Page 75 of When She Unravels
“I said you should exploit the soft spot she may have for you by treating her well, not indulge your BDSM fantasies in front of other people.”
My face heats. “Fuck you.”
“You made Mari so uncomfortable she ran to hide in her room.”
I glare at him. “Fine, no more family dinners with Valentina. I’ll deal with her in private.”
We return to the house, and Ras leaves for the night. I look at the time. It’s nearing midnight, and the house is silent except for the soft buzz of the dishwasher and sounds of the ocean streaming through the open patio doors.
I close them, stop by the kitchen for some water, then head upstairs. American pop music is playing from behind Mari’s door, but she’s not talking to her friends on FaceTime like she used to before everything happened. She doesn’t do much these days besides scrolling on her phone and wandering around the house. Packages arrive from time to time—clothes, bags, fashion accessories—but I’ve never seen her excited about any of them. She never goes out.
I’m about to knock on her door when I stop myself, fist raised midair. The truth is, I don’t know how to help her move on. I’ve tried talking to her, but it never leads anywhere. There’s something inside of her that’s tearing her up, and she won’t tell me what it is. I wish she had someone else to talk to, but there’s no one she trusts enough to share the details of what happened. I’ve always been her closest confidant, but now that she won’t talk to me, I’m at a loss of how to bring her old self back.
Maybe once I’ve taken care of Sal, she’ll be able to attend college in person next year. That would cheer her up.
I move away from her door and continue to the third floor. My bedroom is down the hall from where I put Valentina. When I get closer to her room, I tell myself to keep walking, but then I hear a soft sound, and I halt.
I press my ear to the wood. Sniffling. She’s crying.
Cazzo.Now I have not one, but two miserable women under my roof. Pulling away, I pinch the bridge of my nose.
Maybe I should have gone easier on her downstairs. Her wrists looked nearly raw, and she doesn’t have anything to clean them up.
I stalk back down to the kitchen and grab the first aid kit. I’ll bandage her up and then put her out of my mind like I said I would.
When I walk in, she’s curled up like a shrimp on the bed, her long black hair splayed over a pillow. She scrambles to sit up when she hears me enter and pulls her knees to her chest. “Why are you here?”
Her nose is red and puffy. Her eyes are shiny and wet. An ache appears inside my chest.
“I want to take a look at you,” I say. I sit down on the edge of the bed and reach for her, but she scoots away from me. It makes me want to punch a fucking wall. Her being afraid of my touch is up there with the worst things that ever happened to me.
I show her the first aid kit. “Let me see your wrists. I’ll bandage them up and leave.”
She studies the box suspiciously, her brows pinching together. I wait. Finally, she gives a tiny nod and extends her arms.
The angry pink marks look awful on her delicate wrists. I take out an antiseptic wipe and gently dab at the spots where her skin is broken. There aren’t many, but she hisses at each one I touch. I bite down on the inside of my cheek so hard I taste blood.
She lets me dress her shallow wounds in silence, leaving me to ruminate on my actions. Ras is right. I don’t have it in me to interrogate her this way again.
Why doesn’t she want to go back home?
There’s something there. A piece I’m missing. A secret she’s yet to tell.
I finish tying her bandages and meet her tired gaze.
“All done.”
She pulls her hands back, lies down, and turns away from me.
“Do they feel bette—”
“You said you would leave.”
The cold ferocity of her words cuts through me like a sharp blade. I’ve earned it, didn’t I?
I made my bed, and now I have to lie in it.
CHAPTER22
