Page 36 of Dark Love

The t-shirt is twisted all around my legs, exposing way more pasty white thigh than I’ve shown in years.

“Do you need me to carry you?”

I hope not. That would just be the icing on the cake. “I don’t think so.”

He stands up and steps back, giving me space, but close enough to reach me if I should fall.

Scooching over in a shirt without showing anything more than too much thigh—which is already too much thigh when standing next to a man who probably lives in the gym—is the first challenge. My body wobbles a bit, but it’s easy enough once my legs slip over the side of the bed and my toes touch the smooth, dark floor.

You’ve got this.

All you need to do is push up off the incredibly comfortable bed and stand up. You do this every single day.

One.

Two.

Three… The world spins and my head throbs.

“Got you.” Vex’s hands grip my shoulders. “You’re okay.”

“I’m not okay. This isn’t okay. This will never be okay.” Why did I just shout in the face of a man that’s trying to help me? “Sorry.”

“No. You’re right. Everything about this is wrong. The—”

“But I shouldn’t take my anger out on the person who’s trying to be kind to me. I’m sorry.”

Vex doesn’t respond.

Did I really expect him to? “Thank you. I think I can make it now.”

His hands slip away, and I feel their loss. Not because I waver on my feet, but because they settle something in me.

“Holler if you need help.”

That’s not going to happen. I’ll crawl out of the bathroom rather than have him come in.

Impossible. His bathroom is slicker than the bedroom. There’s a blend of glass, stone, and metal all in various shades of gray, so dark it’s almost black. The metallic tiles in his shower set the mood for the entire room.

It’s hard to believe someone actually lives in this space. It should be on the cover of some magazine.

Though beautiful, who would want to live in such a cold, hard place?

A man that crushes bones with his bare hands…

“I got you some more water.” Vex stands up as I step out of the bathroom a few minutes later.

There’s a closed bottle sitting on the nightstand. “Thank you.”

“Are you ready to try out some food?”

My stomach gurgles for the first time without the rolling pain of nausea. “Food sounds wonderful.” I slowly make my way back to the bed. A sigh almost escapes as my muscles relax into the comfortable bed.

“What would you like?”

That’s a good question. What does one eat after they’ve been drugged and had their entire reality turned upside down? How am I supposed to pick something when I don’t know what’s going on—

“I’m in the mood for a steak and baked potato. Does that sound good to you?”

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