Page 9 of Vow of Vengeance
six
Soren
Iwakeuptothe pattering of rain on the roof, and for one panicked moment, I forget where I am.
The room is dim, but I can't tell if that's because the sun gave way to a thunderstorm outside or if it's just setting for the day. My tension eases when I see Declan next to me, his beautiful face smooth and expressionless. He looks peaceful; it's not a look I imagined that he was capable of. This is the first I've seen him sleep and he looks like he needed it.
He doesn't stir when I move out from beneath him. We're oddly twined together, a mess of limbs and flesh that traps me against the mattress.
At first, I consider staying in bed, appreciating his warmth, the security of his touch. It's been a while since I've fallen asleep with someone else, and who's to say that he'll crash next to me again? I wouldn't pin Declan Evers as much of a cuddler, and part of me doesn't want to end this moment. A larger part of me needs to get up and pee. He sure as hell loved it when he made me piss myself before, but I don’t think he’ll appreciate it as much while he’s in such a deep sleep.
I slip off the bed without him so much as stirring and make my way to the bathroom.
Pain blooms in different parts of me as feeling comes back, an ache that laces throughout my insides and culminates in me wincing as I sit on the toilet. He fucked me ruthlessly and in the best way, but I'll feel it for days... feelhimfor days.
I'm slippery with his cum, my clit throbbing as I brush against it and awaken a new hunger inside of me. I want more of him, more of his pain and his pleasure.
I refuse to let myself spiral as I turn the shower on and step under it. Panicking about what we did won't do any good, particularly when I don't regret anything about it. My body is relaxed, and I feel like for the first time in a year, I can take a breath again without fear of choking on my past. I know, of course, that it can take as little as one time to get pregnant. I also know from experience that you can try for months before anything takes.
If I'm going to spiral, I'll drag Declan into it with me. Until then, I refuse to acknowledge the recklessness of what we did.
I treat myself to a long shower, not bothering to temper the heat. It relaxes my stiff muscles, and the fat rain drops falling slowly on the windowpane relax my mind. By the time I step out, I feel like I just emerged from a world class spa, and a peek into the room shows me Declan is still completely crashed... and completely nude.
I take my time making myself look human, brushing my hair out and shutting the door while I dry it in sections, ensuring I don't wake my stalker in the next room.
When I emerge from the steam-filled bathroom and dress myself in loungewear, I begin to grow concerned. I creep close to the bed, just to ensure Declan is breathing. A contented sigh assures me that he is very much alive, and he rolls over toward the side of the bed I woke up on.
When he doesn't move again, I decide he's going to stay asleep a bit. Far be it from me to wake a sleeping beast, so I slip my e-reader out of the bag I threw together and head to the kitchen for a pot of coffee.
There's something unbelievably peaceful about having that moment to myself, the lazy storm brewing outside as the small guest house fills with the sputtering of the coffee pot and the aroma of a French roast.
For a minute, I forget that this isn't normal... to feel so fulfilled in a stranger's home, after sleeping next to a man I barely know. The guilt of betrayal creeps in when I think of what life is supposed to feel like— of my baby and my husband. I didn't leave them, I know that. And they didn't choose to leave me. But it doesn't make the pain any easier, knowing that they'll always be a part of me even as I try to navigate life without them.
Is it wrong to seek happiness? I suspect it's not, no matter what my brain tells me. It's probably wrong, though, to seek happiness with my fucking stalker, my boss, a man who openly says he owns me.
I sink into the chair at the window with my coffee and a book, desperate to drive thoughts of Declan and Vin from my mind. And it works, for a while.
I've been reading for hours, by my guess, when I get to a plot twist that shakes the entire foundation of the book. The heroine moved on after her husband was declared missing in action, with his best friend no less, only for her husband to come back into her life and expect to pick up where they left off. I don't know why the book derails me, considering that I know it's not a reflection of my situation.
Vin isn't coming back from the dead. I saw them take him away in the back of an unlit ambulance, being zipped into a black bag. His ashes are on my mantle.
Moving on with Declan isn't a betrayal of my husband, just as the heroine's moving on with his best friend wasn't a betrayal of her love for her husband. We deserve to heal from the things that nearly kill us, don't we? Just because loss doesn't leave any physical symptoms doesn't make it any less acute, or any less worthy of being fixed.
And healing can come in many forms. I suppose it can even come in this form, sitting in a stranger's home while the man who seems intent on destroying me sleeps soundly in the other room. I wouldn't judge anyone for how they heal from the things that have scarred them, so why am I judging myself?
The truth is uncomfortable, because I know it hints at deficiencies in my own character. I've always been my own worst critic, unable to see my own worth, to acknowledge any strengths I do have. Even when the uneducated public believed me to be a murderer, they were probably kinder to me than I was to myself.
Kindness isn't something I've ever been great at, struggling just to keep moving forward. I suppose it's what I watched my mom do— struggle to move forward. Put one foot in front of the other and show up, whether that meant she showed up tired or not mentally there.
Death was a mercy for her, even if it wasn't for me.
Living with my Nana hadn't been bad, by any means of the word. In fact, I'm sure it was better in many ways than what I'd have had otherwise. And yet, no matter how distant my mother was, I like to think that I would have still benefitted from having her in my life. When Nana passed, when I met a man who made me feel like the luckiest girl in the world, when we got married, when the good things started to fade, when I lost it all.
Maybe because I didn't have my mother to love me, I never learned how to love myself.
But I did have support through it all. The same friend I made as a child on the playground has stuck with me into adulthood, through thick and thin. Marissa defended me against the news vans that parked on my lawn, calling them vultures and telling them they were disgusting. She was at my side when I woke up on a psych hold after everything. And she brought into my life the other source of pure love that I have. Khan.
He hasn't been friends with us as long as we've been friends with each other, but he never backs down, never fails to make me feel cared for. Where Marissa defended me against anyone who dared insinuate I was a murderer, Khan helped protect my identity, burying my digital footprint. Strictly speaking, it wasn't exactly legal, he said. The tech company he works for has protocols about how their systems can be utilized, but he took a risk for me... to buy me some peace and quiet.
