Page 117 of Surviving Slater
His mouth touched mine softly. It wasn't Slater's touch and it felt wrong—there was no denying it. My hand tightened around my glass as his lips moved against mine.
You can do this,I told myself. My fist tightened around the object in my hand. That uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach uncurled, growing as I pushed myself to stay still.
"You feel so good," he said, framing my face with his hands, "baby."
The effect was immediate. A feeling of being small and defenseless filled me. There was no thinking when I pushed him away with my free hand. My other hand tightened even more around the glass I held.
"Sorry," Steven said, pulling away. His voice sounded different, like an echo down a passageway.
The horrible feeling of helplessness and fear took over, not allowing me to come up for air. My lungs constricted.
Steven frowned at me.
Baby.It echoed in my mind and with it the memories attached to it washed over me again and again. My grip on the glass tightened. Then suddenly the glass shattered and cut into me. I gasped as I looked down at my bleeding hand.
Steven made a move to grab my hand but I pushed him away, cradling my injured hand.
"I want to help you," he said, his eyes firmly fixed on my injured hand. "Let me have a look at it."
I shook my head, still watching the blood drip from my fingers. There was a sound of the door opening that scraped against my consciousness.
"Jordan," Slater said as he rushed over to me. Dazed, my eyes found his as he took my injured hand into his. My blood wet his hands. Steven watched from the sidelines.
"What happened?" Slater asked me before he looked at my cut palm. I pulled my hand back, cradling it against me with my other hand.
"I…m" My memories had me firmly in their grasp as I struggled to explain. I briefly closed my eyes to ride out the memories and the feelings attached to them.
"What the hell happened?" he asked Steven, his voice tight with controlled anger.
"I don't know. I…I think I may have said something to her and she just…freaked out." I opened my eyes again, still riding the wave of my memories that had me in their tight grip and refused to let go.
Still struggling to focus on the present, I looked to see Slater.
"Let me see it." Slowly I stretched my arm out to him and he opened my hand. Glass was still embedded in my skin.
"I just want to clean your hand," he told me.
It took a few moments of holding his concerned gaze before I nodded. The child in me trusted him and I couldn't explain why.
"It's okay," he soothed. He helped me sit on the counter.
He took my hand and ran some water over it. Steven handed him some first-aid stuff he found in a nearby cupboard.
Shivering and trying to stave off the demons from my past, Slater meticulously removed all the glass from my hand. Every now and then I would grimace when it hurt. Steven picked up the broken glass from the floor and cleaned up the mess.
"You don't need stitches," he said as he began to bandage it up. The pain made my eyes water but I bit my lip to stop myself from crying out.
When he was done he cleaned up the first-aid box. My eyes were fixed on his face, taking in every single beautiful feature.
He handed it back to Steven. "Could you give us a minute?"
Steven nodded and left.
"You want to talk about it?" he asked. I wasn't ready. I shook my head.
A couple of people walked into the kitchen, breaking the moment for us.
"I'll take you home." He helped me off the counter, and while I cradled my injured hand he led me out of the kitchen.
