Page 61 of The Ripper

A rapid fire that scorched every cell in her body, one that broke through her walls and burned every barrier she put up before she came out of the bathroom.

A single tear fell from the corner of her eye before she closed them and finally gave up the fight.

“Sometimes I feel like I’m not…” she started, and stopped to swallow.

“Like you’re not… what?” I rasped over her face.

“Pretty enough,” she whispered so low I barely heard it.

What the fuck?

I froze for a second.

~ Did she just say she wasn’t pretty enough?

~ I believe she did, yeah.

~ This calls for a spanking.

My whole body tensed as I tried to suppress the urge of hitting the side of my head and the rage that was burning in my veins, wreaking havoc inside me, begging to be let out to destroy those demons that made Arella put herself down.

“Not pretty…” I repeated the word incredulously, immediately letting go of her neck. “You think you’re not pretty enough?”

~ If you keep repeating it, it won’t make it go away, genius.

“Baby,” I hugged her, and surprisingly, she didn’t push me away.

I expected her to slap me for manipulating the truth out of her like that, but she clung to me as though I was her last breath. Her arms wrapped around my neck as she started to whimper, but these weren’t the pleasure-filled whimpers I wanted to hear.

These were pure pain.

She was crying, seeking comfort in my arms, and I wondered what I could do to prevent it from happening again in the future.

I was prepared for a sob story about a patient, for disappointment in her insignificant, low life exes, but I wasn’t prepared for the hatred she was directing towards herself.

Sure, she wasn’t stick-thin, but she sure as fuck was the most beautiful, mouth-watering woman I had ever laid eyes on. Those curves of hers, my God, what I wanted to do to those curves.

Not pretty enough…

Fuck that right off. When did having a little muffin top and some stretch marks equate to being anything but fucking gorgeous? I wanted to burn every magazine producer, then step on their ashes.

~ Are we adding war against society to our to-do list?

I pressed a kiss to her forehead as the whimpers subsided, then I turned us around and sat her on top of me, searching for her eyes, silently begging every entity to make her open them and allow me to see her.

“Baby,” I whispered again, and she finally opened.

I smiled the softest smile I could muster and tucked a few strands behind her ears, brushing my thumbs over her cheeks to wipe away the tears, while allowing myself a brief moment to take her in.

Even with teary eyes, she was still the most beautiful woman I ever laid eyes on, and I knew she must feel beautiful most of the time, because that type of insecurity didn’t go hand in hand with the way she exposed herself to me on her balcony, nor with the confidence she used to boss Boris around only hours ago.

This was triggered by something, but somehow, I couldn’t bring myself to ask what.

~ It’s obviously because of you.

I pinched the bridge of my nose and closed my eyes for a second, trying to shake off the anger as I opened them again.

“You’re not pretty, no. Pretty is not the right word to use because it doesn’t describe you, not even a little bit. You’re fucking beautiful.”

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