Page 87 of Love Bleeds Red
“Polly?” Bailey whispers, shaking her gently. “Polly, no. No, no, no!”
I watch helplessly as Polly’s chest rises one last time, then goes still. The light in her eyes dims. There’s no doubt, she’s gone.
“No!” Bailey’s scream tears through my soul, raw and heartbroken. “No, she can’t be. Polly! Polly, wake up! Please!”
She throws herself over Polly’s body, her shoulders shaking from the force of her sobs.
“Bailey,” Jasper says gently, reaching for her. “I’m so sorry. Come here, I’ve got you.”
“I can’t leave her!” Bailey wails, clinging to her body. “I can’t leave her here alone!”
“I’ve got her.” I tell Jasper, placing a reassuring palm on his shoulder before kneeling at Bailey’s side. I touch her for the first time in over a year, and something switches in her. She crawls to me, climbing into my lap, sobbing against my chest.
My heart fucking cracks in two. Another person dead. Another beautiful soul I couldn’t save.
“She saved me.” Bailey tries to reach back for Polly again, but I wrap her in my arms, lifting her up. “No, please…” But she’s lost all fight now… her sobs dissolving into whimpers, and incoherent words.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur into her hair. “I’m so fucking sorry, love.”
Jasper nods at me before blocking Bailey’s view of Polly. It fucking kills me to leave her here, but we can’t move her. It’ll only cause more trouble.
Bailey’s cries echo through the trees. It’s a sound that’ll haunt me for the rest of my life, and somehow I’m sure this moment isn’t even the worst of what she’s endured.
I take one last look at Polly’s peaceful face before forcing myself to walk away, leaving her alone in the darkness.
PART 2
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
BAILEY
The bathroom doorclicks shut behind me, and for the first time in over a year, I’m alone by choice.
My fingers shake and fumble as I turn the lock twice, then three times, just to hear it click. Just to know that I can truly have the space I need.
Leon’s voice carries through the door, low and kind of snappy, followed by Jasper’s which is just as insistent. I can’t make out their exact words, but I don’t need to. They’re planning. Arguing. Deciding what comes next.
I turn away from their voices and face the shower.
It’s nothing special, just a normal shower with white tiles and a glass door that’s seen better days. But there’s a rainfall showerhead and three different bottles of shampoo and conditioner lined up on the built-in shelf. Regular stuff I used to buy at home, drugstore brands, but now I have a choice in which to use.Simple choices.When did I last have those?
The water takes forever to warm up. Steam starts to fog the mirror, and I’m glad that I can no longer see my reflection. I don’t want to see what Leon and my brothers see. What all thesemonths of captivity has done to me now that the mask I wore for Sir is gone. My real face. My real body. Not yet.
Leon’s voice rises outside the door, followed by what sounds like Damon interjecting. Someone shushes them both. Maybe it’s Damon’s girlfriend. I can’t remember her name. I know they’re trying to be quiet for my sake, but they shouldn’t. They need to talk, to process what they saw at that estate, what they had to do to get me out.
They need to figure out what to do about Polly.
I step into the spray and the heat hits my skin like a shock. Polly will never feel this again. She died so I could have this moment, this choice, this freedom. My shoulders crumple until I can barely stand, and I slowly sink down to the floor, tucking my knees against my chest.
Tears fall down my cheeks, mixing with the hot water. I can’t help but think it should have been me. Polly deserves this shower. She deserves to choose from the three different shampoos and to stand under the rain head and to use every ounce of hot water in the place.
Her. Not me.
I let myself cry until I have nothing left. And then I wash every inch of skin, scouring myself with the washcloth until I hurt. I wash my hair twice, and leave the conditioner on for as long as I can stand. When the water runs cold, I get out and wrap myself in the clean, fluffy towel set out for me.
It smells like fresh cotton and feels silky against my sensitive skin.
I don’t know what to do with myself now. There’s no one outside the door promising violence or withholding meals if I take too long. I don’t need to rush back to Cat, or Jasmine, or Katie and make sure they’re okay. To check that nothing happened to them while I was gone.
