Page 86 of Seizing Control: Part Two

When I pass by Slash’s bedroom door, my stride doesn’t falter. He’s as unstable as ever, angry at me and full of self-loathing. My cold war with Lazarus feels stupid when I compare it to the full-blown conflict brewing between me and my husband.

I’m scared.

Of him and his temper.

Of the deadness in his gaze when he met my eyes.

Of the tiny thrill that jolted along my spine until my worry about Garrett took over.

I’m a sick woman.

My hunger to play in my husband’s darkness is hypocritical.

Venom’s volatility used to scare me.

Nowadays, Lazarus’ lethality confuses me while Slash’s savagery intrigues me.

Together, the two sides of my men feed an unhealthy desire in me that fills me with shame.

In my bathroom, I’m breathing hard as I strip off my sleeping attire. I let my robe and nightdress drop to the floor instead of hanging them on the hook. I’m in a rush. Desperate to hide. The shower is my safe space, a glass cubicle of warmth where I can pretend that the liquid running down my face isn’t tears. I’m too pregnant to get up from the floor, so rather than sink to my backside like I would prefer, I brace against the wall with both hands, and allow the spray to pound onto the back of my head and over my shoulders.

The sob that breaks free of my mouth is filled with anguish.

I never thought I’d find myself in this position.

Craving my husband’s darkness.

Seeking my first love’s stability.

Up is down.

Down is up.

And I’m the centrifugal force caught in the middle.

14

LAZARUS

As I take a seat next to Slash, the overwhelming emotion crashing through me is regret.

We should never have reached this point.

A point where I was willing to kill him.

A point where he was ready to die.

“We’ve gotta pull together.”

“Fuck off.”

I drop to my haunches, uncaring the I’m getting wet.

Gripping his chin tight, I force Slash to meet my eyes.

His red-rimmed eyes are unfocused.

“She’ll forgive you, dickhead.”

---