Page 35 of The Pretty Psycho

My face scrunched again, tormenting both of us. His eyes darkened, and before long he set the bottle of shampoo back on the glass shelf he had in the corner of the stall and lifted me up in his arms. My legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, almost as if they always belonged there.

He walked with me in his arms toward the shower controls and let the water wash over us. The warm water hit my skin just as he started cradling my head, pressing it to his shoulder.

"Let it out," he murmured, his voice muffled by the sound of the pouring water. "Just let it out."

And I did. He didn't have to tell me twice.

I let my sadness, my anger, my frustration, my fear, my sorrow… I let it all out through the tears and sobs racking my body. I let it wash over me just like the water hitting our skin.

I didn't want to drown in this. I didn't want to become these emotions choking me, making it almost impossible to breathe. I didn't want to be this broken version of myself, and as much as I hated admitting it, Tyler took something from me. He took my choice. He took away my ability to fight, destroying everything I was.

Adrian sat down on the floor with me in his arms, letting me drown us both in my sorrow while I mourned the version of me that existed before Tyler took away the last bit of innocence I still held on to. I was not a saint, far from it. I did things I wasn't proud of. I killed, I fought, I've been hurt before, but never like this.

Never fucking like this.

"Fuck," I shuddered, burrowing my face into Adrian's neck, praying his heat would be enough to keep me warm, because this blood-chilling cold couldn't otherwise be stopped even with the hot water falling down on us.

His hand rubbed small circles over my back, all the while humming and murmuring assuring words. Soaking me in the love and peace he was offering. He felt like home.

He felt like my safe haven, and I was done fighting these feelings I had for him. I was done trying to find reasons to push him away.

I deserved peace and quiet, at least for a little while. I deserved this.

His humming wrapped around me, but I couldn't recognize the song. "What are you humming?" I asked, pulling back slightly to look up at him.

He dragged his palm over the skin on my cheek, right around the cut that was being held with butterfly bandages, making me feel cherished, almost loved just with those little touches.

"It's “Take Me Back to Eden” by Sleep Token," he smiled. "I'll play it for you sometime."

"Play it for me?" I frowned. "What do you mean play it for me?"

His soft chuckle burrowed itself deep in my chest. "I play piano," the motherfucker grinned. "My mother insisted on me learning to play at least one instrument when I was a kid."

"You play the piano?" I asked, dumbfounded. "Fuck you." I laughed, playfully swatting my hand on his chest. "Could you, like, stop being so…" What was the fucking word? "So pompous?"

He dipped his head down until his lips lingered mere inches from mine. "I believe the word you're looking for is perfect, Bambi."

"Ha!" I exclaimed. "If you're perfect then I'm a freaking princess."

"You are." He tightened his arms around me. "You are my princess, Vega. My little fairy tale."

He managed to shatter all those perfectly built walls with four words, and as he let me use him and his power for just a little longer, I realized that maybe, just maybe, he was my fairy tale as well.

11

VEGA

I was tired.

Shattered.

Completely destroyed.

I had a feeling that the adrenaline riding me wouldn't last too much longer. I was surprised it even lasted this far. The moment I stopped crying, Adrian stood up with me in his arms and started putting that goddamn shampoo on my hair, then rinsing it and then doing the same process again with the conditioner. With every touch, every kiss, it felt as if those scattered pieces of my soul started drawing back together, remolding, held by the force that was Adrian Zylla.

I could feel his hardness every time he brushed against me, and every time I wanted to do something about it. But we both knew I wasn't ready and he didn't push. His eyes sought permission with every touch he gave me, with every stroke of his fingers over my skin, and I didn't fail to notice that he hadn't gone anywhere near the initials on my hip.

He didn't ask questions I wasn't ready to answer, giving me time to come to terms with everything on my own. But he was there, he was holding me up when all I wanted was to drown in the memories haunting my mind.

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