Page 15 of Shadows in Bloom

To be pulled from something so good into the reminder I’m living a life one wouldn’t wish on their worst enemy is a fucking shock to the system—because it’s never fucking happened to me before.

This… this fear. Of being watched, of being found again, is all I’ve known for the last ten months.

He stripped me of peace of mind. Of happiness and joy and pleasure.

Of my life.

Jamie’s the first person I’ve fucked since I left, the first person I’ve touched. I haven’t dared bring someone into the mess I’ve become. But as the weeks pass, bleeding into months without a word… I can’t help but think maybe it is possible to find myself here.

Once my breathing is back under control and my heart rate is back to a somewhat normal level, I walk back into the living room, finding Jamie on her side with her knees curled close to her chest—which is exposed to the cool air.

The sight of her so unknowing and vulnerable kickstarts my erratic heartbeat all over again.

I lean down to pull the blanket back up over her pimpled skin, knuckles grazing her reddened skin before I take the cushion on the other end of the sofa and kick my feet up on the table. I flip mindlessly through the TV channels, settling on some old detective show as I drop my head back, eyes trained on the girl beside me as I watch her sleep, hoping that when she wakes, she not only remembers, but she doesn’t regret.

4

JAMIE

Eugh. I fucking hate alcohol.

I groan as I roll into consciousness, despising every second of it.

A breathy chuckle washes over me, igniting my skin in goosebumps. “On a scale of one to fucked, how’re you feelin’?”

I huff, even if the contraction of my abs makes me groan. “Royally.”

“Figured as much. Here.” I crack open an eye to see Fiona holding out a bottle of water and a few pills. I force myself to sit up, leaning against the arm of the couch as I reach for them.

Fiona’s eyes rake down my body, and I flush. “Just some Advil,” she says as she drops the pills in my palm. I smile weakly at her, dropping my gaze as I crack open the water and pour some into my mouth before swallowing the pills.

“Thanks,” I murmur, feeling ridiculous.

She hums, and I shift under the tension of her stare. “Hungry?”

My stomach rolls at the thought of food. “Not even a little.”

Fiona huffs. “Figured as much. I washed these for you.” She hands over a pile of folded clothes—my clothes. “And your phone’s on the coffee table. It’s been buzzing.” Her eyebrow quirks in that arbitrary way it does, and even sick to my stomach, it still makes me flush.

I blink as I take the clothes, my heart skipping when her fingers graze mine, trailing softly down my arm. I yearn to reach out for her as she pulls away, but when my gaze drops and I catch sight of the marks littering my chest, I freeze.

I trace over them with hesitant fingers, over every shade of pink, red, and dark purple. How the darkest ones throb with increased pressure and the red ones sting, like a scrape.

“Do you want me to get you some ointment?” Fiona asks softly as she reaches toward a mark near the base of my throat. “I didn’t mean to break skin.”

The jolt of possessiveness I feel over them startles me as I yank the blanket up and over my chest, shaking my head. My face burns at Fiona’s wide-eyed stare, and my teeth sink into my bottom lip before I release it with a hiss.

I drop my chin to my chest as my fingers twist in the light cotton covering me. “Sorry,” I mutter, blood boiling with shame for what I did.

It wasn’t how I wanted things to happen between us. I planned on talking to Fiona at the bar, but she hadn’t been there for three days in a row, and I just felt so fucking foolish. Because why would she want anything to do with me? We were only ever friends—if you could even say that—and all I was doing was chasing a pathetic fantasy and repressed feelings that were probably unrequited.

Jesus, did I fuck up.

“Do you remember?” Fiona asks bluntly, effectively scattering my shame spiral.

“Of course, I do.” How I made a fucking ass of myself, pushing her even when she said we shouldn’t. Knowing I was a little too drunk but enough where I just didn’t care. Not when I could finally want without fear—because it seemed like she wanted me, too.

But I don’t say any of that because Fiona doesn’t deserve to hear my regrets. “I remember everything about the way you worshiped my body,” I admit through a tight throat.

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