because the longer I’m with her, the more I’m realizing that I’ve changed. My time without her changed me in ways that can never be fixed.

When she doesn’t respond, I walk by her, wanting to go take a shower. As I’m halfway up the stairs with my shirt already off, thinking all of this would have been easier if I would have just let her go, she speaks up.

“I shouldn’t have said what I said, and I’m sorry.”

But she did say it. Not once, but twice. Last night I took her sorry and thought she was done comparing me to Carlos, but then it just happened all over again. Her sorry’s are nothing more than an attempt to not be the bad guy, so I can fill that role instead. I won’t play that game.

Completely ignoring her, I continue walking until I reach my bedroom door, which I walk through and shut behind me. I can take a shower and think about what to do next. Before I throw my phone on the nightstand, I read the text lighting up on my screen.

Ethan: Tomorrow night. Six o’clock.

Tomorrow night. I have until tomorrow night to figure out what I’m going to do now. I told her she could leave, which means if she decides to stay instead of coming back with me after dinner, I should let her. What am I supposed to do in the next twenty-four hours to convince her to stay, anyway?

With frustration I thought I had gotten rid of, I throw my phone on the bed and strip out of my sweatpants, letting them join the bloody shirt lying on the floor. I should probably burn those so they don’t end up being used as evidence against me in the future.

When the warm spray of the shower hits me a few minutes later, I let my head hang under the water. The water runs out of my hair and drips off my nose, falling to the floor as I watch, letting my mind go blank.

“I’m sorry,” comes a sweet voice from behind me. Great. I thought I was done hallucinating she was with me, but apparently not. Why can’t I just get a break?

Cold arms wrap around my middle, pulling me back into a small frame and away from the water. Her hand traces over the bandage between my hips, sending a shiver down my spine. No matter how angry I am, no matter what happens, I’ll always be marked as hers.

Except, when I hallucinate her, I never feel her. She touches me, and I remember what her touch used to feel like, but I don’t actually feel her. Right now, I can feel her.

She’s here. In the shower with me, naked and vulnerable. And it was her own choice.

“You said that already,” I remind her, again not really accepting the apology.

“And I meant it,” she comes back with. She’s frustrated, wishing this was as easy as apologizing and moving on, but it won’t be.

“You said you were sorry when you did it last night. Yet, you did it again. Your sorry means nothing.”

I feel bad for saying it, and I have to stop myself from taking it back. I’ve never treated her this way. When I’m with her, I always try to be my best self. I try to be kind, forgiving, and everything else she deserves in a man. I can’t keep doing that if she’s going to keep walking all over me, though.

“Then what else can I do?” Her hand trails lower, finding the way my body is reacting to her touch. I can’t control it, just like I can’t help leaning into her touch as she wraps her hand around me tightly.

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