Page 91 of Beautifully Wounded

“Barts. It’s Jols. You’re at the compound. Not with Natasha.”

This time, his eyes snap open, and he peers up at Jols with the saddest lost puppy look I’ve ever seen.

“Shit. Sorry. I must have been dreaming,” he mutters, pushing himself up to reveal the crushed flowers underneath.

Whoops.

“You know, if you want her back, you gotta quit Jimmy and Molly.”

He nods, running his hand over the blond mess on his head. “Yeah, I know. I’m gonna—”

“No, you’re not,” Jols snaps, leaning down to get in his face. “If you were going to, you’d already be sober and tucked up next to her in her bed.” She straightens. “But instead, you’re…” She doesn’t end her sentence, but rather gestures to his state, and his shoulders slump.

Damn. I kind of feel sorry for him.

“Come on.” Jols nods her head at me, and I follow, avoiding Barts’ lost puppy eyes. “You want to talk about what happened last night?”

“What?” I ask confused as I hurry to Jols’ side. “What happened last night?”

Jols stops abruptly, so I skid to a stop and turn back to look at her.

All I see is sympathy.

“Ringo messaged me last night. Told me a very brief rundown of what you told him about… well, what happened to you.”

He what?

No.

I don’t want people to know.

Suddenly, my breathing quickens as humiliation flushes over my skin in raging heat, and I ball my fists, ready to punch something.

Why would he tell her? How could he do that?

I trusted him.

More than ever, I know I can’t stay here. My need to run from this place is so overpowering that it’s like an impulsion I can’t control, and I stiffen as my body prepares to do just that.

21

“Hey, calm down,” Jols offers soothingly, her hands held up as she steps closer, but I take a step back and shake my head, getting ready to run.

I can’t believe he told her. Why would he do that? Am I gossip to him?

Oh my god, I asked him to kiss me!

I have to go.

There aren’t many men around right now. I could probably get away easily enough.

I take another step back, my eyes scanning the space.

“He only told me because he knew that I might be able to help.” Jols continues, but her words only fuel my anger.

“Help?” I snap, shooting her the glare I can’t contain. “How the hell can you help? How the hell cananyonehelp?!”

I watchas Jols visibly becomes uncomfortable, her eyes dropping, her confidence slipping, and her feet shuffling.

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