Limitless Love (Lotus House #4)(32)
I shook my head. So stupid. Fantasizing about a man I couldn’t even have sex with yet. Yet. That was the one word that glimmered like a ray of hope in my subconscious. When I’m better, when the stitches are removed and I’m healed, he’s going to want to have sex with me. Eventually. Hopefully.
Uggh. It felt as though I was head-shrinking myself. The back and forth, the what ifs, the will he or won’t he, was making me crazy. Certifiable. Why couldn’t I just believe the words he’d said to me?
He enjoyed our family.
He wanted me.
He loved Lily.
Take the risk.
Try.
Setting the towel down on the vanity, I glanced at my naked form. Everything about me from the front seemed so average. Normal B-cup breasts, slim figure, shapely hips, a small, rounded belly I hadn’t been able to lose since having Lily. Still, I wore a bikini confidently. Well, I used to be able to. Then again, maybe the damage wasn’t so bad. I shifted to the side, just barely catching sight of the small wisps of strings from the black sutures in my shoulder blades.
Fear tingled up my spine and closed around my throat as I reached for the hand mirror. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, turned around, and held up the mirror so I could see my back. Cotton coated my throat as I warred with myself to open my eyes.
Just open your stupid eyes. It’s easy. Open them, look at the wound, and be done. Over. Simple.
I opened my eyes and focused on the mirror. My hand shook, and my entire body trembled as I took in the carnage reflected back at me. From my hip up to my shoulder blade was a long, jagged, puffy pink line, held together with black sutures. It reminded me of those dressing gowns from the olden days, where a set of black buttons ran from the waist all the way up the spine to the neck. Only, these were no buttons and not nearly as pretty. It was ghastly.
The more I took in, the more acid swirled in my stomach. My mouth watered and I tried to swallow it back, but I couldn’t. My chest heaved and I covered my mouth. I barely made it to the toilet, where I threw up violently. The images of my disgusting back flashed at me like a camera lens clicking madly. The sexy line of my back, the one feature I’d always appreciated about myself, had been destroyed forever.
Every heave shredded the tender stitches, but I couldn’t stop. For long minutes I gagged and expelled every scrap of food and drink I’d put into my body until there was nothing but bile, yet I still choked. The rolling waves didn’t stop, though I did my best to breathe through them, tears running down my cheeks, my nose and throat burning like white-hot fire.
Eventually I got control of my stomach and the violent physical response and pushed back onto my heels. For a long time I let the tears fall, cuddled my legs to my chest, and cried.
The man I’d loved, married, chose to bring a child into the world with did this to me. He hurt me. Repeatedly. The anger inside me threaded with the revulsion to make a heady mix of sheer hate. Kyle was still out there. He hadn’t been caught. And me… I’d been holed up in my house healing from what that bastard did to me. And then there was Clayton. Good, masculine, kind, caring, handsome Clayton. The man I promised to try with. Try and be what he needed. But what if I couldn’t? What then? Would he leave too? Kyle had no problem leaving me for my sister. Leaving Lily. Would Clayton do the same when he figured out I wasn’t what he needed? When I couldn’t give him the perfect woman?
Self-loathing slithered up my throat, but I choked it back down. No. I wouldn’t cry another tear. No more. I was stronger than that, and it was time I proved it to everyone. Proved it to myself.
Slowly I eased up, rinsed out my mouth, and brushed my teeth. I stared unseeing into the mirror, not recognizing the woman standing there. She was pale, her cheeks sunken in, her hair a tangled mess. Pink blotches ran up and down her chest.
I wiped my mouth and tossed the towel at the image; I hated her. This wasn’t me. But it was. The new body I’d have to live with.
On instinct I threw a camisole over my head and rushed to my closet. I slapped at each hanger until I reached my designer dresses.
“You’re gone.” I pulled out a white dress with an open back, dropped it to the floor, and kicked it aside. I grabbed another, a red number I absolutely loved. I’d worn it to one of Mila’s gallery showings.
“You too!” I practically screamed, tears forming and spilling over my cheeks, even though I’d sworn I wouldn’t shed another. It was like the hate was pouring out of me. The disgust urged my forward motion.
“Moe?” I heard Mila’s voice from the entrance of my room, a good distance from where I stood in my walk-in closet. I ignored her, set on the task ahead.
My fingers wrapped around a sexy little black dress with a cowl in the front and the back. “Fuck you!” I ripped the dress off the hanger and tossed it to the floor.
“Moe, what on earth is going on?” Mila sounded worried and strained as she took in the growing pile of clothes around my feet.
I laughed heartily but didn’t feel joy. No, all I felt was hate. And anger. Lots of anger. A bright-blue summer dress was next. I’d worn it to Genevieve and Trent’s wedding. An amazing day filled with love, laughter, and hope for the future. It was a gorgeous piece that had looked better on me than it did on the hanger. Only, it had spaghetti straps, and now that I would have a scar up the right side of my back, it would be hideous.
“No one wants to see the disgusting part of my back, so this dress is out!” I hollered at no one in particular and tossed the dress on the floor. That one hurt. Not physically but emotionally, because I’d worn it on a great day I would have liked to remember the next time I wore it.