Page 183 of Lessons in Cruelty

“But I was just in there.”

I turn my back on her so I can drag one of the duffel bags onto the bed to look for something to sleep in. One of Bastian’s hoodies would have been nice.

“We must have just missed each…” I trail off.

“What’s wrong?” Melissa’s bed squeaks, and I jolt like I just stuck my fingers in a wall socket.

Do I seriously have PTSD, and my trigger is Melissa’s bed spring?

Fuck, if only Bastian was still a therapist. He’d cream his pants over this.

She shuffles over to me in her bunny slippers, then peers over my shoulder.

“Oh, I know,” she sighs, patting me on the shoulder, then getting back into bed. “Hate opening them too. Sacrilege.”

I poke a finger through one of the plastic wrapped bundles neatly arranged inside the duffel bag. Then I tear it with a kind of calm abandon. The smell of freshly laundered clothes puffs into my face.

That scent could have easily landed itself in second or third place in my overall ‘things I’d love to smell again’ list.

If I didn’t feel so fucking violated.

And that’s saying a lot after what just happened under this bed.

Bastian had all my clothes laundered. Those that I’d brought along with me on this adventure of a lifetime, anyway. Was it because they smelled bad? Because they looked bad? Or because he just knew it was probably a while since they’d been washed?

He’s everywhere, fixing shit I didn’t ask him to fix. And the fucked up part? Some pathetic piece of me wants to let him.

“Hey, you almost done? I want to turn off the light.”

“Yeah, sure,” I mumble, dragging an oversized t-shirt out of the duffel and holding it up to my nose. One of Bastian’s hoodies would have been nice.

I freeze up.

God, when did I start thinking shit like that?

Melissa groans. “Could you do it for me? It’s all the way over there.”

I glance at her over my shoulder. She’s reaching for the night lamp, her fingers inches away.

“Don’t stop,” I say. “You’re so close.”

Her eyes go wide. I keep staring at her, refusing to look away. She lunges forward and flicks the switch, throwing the room into darkness.

I smile as I turn back to my bed, letting my towel drop to the floor and pulling the t-shirt over my head. Then I scoop all my junk off the foot of the bed, not batting an eye as it all crashes to the carpet.

“Jesus,” Melissa mutters from the bed. “Keep it down.”

She left herself wide open on that one, but I don’t take the bait. I’m done with this day.

But even after I crawl into my first proper bed in months, and I close my eyes, and I slow my breathing…sleep evades me.

I can’t stop thinking about Kai. About the awful thing he did to me.

How fucking good it felt.

How badly I want him to do it again.

And who’s telling when he’s going to strike again, now that he knows where I sleep at night?