Page 91 of Scarred
The corner of his mouth twitches, his blinks growing further apart.
“Long talks by the fire, you know?” I hiccup, trying to ignore the way my fingers are slipping from all the blood. “Your favorite thing to do.”
His hand falls from my wrist, splashing as it lands on the puddle growing beneath him.
“Please,” I murmur, my mind screaming and my chest caving in. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
But it’s too late, and no one hears my pleas.
I feel the moment his soul leaves his body. A giant exhale, and then he’s just gone.
Sobs rack through me until my entire body shakes, and I collapse on top of him, my arms stained red, and my fingers drenched. I drop my head in my hands, anyway.
“I tried to tell you,” Marisol whispers, wiping a tear from her cheek. “It wasyouthey were after.”
My stomach rolls, an icy chill skating through me until my entire body feels numb. I snap my face up and meet her gaze. “Then I will make sure they pay.”
CHAPTER38
Sara B.
The silk sheets are soft against my skin, the blanket heavy as it warms my body, but I’m numb to the comfort.
I amsick.
Timothy’s blood has long since been washed away, yet somehow, I feel as though I’ll never be clean again. The sins of my decisions have always been heavy, but tonight, they’re crushing me beneath their weight.
If only I had listened.
If only I hadn’t been so stuck in my ways. Then maybe Timothy would still be here.
He’d be living. Breathing.Existing.
My eyes are puffy and swollen, the corners of my lids tender, but my tears dried long ago, drummed out by the pulsing beat of anger.
The rebel king sent his people to kill me.
But they missed, and now I will make him wish for death.
No one has spoken to me since we arrived back through the castle gates. No additional guard has been sent to stand outside of my bedroom. No consoling touches or reassuring words.
Not that I deserve them.
My heart squeezes tight. I had thought maybe my uncle would show, but he’s been a ghost along with everyone else.
A low rumbling sound vibrates across the walls, but I don’t turn to see. Not even when footsteps creep behind me and the mattress dips beneath a person’s weight.
I’m too drained to move, too broken to care.
“Ma petite menteuse. What am I going to do with you?” Tristan’s voice caresses my body like a kiss, creating a chasm in the center of my chest. I glance down when his tattooed arm encases my waist, pulling me flush against the hard planes of his body and hugging me tight.
It’s a simple act, but it pricks at the wound in my heart; the one I’ve bandaged and tried to pretend isn’t there.
A tear drips down my cheek, hot and salty, as it cascades over my lips and seeps into my mouth. My simple white cloth nightgown is the only barrier between us, and his fingers stroke over my stomach, petting me—comfortingme—as if I deserve consoling.
His breath whispers against the juncture of my neck, warm kisses peppered along my skin. They’re tender, and so different from everything I’ve known Tristan to be, but I welcome them all the same.
In a world of people who don’t see me, sometimes, it feels as if he’s the only one who does.
