Page 64 of The Preacher's Pet

I pick her up bridal style and walk into the bathroom. Cain follows close on my heels.

“Turn on the shower,” I instruct him. “Cold.”

He does as I say, and I don’t bother to strip the dress from her—the same one she was wearing last night—I set her underthe water with her clothing still on, and support her with my arm around her back.

She gasps, and finally her eyes open. She smiles at me as if this is funny.

“Malachi.” Her voice sounds sleepy, the word slurred a little. “You’re here.”

“Ophelia, did you drink anything?” I ask urgently.

“Hhhmm, turn the cold off.” She waves her hands in the water as if she can make it stop that way.

I tap her cheek hard. “Did you drink alcohol?”

“No.” She shakes her head.

Then she yawns and her eyes drift shut again, though the shower rains down over her face. No way is she going to sleep. I tap her cheek again, until her eyes open.

“Stay awake or we’re taking a trip to the hospital.”

“Don’t you think we should take her?” Cain asks.

My mother used to do this, a lot. I have experience in it. “If I can get her talking okay and walking around, I think she’ll be all right.”

“She might have liver damage or something,” Cain argues. “I say we take her in.”

“Ophelia, how many fucking pills did you take?” I shake her shoulders, not caring that I’m getting wet as well, and yell at her.

“Three,” she shouts back. “I took three, Malachi.”

Thank fuck. She’s awake now. With it again. And three isn’t enough to need to go to the hospital.

“Malachi,” Cain growls.

“Do you want them putting her on a fucking psych hold? Because that might happen.” I turn and shoot him an angry look. “She’s talking. She’s awake. Let’s get her a bit more with it, then we’ll get some coffee down her and see how she’s doing.”

Cain presses his lips together, a muscle in his jaw ticking. “I don’t like it.”

“What the hell were you thinking, Ophelia?” I rub her arms, trying to get her to come around more.

“Had to stop him,” she murmurs. “I can’t live with it any longer. I can’t. I keep trying to run, but no matter where I run, he’s there. He always catches me.”

“The voice?” I look at her as her big eyes fill with tears. Her eyelashes are already wet from the shower and cling together in clumps. “It came back?”

“Yes,” she whispers. “I’m broken, Malachi. I can’t be fixed, but I can’t live like this any longer either. Ican’t.”

She starts to sob. And I break a little inside.

34

CAIN

Fuck.I don’t know what to do as Ophelia breaks apart right in front of us. She sobs and sobs, her whole body wracking with it. I guess it’s a good sign that she’s awake enough now, but she’s not stopping crying, and she’s rocking back and forth under the water. She isn’t even asking to get out of the cold shower anymore. It’s as though she’s just accepted her fate.

Did we do this? Are we at least partially responsible? We gave her hope, only for it to be so cruelly snatched away again.

We knew she was already struggling. Yes, she’d asked for our help, and we’d willingly given it, but did we have ulterior motives? Maybe we hadn’t openly acknowledged it, but we’d be lying to ourselves if we said we were completely unaware of the undercurrent of sexual tension between us all.

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