Page 94 of Reclaim Me

We ruin each other, and it is the most beautiful, perfect, stupid thing I’ve done in a long, long time. Which, of course, doesn’t stop me from spending the night with him in his bed or letting him fuck me through his mattress for hours so that when I wake up the next morning, my stomach is knotted with anxiety and guilt, and the inside of my thighs are coated in his cum.

I groan and turn over on my stomach, surprised, and maybe a little disappointed, to find that I’m in bed alone. It’s not like I wanted to wake up in Hunter’s arms, but it might have been nice not to have to face the reality of what we’ve done all on my own. As I burrow into sheets that have gone from smelling like just him to now being soaked in the scent of us, I wonder where Hunter has gone. I don’t hear him or Riley moving around downstairs, so I’m guessing she’s still asleep, which means he’s either out for a run or?—

My thoughts are cut short by the sound of the shower in his bathroom turning on and the sensation of my blood running cold. I’ve never been triggered by the sound of a shower turning on before, so I’m unprepared for the way my body reacts, for the way my mind floods with images of the day that ended us, that made Will’s toast nothing more than the wasted wishes of a dead man. I curl in on myself as they hit me, each one slamming into my chest and taking my breath away.

Hunter slumped on the floor, lingering on the edges of life with the evidence of his demon’s victory plunged into his arm.

The broken pregnancy test forgotten on the threshold of the bathroom, the pieces of our future ground into the tile he’s currently walking over.

My aching palms, red from slapping him multiple times to keep him conscious.

The droplets of water soaked into the fabric of his shirt, and the steam billowing around us, warming the room and making the effects of the drugs that much more potent.

For the length of Hunter’s shower, I lay there, trapped in the memories and years old pain, berating myself for doing what we did last night, for letting him in so completely, for giving him my body and whispering truths that are only supposed to live in my heart. For forgetting that there are still so many things broken between us. And when the water stops, and he emerges from the bathroom moments later, his body wrapped in a towel and a wide smile on his face when he realizes I’m awake, I force myself out of it and out of his bed.

“Good morning,” he says, striding over to greet me with a kiss as I push to my feet. I dodge it, stepping around him with an apologetic smile.

“I need to brush my teeth,” I murmur, slipping out of the room and padding down the hallway to the only other bathroom on this floor. I take my time going through my morning routine and even consider showering just to help calm myself down, but then I remember that all of my clothes are in Hunter’s room and decide it can wait until later.

When I walk back into his room, Hunter is sitting on the edge of the bed, still in that damn towel, taking his time rubbing lotion all over his body. I stand in the doorway, mesmerized at the sight of him and unable to hide it. I let my eyes run greedy circuits over his arms, legs, stomach, and chest, tracing over every line of ink.

There’s a lot.

From his left shoulder to his wrist, there’s a composite image that he said was a representation of shared struggle, proof that you can be going through your own storm and still pull someone else out of theirs. It starts at the top of his shoulder with a lightning-filled sky and turbulent clouds illuminated by a full moon. Where the clouds are the thickest, there’s a hand, desperate and seeking, plunging out of it. The fingers of the hand stretch down, just barely gripping the fingers of the hand reaching up from a body of raging water.

I always found it funny that he chose to have such a meaningful image juxtaposed by the random presence of those damn skeletal tattoos on his fingers, but when he told me he just wanted something to fill the space, I accepted that everything doesn’t have to have meaning. Some things just are.

They exist because they have to, because we need them to fill a void or scratch an itch. It occurs to me then, that maybe that’s what last night was. A thing that had to happen. A lingering desire that had to be fulfilled.

“You know it’s not polite to stare, right?” Hunter asks, snapping me out of my thoughts. I drag my eyes from the sun bursting with rays of light on his right elbow to his face, and he smiles indulgently. The way he used to smile at me when he’d tease me for always staring at him.

“Sorry.” I edge around the bed, not wanting to risk getting caught up in his gravity and make my way to the closet where I stashed my stuff on Friday. I’m pulling out my clothes for the day, and trying not to vomit at the thought of having to return home and face Aaron after what I’ve done, when Hunter speaks again.

“Why is none of your stuff in my bathroom?”

I freeze, and my stomach clenches with anxiety as I assess his tone, trying to gauge whether he’s asking because he’s genuinely curious or because he somehow knows where my head is right now and wants to find a way to ease us into the conversation. I straighten and turn around to face him.

“I can’t go in there,” I admit. “Not after…”

His smile dies right in front of my eyes, and my heart breaks. There’s something so devastating about the absence of joy on his face, about being the one that caused it to disappear.

He doesn’t need me to finish my sentence. He doesn’t need me to elaborate because he knows what I’m alluding to. Just like I know I’ve hurt him by bringing it up, by making us stand in the ugliness of his mistakes the morning after we made such a big one together.

Hunter rubs at his chin, and I watch him accept the painful truth, absorbing it into himself but not being ruined by it. I’m impressed by that. By the way he never shies away from being held accountable even when the transgression is old.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, his eyes all liquid regret and heated emotion. “I should have realized that would be difficult for you.”

While I appreciate the apology, it feels so wrong to accept it, to be standing here making him feel bad about something as mundane as using his shower. Clearly, he’s made peace with what happened in that bathroom, and I shouldn’t be challenging that in any way.

“Don’t apologize for using your bathroom, Hunter.”

“I’m not apologizing for using my bathroom, Rae; I’m apologizing for not realizing how triggering it would be for you, for not thinking it through, for scaring you.”

“You didn’t scare me.” I wave my hand, trying to dismiss my feelings even as tears spring in my eyes, conveying my fear. I bite my lip to try and hold them off. I don’t want to cry. I don’t want to make him feel bad. I don’t want to relive this.

Hunter rises to his feet, coming over to wrap me up in the most comforting hug.

“Yes, I did,” he murmurs. “And I’m sorry, okay? I’m good. I promise you, I’m good. And I’m going to keep being good for Riley and for you.”

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