Pierced (Lucian & Lia #1)(36)
The kitchen seems miles away as I make my way slowly there. Lia is humming while scrambling enough eggs to feed an army. My stomach growls in response to the smell of food after days without it. I pull a stool out and slump in it. Damn, am I actually sweating just from that small amount of activity? I must look as washed out as I feel, because Lia turns, giving me a look filled with sympathy. “It’s almost ready. Do you want butter on your toast?” When I nod, she slathers it on several pieces before reaching up to get glasses out of the cabinet. Her shirt once again rides up, and I grit my teeth. It’s no myth; men are horny in the morning, and even sick, the urge to spread her out over this very counter I’m sitting at is strong. Instead, I push my throbbing cock down from where it seems to be trying to break out of the top of my lounge pants.
Lia puts a plate of perfectly-cooked eggs, toast, and bacon before me. She adds a tall glass of orange juice and a jar of strawberry jelly. In what is probably an embarrassing display of table manners, I attack the plate like a starving animal. When I’ve devoured everything in record time, she silently refills it. I grimace as I note her full plate. “Sorry about that; I guess I was hungrier than I thought.” Now that the empty feeling has been sated, I resume my breakfast at a more-leisurely pace. “What day is it?” Man, when was the last time I had to ask that? I wonder if she should be in class this morning instead of cooking for me.
“It’s Sunday. Sam brought you home on Friday evening while I was here cleaning up. Other than me waking you for medicine, fluids, and um…the bathroom, you slept right through until this morning.”
It’s unsettling to think of losing so much time. My last solid memories are of meetings with some of my development team in our New York office. I haven’t had the flu in years, and it completely kicked my ass. Sam had it last year and, truthfully, I’d wondered why it had taken him an entire week to recover. Hell, I understood now.
I look across the counter at Lia, taking in her beautifully mussed appearance. Her long blonde hair is in a lopsided ponytail on the top of her head…in a bread tie? Her face, devoid of makeup, is flawless. Her blue eyes sparkle, framed by thick lashes, and my shirt collar hangs off one side, exposing the creamy flesh of her shoulder. Most women I know would never be seen in front of a man in less-than-perfect condition, but Lia doesn’t act self-conscious at all; actually, she looks completely comfortable. After seeing me at my worst for the last few days, she probably figures it doesn’t really f*cking matter anymore, and I like that. Clearing my throat, I say, “Thank you for taking care of me. I…hope I didn’t ruin any plans you might have had.”
She takes a sip of her orange juice, seeming pleased by my words. “You’re welcome. I’m glad I could help, and no, I didn’t have any plans. I usually spend the weekend studying, doing laundry, and visiting Debra if I have time.”
“No big parties? Isn’t that the best part of college?” I tease.
She shakes her head, and somehow I already know she isn’t a typical college student. “Nah, that’s not really my thing. I have gone to a few parties with Rose when she refused to take no for an answer, but I don’t enjoy that kind of thing. I’d rather curl up with a good book than watch a bunch of drunks making fools of themselves. I…didn’t have many friends growing up, so crowds kind of bother me.”
The pain that crosses her face is impossible to miss. I find myself wanting to comfort her, wanting to kill the f*cker who put that look there. “Tell me about your life growing up, Lia. Were there good times for you?” She looks agitated, and it’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her to forget my question when she starts talking.
“Good times? No, there were none of those. There were moments that weren’t as bad as others. My real father was never in my life, and my mother spent her whole life reminding me of how I ruined everything for her. I don’t know why she didn’t just give me away; we would have both been better off.”
Dreading the answer, I ask, “Did she beat you?”
Lia shrugs her slim shoulders saying, “She smacked me around, slapped my face when she was angry, threatened me, insulted me. Just depended on her mood.”
“What about your stepfather? Did he hit you?” I already knew the bastard had scarred her back.
“He, um…threw things at me sometimes. Like beer cans, and he liked to slap my butt and insult me.”
“And he never raped you?” Even though I have asked her this before, I need to clarify it. She is tiny and would have been so easy for someone to take advantage of, especially a drunk bastard like her stepfather.
“No…I told you I took care of that.” She shuts her eyes, and I curse as a tear leaks out.
“How, baby? How did you stop him?” I ask softly.
She wipes her cheeks, turning her head away. “He was constantly insulting women who weren’t stick-thin. He rode my mother about her weight. He had…started making comments to me about my body and touching me in small ways at every opportunity. I knew what was coming unless I did something. So, I started to eat…to gorge, until I gained so much weight I barely recognized myself anymore. Kids at school made fun of me, but it worked. He was completely repulsed. I could handle all of his cruel jokes and insults if it meant he wouldn’t touch me in that way, and he didn’t. Eating myself half to death saved me. He and my mother sat around laughing, calling me every version of fat they could think of, but he wasn’t interested in…anything sexual with me. I saved myself.”