Page 64 of Ruin
“How badly does it hurt?” he asks, brows furrowed.
I don’t answer him, and instead take another swig. His gaze stays on the bottle.
“This was full,” I say by way of explanation.
Now it’s half empty.
He gets his bag from the table behind him, digs in it and pulls some things out.
“This is going to hurt,” he says as he kneels in front of me again, setting the items on the couch beside me.
I look down at him as he opens packages, focusing on what he’s doing.
He never did care about beingbeneath. Never cared about coming across as weak. He was weak for me, so many times, and I loved it. It made me feel powerful. Important. He was never ashamed of that. He owned his desperation and his need. Maybe if I had done the same, he would have left her back then. Maybe if I wasn’t so needy, if I was more put together, a little more in control, I would have been worth more.
“Are you ready?” he asks.
“Yep.”
He grabs two popsicle sticks, putting one on either side of my finger. The pain is… awful. My head falls back, and I grit my teeth so hard my jaw aches. Nausea rolls in my stomach as pain shoots up my hand. I try my best to stay still, but even I can feel how badly I’m shaking. I’m still hoping it’s only dislocated, but all this pain makes me think it is broken.
“Almost done,” he says, wrapping a piece of tape around to hold the sticks in place.
I take in slow, deep breaths. Let them out. Breathe in. Breathe out. I so badly want to chug the rest of this alcohol, but by the time it hits me, he’ll be done.
There’s something soft on my finger, then a little more pressure, then, “All done.”
He gets to his feet, but my eyes stay closed. I’m going to have to find some pain pills.
“You did good, Kolton.” My heart pounds as I try to keep from passing out, the pain turning into a dull ache. “If you weren’t so stubborn, I’d reward you for it.”
My eyes shoot open, to glare at him. But his focus is on closing his bag. He stands, and turns to leave.
“I’m done fucking around with married men who don’t give a fuck about me!” I call after him.
He stops, and looks at me over his shoulder. “I’ve always cared about you,” he says softly, then he’s out the door.
It’s not what he said that fucks me up. It’s how he said it. Hurt. As if how dareIact likehenever cared?
I whip the nearly empty bottle at the door. It hits the back with a thud then falls to the ground, not breaking. If only I could be so strong.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Kolton
When I get home, Anastacia is in the kitchen, cooking, the smell of onions and garlic thick in the air. I stop halfway in the door and take in the mess she’s made. Sink full of dishes, a used cutting board on the counter, a French knife laid on top of it. My chest tightens but I breathe through it.
She looks up and smiles. “You’re here.”
She sounds almost happy.
“It is where I live,” I say, stepping in the rest of the way and closing and locking the door behind me.
“I’ve had so much energy today, and that hasn’t happened in a long time. I figured I would make you dinner since you’ve done so much for me. I know it isn’t much, but there isn’t really much I can do, so…” She shrugs, her attention going back to whatever she’s stirring in the large pot.
“You don’t have to do this.”
She nods firmly, puts the wooden spoon down on the center of the stove, and opens the oven to peak inside. “I know that,but I wanted to. Besides, I was really craving chicken parmesan. I promise I’ll clean everything up, too. I know you like to keep a clean house. Cleanest I’ve ever seen, actually.”
