Page 37 of Pretty Monsters

Sin stiffens behind me, and I feel his hand slide out from under my tank. The realization of how we ended up tangled together hits me. I'm barely wearing a tank top I put on to taunt him. The cool air on most of my body confirms it rose up my stomach as we slept. Like last time our legs are tangled together, but this time his hand ventured north to land on my breast.

Lucien isn't looking at Sin like his best friend. He's eyeing him like I imagine he would an enemy, and if I've learned anything about these two in the last few days, it's that their enemies don't survive their anger.

"This isn't what it looks like," I protest. He isn't listening to me though.

I scramble up from the bed and adjust the shirt. Trying to approach him, he shoves me away and I trip and hit my head on the corner of the dresser, only able to prevent a hard blow. Still, my head feels fuzzy, and I can't do more than sit and wait for the spinning to stop.

Sin gets up and moves toward me, but Lucien gets to him first. Lucien delivers a sucker punch to the side of Sin's face. He wobbles for a second, but recovers quickly.

I expect Sin to charge Lucien, but he stands still. "She's bleeding," he points out.

"She isn't yours to worry about. I want you gone. I don't trust you with her."

"Don't I get a say?" I ask. My voice sounds feeble to my own ears, and yet loud at the same time.

"No. Maybe father had the right idea locking you away. You obviously can't be trusted to be alone with a man."

His words sting. They imply, like my father seems to think, that my value is present only in my innocence. My mind, choices or opinions have no weight in what makes me important.

"Fuck you," I manage to say.

Pulling myself up, I stumble, but right myself by holding the dresser for support. My hands are coated in blood, from where I'm holding the dresser. It is also dripping down my face, and either my eye is swelling, or blood is getting into it. The coppery tang is working against my efforts to keep from puking.

Lucien finally looks at me and takes a step back. Sin starts toward me, but I hold a shaking hand out to stop him. He didn't push me, but I can't help but include him in my mounting rage.

Using the wall to guide me, I leave a trail of bloody hand prints all the way to the bathroom. A hysterical giggle erupts from somewhere deep inside of me. The towels I chose are black, and I laugh more because I'm thankful they won't be stained by my blood.

Running cold water over the towel I start to wipe away the blood and hiss when I make it to the cut. My hair is matted with drying blood, but I know that if I try and shower it off the open wound will bleed more.

The dizziness and nausea are only getting worse, and I fear I'm going to need medical attention. The linoleum feels cool under my feet, and I allow myself to slide down the wall to rest.

My head feels heavy, and going back to sleep is too enticing to resist.

"No you don't," Sin speaks softly.

"I'm tired," I say. It sounds slurred to me, but I'm feeling like I'm wading through mud. Everything feels slower.

"Raven, do not close your eyes," he's more demanding now.

I crack them open, but the light feels like thousands of tiny needles are piercing through my corneas.

"I think you have a concussion, you need to stay awake." He sounds so worried, but I can tell him I'm fine after I take a little nap.

Fabric rustles over my legs, and a hoodie is zipped up around me. "Why are you dressing me for a nap?"

"Do not go to sleep. You are not allowed to take a nap right now," Sin urges.

"Someone is always telling me what to do. I'm tired of being told what to do."

"I know, princess. This is the last time."

"You're lying," I push out. My lips tingle, and my tongue feels funny in my mouth.

"Probably. You told me several times last night that I'm a bossy asshole."

"That's because you are," I slur.

My head must be fuzzy, because Sin looks worried. He never looks anything other than bored or pissed.

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