Page 33 of Dollhouse

She’s wearing only King’s black t-shirt; her toned bronze legs are on full display and begging to be looked at.

Walking further into the kitchen, I make my presence known but don’t look toward her even when I feel her eyes on me. Instead, I busy myself with getting an empty mug from the cabinet and filling it with coffee from the fresh pot she prepared.

“Morning,” she mumbles from behind me.

I look over my shoulder at her, watching how her lips pucker as she blows into her steaming mug of coffee. Coffee that I already know is full of creamer and tastes like pure sugar.

Tate has always liked a smidge of coffee with her creamer. I used to tease her about just drinking the creamer instead of putting coffee in it since it’s purely creamer anyways. She’s always made her coffee that way, then she will heat it up until it’s nearly boiling becauseit tastes better hot, and the creamer cools it down. I don’t know how she doesn’t have a mouthful of cavities from the sweetness of her coffee.

A small ghost of a grin tugs at my lips at the memories I have of her.

The few good memories that aren’t tainted with her cries and blood.

“Morning,” I respond, opening the fridge to pull out some ingredients for breakfast. “You hungry?” I hold up the carton of eggs and she nods.

“So, tomorrow you get rid of me. Are you happy?” Her tone is cold and distant.

I don’t dare look at her.

I keep my hands focused on the task at hand, making her favorite breakfast, banana French toast with bacon crumbles and syrup mixed in the egg batter.

“I hope you’re a good cook, since that is the very least you could do for me.” She’s trying to get a reaction; too bad I’m not going to take the bait.

“Be grateful I’m even doing this much for you.”

“You’re playing with my fucking life, you do know that, right? Have you stopped to think why these thugs might want me? What they’ll do to me?” She’s scared. She puts on a tough act, but she’s scared.

Good, she should be.

“You seem like you’ve been through worse. I’m sure you can take it.” Fuck. Did I really just say that? That was low. The color drains from her face and a frown finds her perfectly plump pouty lips.

“Fuck you, Rowen.” I can’t help but smirk at the sound of my name coming from her lips.

“No thanks, you probably still have King’s cum in your loose pussy. Didn’t realize what a whore you’d become.” My words hit her like a slap in the face, and I feel like fucking shit for saying them, but I want her to feel as low and badly as I do. I want her to suffer right alongside me.

I don’t see the punch coming.

One minute we are in a stare off, and the next minute I am cupping my bloody nose. “Go to hell,” she spits, turning on her heel and storming out.

Fuck, that hurt. “I’m already there,” I whisper to myself, turning the sink on to begin cleaning myself up.

I’d just gotten my nose to quit bleeding when Eli walks into the kitchen and instantly bursts into laughter, seeing the bloody napkins and my already undoubtedly bruised nose.

I flip him off and throw the napkins into the trash and wash my hands.

“What the hell happened to you? Let me guess, a little raven-haired stripper with a nice ass?” He grabs a mug and fills it with coffee, still laughing at my expense. “What did you do?”

“Fuck off. Why do you assume I did something?” He shoots me a knowing look and I sigh. “I said something pretty fucked up and she punched me.”

“Sounds like you deserved it then.” I did.

I instantly regretted my words as soon as I said them.

I don’t think she’s a whore. I just knew that word would trigger her. She hated it every single time he’d call her that.

* * *

“I’m not a whore!”Turquoise eyes full of tears stared straight into my own, my heart aching as he forced me to say things to her that I knew weren’t true, things I hated saying because I knew how much it affected her.

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