Page 82 of Rush of Jealousy

“I have a house on the lake. We need to be free of distractions and hammer out this…thingbetween us.” As he saysthinghis hand moves emphatically through the electrified air between us.

“Interesting choice of words.”

His eyes smolder and take on the look of the hottest level of fire. “I really want us to relax and talk openly. I don’t want any reservation that sometimes can be there when we are in Portland—surrounded by the chaos of the city.”

I stare out into the water as we move around the lake. It is calming. Serene.

I watch in awe as a burst of wind rakes through the water’s surface in the moonlight, causing ripples of waves, similar to the swirl of emotions floating through my nervous system. One second I think I have everything together. The next, I am trembling with fear.

“Sweetheart, don’t cry.” His hands rub my cheeks, spreading the moisture from the tears into my flesh, hydrating my pores.

I am not even aware of my own emotions. They keep coming to the forefront in flashes.

“I…I…”

“Shhh,” he soothes, rubbing my back and hair. His touch travels from my arms to my neck. He lifts me and embraces me in a tingling warmth to the point where goose bumps sprout and multiply into colonies all over my sensitive and charged flesh. It’s as if his touch is the plug and my body is the outlet. “Right now, I just want to get you inside and lay you down to finish off your sleep. Tomorrow is a new day. A fresh start.”

The thought of talking overwhelms me, so I try to ignore it and hope that he forgets.Yeah, right.

“Are we here?” I wordlessly ask, using just my eyes, as Collins comes to a stop in front of a house that appears to be built on the bank of the lake.

Graham kisses my forehead. “We are here,” he whispers.

I sniffle during the entire walk from the car to the front porch. The lake house is lit up with many outdoor lights. It is a beautiful mix of equal parts modern and rustic. The exterior is mostly stone and brown wooden siding. Huge windows of all different sizes and shapes allow light in, making it easy to be one with nature instead of being encumbered by it.

“I’ll give you the grand tour tomorrow. Let’s get to bed.”

I give him a nod and try to dry my eyes to keep my nose from being a leaky faucet.

He guides me through the foyer and living room until we encounter the main floor master bedroom.

“Do you come here often?”

“Not often enough. But this time of the year is the best with the leaves changing. And I think we are in the middle of peak bloom.”

I follow Graham inside the room, which consists of nearly all oak and iron furniture. Exposed wooden ceiling beams give the room a rustic feel, while still keeping with the natural theme. Potted plants fill every corner of the room, and I can’t help but wonder who waters them when he isn’t here. There is a beige and red plush area rug over the hardwood floors, adding to the coziness. Two chairs and ottomans face the large fireplace, as well as a sofa along the posterior wall near the dresser. The room is spacious and beautiful. Inviting.

“This is absolutely exquisite. I love it here.”

Graham wraps his arms around my front as he stands behind me. He kisses my shoulder. “I’m glad you like it.”

He guides me into the attached bathroom, which has a similar style with dark beige colored tiles that surface both the floor and the walls. There is a large basin bathtub that looks like it could fit four people. It is halfway above and below the floor level—accessed by climbing tiled steps and descending inside the tub. It is huge. Unlit candles surround the exterior. The shower is also equally impressive by sheer size alone.

“I’m going to make a phone call and check on a few things. How about you freshen up and get ready for bed. I’ll join you soon—if that’s okay with you.” It is phrased as a question—but with only one answer.

I smile and nod. No matter how frustrated we get with each other, the bedroom seems to be the one place where we do get along.

I see a medium sized travel bag on the long vanity, beside a very modern bowl sink and faucet. I dig through and find my favorite hygiene products. This man, or his overpaid henchman, has thought of everything. I can’t figure out whether or not I should be relieved or disturbed. I brush my teeth and wash my face. My makeup was on thicker tonight so it takes me a few rinses to get it all off. When I do, my cheek bone looks to be a nasty shade of purple, much darker than it originally appeared.

I reach my hand up to touch my swollen skin. Mark hurt me. Flashes of memories snap one by one in front of my vision. His satisfied eyes. His mouth on my skin. His hands ripping apart my dress. His fingers touching my…

A solo tear slides down my cheek. I angrily wipe it away but then whimper at the pain shooting through my upper jaw. Damn him.

I lift up my hoodie in the mirror and examine my bare stomach underneath. I see the droplet of dried blood that I missed with the wipes. I lean over at my waist, my stomach churning wildly. Vomit explodes from my mouth into the empty porcelain sink. I grab my stomach to stop the cramping, as wave after wave of liquid acid expels from my body. I huddle over on my elbows, as sweat beads on my forehead.

I run the water and then stumble into the shower to wash down my pain. I turn the faucet on hot and allow the water to heat as it sprays me—fully clothed. The steam rises as my skin burns underneath the fabric from the temperature. I scratch at my arms and stomach, probably leaving angry red streaks. My vision clouds, causing me to lose my balance, falling back against the wall and sliding down to the floor. I bend my knees and curl my body into them, shielding my face from the force of the spray.

And I cry.

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