Page 13 of Aine

It being Damien has me feeling unprepared and anxious, unsure what to expect.

“Tradition is that I accompany you to your first meal. It usually is dinner,” he eventually responds, pivoting me in the direction of his home. “I thought we could do it early before the dining hall gets busy, but I didn’t realize you were incontinent and I’d need to bathe you first.”

Damien makes no attempts to hide his dislike for me, the negative emotion thick in all his words. A small part of me wants to argue that it’s impossible to leave somebody without a bathroom for over twenty-four hours and not expect them to have an accident, but I keep my mouth shut. The last thing I need is to anger him any further.

He may have spared my life, but at the end of the day, I’m still sitting here bound to a wheelchair because of what his people did to me.

Despite Jenna’s assurances that he isn’t like Henry, his attitude and manner of speaking are exactly the same.

Everybody congratulated me for catching Henry’s attention, impressed I was able to domesticate our village’s notorious playboy, yet mere days into our marriage, I was covered head-to-toe in bruises and he was spotted at the brothels. Everybody knew, and it wasn’t until the other women my age began to marry that I realized I’d gotten the short end of the stick.

I thought I was finally free of men like Henry, but once again, I’m stuck with a male who is just the same.

Damien is silent as he pushes me toward his house, but I can practically feel waves of anger pouring from his body. I bring my hands together and scratch at the cuticle on my thumb, my eyes darting around as he drags me up the porch steps and wheels me inside.

I didn’t take a good look around when Jenna brought me here, having been too occupied with trying to leave. The entryway is relatively tiny but almost immediately opens up to a large room. A couch, table, and some bookshelves fill it, but the walls and shelves are still bare. There’s no personality in here, and I wonder if he’s just moved in.

Straight ahead are glass doors. They open to a back yard and some sort of smaller house. Large windows cover the entire surface of the place, but they’re tinted so I can’t see inside. It looks sleek.

I stare at it before turning to the dining table that sits in front of the doors. It’s free of clutter—unsurprising—and looks brand new. The wall opens up to the left of that, leading to a room out of my view. It’s probably the kitchen.

I expect Damien to wheel me into the space, but instead, he turns me toward the stairs.

“There’s only a half-bath on the first floor.” He pushes me to the base of the steps.

I can’t help but frown as I eye the staircase, my heart racing as I contemplate just how I’m supposed to go up them. It’s going to destroy my body to walk all the way up there, but knowing I have no other choice, I suck in some air between my teeth and push myself up, preparing to stand.

A large hand falls onto my shoulder and forces my butt back into the seat before I can make it far. I gasp as the fingers dig into one of my cuts, and I collapse onto my chair before wiggling out of his hold.

Fuck, that hurt.

I move to spin and ask Damien what he expects me to do but freeze as my chair is lifted off the ground. My knuckles turn white with how hard I’m gripping the armrests of my seat, my entire body frozen in fear. I wasn’t anticipating him carrying the entire thing upstairs.

Thankfully, Damien doesn’t seem to struggle with my weight, smoothly walking to the top landing in one easy breath.

There’s another large, open space at the top of the stairs, but surrounding it are closed doors, which I assume lead to the bedrooms and bathrooms. It’s as dull as the rest of his house, but I still find myself peering around in interest.

Damien doesn’t give me any time to explore before rolling me toward one of the doors on the right, his long arm leaning over me to grab the knob and push it open.

The door swings to reveal a small bathroom, the room no way large enough to comfortably fit my chair. Damien seems to have the same thought as he turns and wheels me backward, pivoting toward the large double doors that sit to the left of the stairs.

He repeats the same process as before, but this time, the doors open to a bedroom. I immediately recognize it as his, identifying the curtain-less windows I spent all night staring into.

His room, like the rest of the home, is bare. A large, unmade bed sits in the center, the frame matching the dresser along the left wall. I crane my head to get a better look but don’t have a decent chance to see anything before I’m taken into the en-suite bathroom.

The space here is much larger, and Damien moves me directly into the middle of the room before finally letting my chair go. I freeze as he follows in behind me, shutting the door and trapping us inside.

“I can clean myself,” I say.

I know Henry isn’t going to come for me, but the lingering fear of punishment for allowing another man to help me clean myself is enough to make my blood run cold.

Damien scoffs. “You can’t even use the bathroom by yourself.”

He ignores my clear panic as he once more scans my body and wet clothing. Humiliated, I bring my hands to my legs in an attempt to hide my bottom half from him. I don’t want his judgment.

His eyebrow lifts at my attempt at modesty before his expression darkens and he grabs my arms. I fight against him as he pulls them away from my body, my eyes welling with tears as he once again looks over my soiled clothing.

“Can you get Jenna?” I plead, wanting anything but his help.

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