Iniquitous (The Marked #3)(42)

Understanding flared in his eyes. “Yeah. Of course. I think there’s some of my sweats in the bedroom,” he offered, ticking his chin towards the narrow corridor. “Second door on your left.”

“Great. Thanks.” I turned on my heel and bolted from the room. I couldn’t have been more awkward and uncomfortable if I was trying to win a medal for it.

Reaching the bedroom door, I walked in and closed the door behind myself. The solitude and silence immediately assaulted me as I leaned back on the door and pulled in a shallow breath.

Shit! What the hell was wrong with me? Why was I suddenly feeling like this around Trace? All I’d wanted was to see him again and now that I had him, I couldn’t seem to pull it together to save my life. Something felt off with us.

With me…

I couldn’t put my finger on it.

It had to be all the nerves leading up to seeing him again, I decided. They were messing with my head, that’s all. Plus, I had yet to tell him about what happened between Dominic and me, and if I was completely honest with myself, that was a conversation I was hoping to have a week or two after never. And unfortunately, I knew the moment I walked back into that room, I was going to have to produce some answers for him, whether I was ready to re-live the whole thing or not.

I pulled in another jagged breath.

It’s fine though. I could handle this. Seriously, I’ve handled way worse. All I had to do was tell him what happened—like a story. No big deal. Hell, I’ve told plenty of stories in my time, I reminded myself as I lumbered over to the dresser and pulled open the top drawer. I just needed to breath, that’s all. Just a couple of deep breaths and I’d be ready to go.

Nodding to myself like a crazy person, I shuffled through the neat piles of clothing and wrangling out a sweatshirt and a pair of jogging pants. With my mind on auto-pilot and focused on my breathing, I immediately unzipped the green dress and tossed it into the corner on my way to the connecting bathroom.

I paused in front of the mirror and took a good, hard look at myself. My hair was a hot mess and my face was still bruised, but that wasn’t nearly as off-putting as the thin, silver runes that were running up my arms like the skeletal branches of a dying tree. They looked nothing like the runes that Trace and Ben had on their palms, only further confirming that I wasn’t like them. That I was something else.

The Descendant of Lucifer.

Daughter of Hades.

Bringer of the end of days.

Bile crawled up the back of my throat. I ran to the toilet and dropped hard on my knees. I barely had time to pull my hair back as I spewed the contents of my near-empty stomach into the toilet. Each retch forcing my mind to descend deeper and deeper into that awful place filled with doubt and self-loathing. The place that ran rampant with morbid thoughts of how much better the world would be without me. How much better Trace would be without me.

I shook my head, trying to dislodge the noxious thoughts from my brain.

I couldn’t let my fears overpower me. I needed to take control of myself before I spiraled off into something I wouldn’t be able to climb back out of. Straightening out, I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and dragged myself to the shower. I turned on the hot water, dropped my undergarments, and then forced myself to step under the steaming water. Everything would be better after the shower. I just had to wash away all the dirt and blood and reminders of what happened, and then everything would go back to normal.

I picked up the soap and started scrubbing. I scrubbed so hard that my skin burned under the running water, but somehow, it made me feel better. Like all the pain I was feeling inside finally had a physical place to go. I let the water run over my raw skin for a little while longer and then I washed and rinsed my hair before turning off the water. Stepping out of the shower, I grabbed a clean towel from the open cabinet and wrapped it around my body.

See? I told myself. All better.

I forced myself to ignore the runes that were completely visible now that the dirt and blood had been washed away, and I returned to auto-pilot as I dried the rest of my body.

After getting dressed, I found a rubber band in one of the drawers and pulled my hair back it into a tight ponytail. Drawing in one final lungful of air, I flicked off the light and left the bathroom feeling better about myself and whatever would be coming my way.

One step at a time.

One foot in front of the other.

That’s all I had to do to keep going. I grabbed the doorknob and paused as something green caught my attention from the corner of my eye. The emerald dress I’d been wearing.

I walked up to it with the intention of throwing it in the trash can, but the minute my fingers touched the fabric, a million painful memories smashed through the thin wall around my mind and knocked away the fragile grasp I had managed to get on myself earlier. All consciousness and self-control abandoned me as I began pulling and ripping at the fabric, tearing through the dress as though destroying it would erase everything that had happened to me.

It was only when the bedroom door kicked open that I realized I was on the floor sobbing as tattered pieces of the green dress lay scattered around me like confetti.

Trace didn’t say a word. He crossed the room in a second and swooped me off the ground and into his warm arms. I wanted to tell him that I was perfectly fine and that I could walk on my own, but the sobs wouldn’t let up long enough for me to get the words out. I was a total basket-case coming apart at the seams and Trace just landed a front row ticket to the show. Now playing: The Undoing of Jemma Blackburn, featuring the Daughter of Hades herself.