Page 88 of Thorns of Malice

How could I have let Bobby or Avery touch me?

Play the game.

Tears well in my eyes again. I glance at the ceiling, shaking my head, once more asking, "What am I doing here?"

It would've hurt Dax if I slept with the others.

I should have done it.

There's no way I could have.

Yes, I could have, and it would've hurt him.

My head spins to the point I decide I need fresh air. So I put my plate in the sink, go into the bathroom, shower, and brush my teeth with my old toothbrush.

I wonder again why Dax left everything here and why he didn't throw out my stuff.

I bypass my old makeup bag sitting in the drawer, remove my comb, and get the knots out of my hair. I pull the old hairdryer from under the cabinet and plug it in.

When my locks are no longer wet, I return to the bedroom and open the closet.

I pull out my old designer jeans Dax bought me, remembering how I couldn't believe he spent $400 on a pair of denim. It was exciting, especially since my father never let me have anything expensive and a lot of my clothes had been bought secondhand.

I put on an old bra and tank top. I grab Dax's Clifton University hooded sweatshirt and sniff it.

Butterflies erupt in my stomach. It still smells like him. I stand for a few minutes, leaning against the wall, eyes closed, inhaling his scent.

Don't fall for him again.

How can I not?

I can't.

"I have to get out of here," I blurt out. I tug his sweatshirt over my head, find a pair of socks, and put them on. I stare at several pairs of tennis shoes Dax had also bought me.

Once again, they're designer.

Dax's face appears in my mind. He wiggles his eyebrows, stating,"Nothing but the best for my little slut."

The same surge of adrenaline that shot through me each time he gave me a gift and said it, hits me. I pick up each pair, reliving the moments and berating myself for my naivety.

It was all for his game.

It wasn't.

It was.

As much as I protested when he gave me gifts, it always made me feel special. I thought it meant he loved me.

I was so stupid.

I select a whore-red pair, grab the keys to the cottage, and step outside, locking the door.

I don't know why I lock it. Dax had it unlocked, so I don't understand why he decided to give me the keys. I'm not staying on the estate. Yet, for some reason, I want the cottage secure. I don't want anyone else inside it.

I stroll through the estate, feeling nostalgic as I approach our old cottage. I climb the two steps to the porch and cautiously reach for the door handle, but it's locked.

I look through the windows. The place also looks the same, but Dad and I didn't have any decorations, minus flowers Dax would give me or that my father would bring home from one of the gardens. In all reality, we had very little, so I can't tell if anyone's living in it.

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