Page 45 of Dreadful
His parting words whisper through me again. A forbidden thrill rushes up my spine just like it did when I heard him say them hours ago. He thought I’d disappeared on him, but I was hiding behind a prop just outside the door, and I’d nearly blown my cover by moaning. The sentiment sounds so gentle coming from mynonnoTony, and like a delicious command from Sev. Even now, I want to submit.
Two memories suddenly fight for my attention. One where Sev’s hard body is flush behind mine, and the other is the way he looked with the blood of my enemy dripping from his razor.
My warped smile widens as the visions morph together in my mind. I push off the door, excited to unwind and jump under my covers. Hopefully my nightmares will only be dreamy flashbacks from this night. But as I go to take off my black puffer jacket, I realize my hands are covered in blood. Literally.
“Whoops.”
They’re dry, at least, so my doorknob is free from wet residue. As much as I want to bathe in memories of revenge and destruction, hot water and soap will have to do for now.
I sigh and kick off my shoes before placing them in the row next to the welcome mat. The messenger bag slides off with a shrug of my shoulder, and I make a mental note to clean the knife inside after my shower. I tug off my jacket and check it over for stains, but there aren’t any, thank God. Finding that trench coat was crucial tonight. Without it, my favorite jacket would’ve been ruined.
The bed’s siren song calls to me, but I don’t give in. Instead, I head straight into my small bathroom and strip my clothes, inspecting each article as I go. The edges of my sweater dress are clean, but my leggings are soaked.
“Dammit.” I trash them in the wastebasket in my bathroom with a huff. “Those were my best pair.”
The apartment’s cool air suddenly wafts over my naked body, hardening my nipples into peaks. These old apartments never quite heat up all the way in the winter, but a scalding hot shower should do the trick. Before I turn on the water, though, my gaze catches on my jagged, red scars in the mirror.
Without makeup, the ones on my jaw are a crimson riverbed with small rivulets etched into my lower cheeks. I push my hair aside where makeup still carefully hides the gruesome memory that I almost died fifteen years ago. I’ve never just looked at them without judgment. I’ve always been busy scrunching my hair, applying makeup, or being too ashamed and angry. But tonight, I almost admire the evidence that I’m afuckingsurvivor before closing my eyes.
It’s all for you, Chiara.
The sweet little girl I once was would be horrified at who I’ve become. Sometimes I wonder who I could’ve been, but I always end up pushing the painful thoughts away. I wasn’t born this vengeful, I was made, and I don’t regret how I’ve dealt with it. Few might understand my actions, but justice is subjective. Depending on who you ask, what I’ve done is either righteous or evil. Good thing I’m not taking a poll.
Another cool breeze pushes the bathroom door ajar, making me shiver out of my thoughts. The drafty, old building is going to be the death of me. I turn on the shower, and as soon as it gets warmer than the air around me, I hurry into its warmth.
The hot water kisses my cold skin. Goose bumps erupt everywhere, making my body more sensitive than it already is. I quickly dip my hair under the water and go through my routine, humming as I wash blood off of my hands.
Normally I can clear my head during a shower, but I can’t get the sight of Sever shrouding Percy’s body out of my mind.
Besides mynonni, the last person I trusted was the boy. When he let me down, I lost all hope that I could depend on anyone else to protect me. I became the hero I needed when I was a child, but tonight? Sever was my god.
He inspired me to go through with taking out the driver once and for all. I couldn’t believe my luck when Sever left and the man stupidly kept playing on his phone. The light on the screen had perfectly highlighted every ugly feature that I’ve memorized. The glow from below was like a sign from the devil himself, telling me it was my time to shine.
I wonder what Sever would’ve thought if he’d seen me. Would he have been disgusted? Or proud?
“Don’t worry, I believe you.”
Pleasure tingles over my skin, zinging down to my core. I close my eyes and think back to the dressing room. Sever’s finger gently caressing my cheek when I leaned in. Me pushing back into him and feeling his hard length. I detest every man’s touch, but not Sever’s. Why?
Looking back on it, he’s never been the one to initiate. He’s let me come to him. Is that the difference? I was determined to stay away from him, to hate him if I could. And yet, he’s somehow gotten under my skin so effectively that I’m beginning to wonder if I can go through with my plan. What will happen if I don’t write him off? What if I let him in instead?
Before I met him, the idea of giving up my control to anyone, let alone a man, never even crossed my mind. But the unbidden dreams I’ve been having about Sever are dark and tempting, and I’m close to giving in.
My breaths quicken at the thought. I set my loofah aside to squeeze body wash into my open hand and then rub them together. I tentatively cup my slippery hands around my breasts and moan softly. They’re more than a handful, and my heart thumps in my chest as my fingers slip and slide around my hard nipples.
I’ve never done this before. Every time I’ve tried, I chicken out or flashbacks take over, causing more torture than bliss. I don’t even know how to begin, but I hum louder, trying to block out anything other than pleasure. Letting my fingers and body be my guide, my fears slip away.
My core pulses almost painfully, and my clit flutters, begging me to touch it. Listening to my body for once, my fingertips trail over my soft belly past my trimmed curls. I spread myself before delving into my pussy and let both my mind and fingers wander. I’m slick with moisture that feels different than the water washing over me, and I realize something that I hadn’t put into actual words yet.
I’m turned on. Neither men, nor women, have ever done it for me, but thinking about someone killing for meturns me on.
With that thought, my hand massages my breast harder. My fingers circle faster around my clit. One name escapes my lips on a breathy moan.
“Sever.”
My core pulses back in answer, and my entire body starts to tense with need. On some level, I know what’s going on, but in a very real sense, I don’t. I gave up trying to take my body back on my own terms years ago, thinking I’d never be able to enjoy pleasure without my PTSD getting in the way.
But ever since Sev caught me at the bakery, my libido has had a mind of its own. I thought I was broken. That checking off my list would be the only thing that's made me feel at all. I always knew death would set me free, but I would have never guessed that I’d need Sever to feel alive.
