Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 104165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
I get a grunt back that I’ll assume means yes. After climbing on the bed beside him, I open the little tube of antibiotic cream and then look down. Immediately I’m swallowing back tears again. Is there even enough in this small tube for his big back and all the damage here?
I should take him to the hospital. He needs stitches.
But when I tell him so, he only grunts again, turning his head to the side. “Just use the butterfly bandages. They work fine.”
I grit my teeth together and snap on some gloves. “Who usually does this for you?”
His back shifts slightly as he shrugs. “Sometimes it’s fine just wearing light shirts and taking antibiotics if there’s a problem. If it’s bad, I call in a nurse I have on call. She’s discreet.”
I stare down at the gory mess in front of me. “You don’t consider this bad?”
“Mild.”
I swallow at his words, looking at the older scars of crisscrossing pink raised skin. There’s no inch of his back that’s not scarred. And the rest of his torso and arms are covered in tattoos that must’ve taken hours upon hours.
He said he was a sadist, but he’s a liar. He made my skin tender with the caning, it’s true, but it didn’t even leave a mark… whereas this…
I suck in a deep breath, twist off the top of the antibacterial ointment, and set to work. I hate touching the fresh wounds, even with the most ginger of touches. He tries not to flinch, but he can’t help it. I try to work as quickly and efficiently as I can.
There are seven fresh lashes. Some are shorter, but there’s one especially vicious one that stretches from his shoulder to his buttocks, crisscrossing the others. Everywhere it crosses the other wounds, the flesh is split horribly. How can he consider this mild? I run out of butterfly clips and have to go back to the bathroom for more. That entire drawer is filled with them. As if he always knows there will be a next time.
I swipe my tears for the umpteenth time with my shoulder as I continue the macabre work.
“Donny, please,” I beg quietly, throat raw. “Promise me you won’t do this anymore.”
He’s quiet a long time as I stretch out the roll of bandaging down the long lash-mark and tape it down.
“I dunno how to stop.”
“You’ll stop because I’m here now,” I say fervently. “There’s no need for it anymore. He was a demon, but he’s gone and I’m here. We won’t let him win. Do you hear me, Domhnall?” I demand, unspooling more bandaging from the roll. “We won’t let him win. This is our life now. You and me together. And we’re taking it fucking back.”
Beneath me, Domhnall starts to shiver.
“Donny?” I ask. “Shit, you must be freezing. I’m almost done, then we’ll get you under the covers.”
He nods but doesn’t say anything. I quickly finish bandaging his back, then I start to pull the covers up over him.
But I barely get them up over his butt before he’s twisting in bed and grabbing me around the waist.
“Careful, your bandages!” I cry.
He just grunts something like, “They’re fine,” before burrowing his head against my stomach, big arms wrapped around my waist. I blink down at him, this hulking giant wrapped around me like I’m his only comfort in this world.
I drag some pillows behind my back and settle against the headboard, then sink my fingers into his hair.
“Shhh, it’s all right, love,” I whisper, more tears pricking at my eyes even though I’d have thought I was out of tears by now. “It’s all going to be all right. Shhh, now. Everything’s going to be all right.”
His face burrows even tighter against my stomach and I blink up at the ceiling and cradle him to me. “It’s all right now, love.” And in the quiet of my billionaire’s mansion, I pray that my words are true.
THIRTY
DOMHNALL
I woke up from a nap with Brooke still cradling me against her stomach in her lap. I pulled away and sat up, feeling strange. Stranger than I can ever remember feeling.
I felt drugged with comfort and… happiness. Like it was the first time in maybe my whole life that I’d felt what people mean when they say they feel at home.
Which freaked me the fuck out, so I immediately launched out of bed and asked Brooke if she was hungry. I’m supposed to be the one taking care of her.
Professor Roberts visited in the late afternoon and had a session with Brooke. I was worried about how it would go.
Alright. I was fucking terrified Brooke would see the light and leave with her. But Brooke just came out looking thoughtful and said she’d rather not talk about it. I was careful not to ask or pry. I’m trying a new thing called not-being-an-asshole. I don’t like it.