Page 37 of The Pretty Psycho

"That might be the only good thing he did," Adrian bit out, and I didn't miss the way his hand shook as he rubbed the cream into my skin. "You'll have to take it slow." He looked up at me. "This needs to heal."

"Hmm," I mumbled, not exactly agreeing but also not disagreeing.

"Vega," he warned. "Promise me you'll take it slow."

"You know I can't promise that. From what I saw, you need me. You need everyone."

"I do, but I need you to be okay more than anything else. I need you to stay safe, to heal. I won't be able to focus on anything else if I have to continuously think about you and worry." My eyes narrowed at him, hating the way his words were making me feel.

"I'm not a child, Adrian," I grumbled, trying to pull my hand away from him, but he wasn't having it.

His long fingers wrapped around my wrist, stopping me from leaving. He didn't let me hide earlier, so it was no surprise that he wouldn't let me run. Not now, probably not ever.

"You don't have to worry about me," I sassed, trying to hide from the feelings he was creating. I never had anyone to care about me.

This was alien to me, having someone to worry, to care enough to ask me to be safe. My first reaction would always be to run and hide from the feelings I couldn't control, because more than anything, I needed that control. Maybe because it was the only thing I could actually control, these feelings of mine. Maybe because for so long I kept pushing everything I didn't want to feel into that neat little box, hiding it from myself.

And then he came, opening that box, spilling all the contents, and I didn't know how to put them back inside.

He pushed himself closer to me, placing his hand at the nape of my neck, just above the cut there, tangling his fingers in my hair. "What did I say about running, huh?" he asked, pressing his forehead to mine. "I worry about you. I will always worry about you because that's what you do for people you care about. I was out of my mind, Bambi, while you were missing, and I. Didn't. Like. It." Our breaths mingled, our eyes telling the story the words could not convey. "You consume me, woman. You consume every waking thought, every dream, every nightmare, and I could never forgive myself if something were to happen to you. I know you're strong on your own, but did you maybe think that I wasn't strong enough without you?" My heart thundered, bruising my ribs. "I need you like I need the air to breathe. You're in every song, every lyric, every thought of mine, and I won't apologize for asking you to stay safe. To heal. To become stronger, because I. Need. You. I need my Bambi. I need my girl to be okay, because I'm not okay when she's hurting.

"Now let me dress these wounds so that I can feed you. I'm tired, baby girl. Tired of fighting, of arguing, of worrying, and all I want is a quiet night in with my girl. Can we have that? Just a few hours where it's going to be only the two of us without anyone else trying to interfere?"

"Uh, yeah. We can have that."

"Good." He smirked. Had I not been sitting already, I would've been on the floor right now. "Give me your hand." He looked up at me, smiling wickedly. "Please." He was going to give me a heart attack.

Was it possible to die of heart failure at the age of twenty with no prior heart conditions? Because the way mine kept beating wasn't normal. And the butterflies. Don't fucking get me started on the butterflies.

I always thought them to be a myth created by authors all over the world, because people used romance books to escape from their real lives, to just live a different life for those couple of hours while they read. But the way he looked at me, the way he talked to me now, the way he touched me… It didn't give me butterflies. It was like a stampede of elephants were in my stomach, knocking my organs around.

He worked in silence, bandaging my hand, before shifting behind me, moving my hair over my shoulder and putting the same cream on the cut on my neck. "This one should heal quickly," he murmured, his hot breath washing over my skin. "Does it hurt?"

"No."Yes. It hurt more because it seemed to hurt him as well. He was telling me everything I needed to hear, but the distrustful part of me couldn't quite believe it. Not yet. But I would need to try.

This was the man I wanted by my side, and I had to stop letting the darkness dictate how I lived my life.

His fingers skimmed over my shoulders, digging into the aching muscles, pulling out a deep groan from me. "Fuuuuck."

He grunted, continuing to massage while his lips traced a path over my shoulders. "Relax, Bambi," he murmured. "Let me take care of you."

And I did. I closed my eyes, letting him have his wicked way with me. I pushed away the fears and doubts and just let myself be. Feel. Be cherished.

God knew I had nowhere near enough of that throughout my life.

"That feels so good," I mewled as he dug into a particularly painful spot on my back. The bastard chuckled while my entire body turned liquid, and I couldn't even be mad at him for laughing at me. He couldn't really blame me—his hands were fucking dangerous.

One second I was in front of him, enjoying my massage, and the next he was jumping off of the bed and heading toward the kitchen. My eyes flew open, confused, while I tried figuring out what happened.

He grumbled something unintelligible as he went into the kitchen, moving the pots and pans from the dishwasher.

"W-What… Come back here!" I complained because I was nowhere near ready for that massage to end. "Adrian!"

"Fuck!" he cursed out loud as something crashed, making me jump. I leaned toward the end of the bed, having a better view of the kitchen. "Sorry, Bambi," he started apologizing, looking down at the plate that crashed. My eyes drank him in, shocking myself when the deep ache in the pit of my stomach had nothing to do with the pain in my body, but the need for him.

I wanted him to erase the memories Tyler left behind. I wanted him to erase his touch, his filthiness, because even after the shower we took, I still felt filthy. As if my skin wasn't my own anymore.

Adrian glared at the broken shards on the floor, his lips pressed into a thin line.

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