A week ago, I watched the life drain from Eric's eye, and I've felt fuck all since. I'm a killer that doesn't regret her actions, but I'm neither a blubbering mess nor am I giddy.
Fuck does that make me crazy? A psychopath?
I've been lying in bed unmoving for a week. Day in and day out, all I do is stare out a giant picture window that overlooks a forest full of green. If I don't move soon, I'm bound to melt into the mattress.
Jace has been babysitting me, and it's sweet, but I no longer feel like his Little Slut. I'm just plain ole Rory. He brings me three meals a day(that I don't eat), talks to my back about random happenings in the community (even though I don't respond), and always promises that everything will be ok. That's a mighty significant promise, but for some reason, I know I can hold him to it.
Sleep has once again become a thing of my past, but not because of night terrors. I'm not reliving erics torture in my dreams. I'm afraid if I close my eyes for too long, he won't really be dead, and I'll be back in that house of horrors instead of in this cozy home with Jace.
The other morning I overheard Jace and Nyx talking outside the bedroom. Nyx said something about Oinkman and Bacon going to town on Eric's corpse. Whatever that means, I guess he was gone within a matter of minutes.
When Jace isn't around, I've heard a lot of noises outside of my room, but I've been too paralyzed to get up and investigate them.
For all I know, Jace could be fucking some skanky bitch in the room next to mine, and I'm hearing their sex noises through the wall. We've only known each other briefly, and with his depraved sexual appetite, I can't put it past him.
As sweet as he's been, Jace hasn't touched me since that night. He owns a colossal luxury complex with a jewelry company in tow and is a hitman. I understand he's busy and can't be with me twenty-four seven, but he hasn't slept a single night next to me since I've been here.
He must not want me anymore, and I'm just a useless broken doll now.
I begin to feel my eyes heavy (I don't know if I can fight my sleep much longer) when the door to the room creaks open. No one other than Jace has stepped foot in this room, so I know it's him and continue to gaze out the window. To my surprise, he comes to the side of the bed I've claimed as mine and kneels in front of me.
"I'm not saying you stink, Little Slut, but the room is a little stale. Why don't you let me draw you a bath."
Little Slut?
Holy shit, he hasn't called me that in days. Who knew two simple words would fill the emptiness inside my soul?
With the tips of his finger, he swipes the greasy loose hairs sticking to the front of my face behind my ear and says, "I'll stay in there with you the entire time, and I've had all your bath essentials brought over from the apartment."
When I don't move, he finally touches me, and it's not in the way I wished he would. He tosses me over his shoulder and hurries to the bathroom where a cast iron Barclay bathtub fills up with sudsy bubbles.
Jace uses a gentle touch to remove the shirt I've been wearing as a nightgown from over my head. He said on the night we got here, he held me in the shower to rinse the blood off of us and then dressed me in one of his T-shirts. I've been wearing it ever since. Once naked, Jace cradles me like a newborn and delicately drops me into the tub. The water is a few degrees below boiling but mixed with my favorite coconut bath oil is soothing to my tense muscles.
In an attempt to relax, I lay my head back against the side of the tub and stare up at the skylight window. A bird is creating a nest in the corner, making me wonder if she's making a home to lay her eggs. The thought of babies makes me caress my belly. If my period doesn't come soon, I'll need to find a way to buy a pregnancy test.
I'm brought out of my baby thoughts when two hands lift my head from the back of the tub and push me to a sitting position. Right after, Jace, and all his naked glory, slips into the tub behind me. He wraps his arms around my center and draws me back to him.
The hairs of Jace's beard tickle my neck when he whispers, "I've missed you, My Little Slut," into my ear. My only response is to scootch my ass away from his hard dick.
"Rory, I'm serious. You can't go on like this, and I won't let you," he says.
He won't let me? Ha, we'll see about that. Now I won't talk even longer to spite him.
Jace fingers my left nipple back and forth between his thumb and pointer finger.
"What happened to Eric isn't your fault. I should have never invited you to that house or made you go through with it."
Is that what he thinks is wrong with me? That I've gone into this fugue state because I regret killing Eric? UGH, My masked man couldn't be more wrong.
My back slides down against his chest until I'm nose deep in water, and Jaces takes my movements for what they are- A way to escape this conversation.
He cups my sex, pulls me up, and says, " If you're going to act like a brat, I'm going to treat you like a brat."
