Page 97 of Beautiful Beast

“Adam…” I have to clear my throat because it’s both dry and sore. “It’s okay… I…”

“Jesus.”

There is a whole lot of noise as I imagine Adam scrambling off the bed before the lights suddenly click on and bathe the room in light.

He’s completely naked, his chest marked from where I clawed him and his forearm bleeding from where Buster bit him. The horror and self-loathing marring his face breaks my heart, and I hope that I can still fix us.

I hope it’s not too late.

Buster scrambles onto my lap and I stroke his fur, comforting both of us. “It’s okay,” I whisper into his neck. He still smells like a puppy, and it’s like a balm for my soul.

“Belle…” Adam rushes over to me and gently runs his fingertips across my throat, which I imagine is bruised if how much it hurts is any indication.

Buster growls, but I tell him it’s okay and he quiets. My furry best friend’s muscular body is still tense and ready to protect me in round two, though, and I love him so much. If it wasn’t for him, I could be dead right now.

“Oh, fuck,” Adam groans in dismay, his face in his hands. “What have I done? I’m so sorry.”

“Were you… asleep?”

“I took the fucking drugs. I should have been out cold until the morning. Fuck! This is exactly why I said you can’t sleep here, why I can’t be trusted when I’m asleep and not in control of what I’m doing. And now I hurt you.”

“What exactly happened?”

My throat hurts like hell, and my voice sounds like I have a terrible cold. I should probably be scared, probably be running, but now that Adam is awake, I’m instantly not afraid anymore.

When he’s awake, I’m safe.

“I don’t know exactly,” he admits. “Night terrors. Flashbacks. Sometimes, I go to the fucking jungle at night and relive my nightmares in my nightmares. It’s fucked up. And I know when it happens because I wake up with bloody fists and broken shit in the apartment. But I never remember actually doing anything. And now I’ve hurt you.”

His eyes blaze with emotion, and I want to reach out and wipe the tears from his cheeks, but I’m shaking so badly from the adrenaline crash that I don’t trust myself.

“And you took…”

I hate the thought that he has to drug himself just to keep me safe – not that it worked – but it’s also not safe for him to be having violent rages while he sleeps. He could end up hurting or even killing himself without even being consciously awake.

“Doxepin.” He scrubs his hands roughly over his face. “Jesus, Belle. I am so fucking sorry. I can’t believe I laid my hands on you. Just like my fucking dad.”

“No!” I cry. “It’s not the same thing. You didn’t even know you were doing it!”

“But I still did it,” Adam whispers. “I still hurt you. The end result is the same. Your perfect, beautiful skin is bruised from my hands.”

“I’m okay,” I say, but tears spill down my cheeks when I think about what could have happened tonight.

“We can’t see each other anymore,” Adam says flatly. “It’s not safe for you to be with me. I need to just be alone.”

“Adam…”

When he raises his head to look at me, he scans my face before more tears roll down his cheeks and he lets out a strangled, agonized sound.

“You look terrified. You’re scared of me. And that kills me. I can’t… You’ve brought so much good and happiness into my life. I hate that we’re ending our relationship with you hating and fearing me. Tonight was bad enough, and I won’t allow a repeat.”

“I’m not scared of you,” I say quickly. “I… I don’t know what I am. I’m just… unsettled right now.”

“You need to go home,” Adam insists.

“You have PTSD.”

He grimaces and gets up to start pacing. Adam is happiest and most productive when he’s mobile, and mental health conversations aren’t easy to have, let alone right after something horrific happens.

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