Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
Sarah
T oday was the longest shift of my life. I was too lost in a dizzying cyclone of emotions to keep my mind on my work or my patients. Hatred and self-loathing swirl around the desire to love someone I shouldn’t. I can’t love him.
But I fucking do.
I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror. I look like I feel, and I feel like a mess. This should be better than the constant worry that I’m being watched, which once consumed me and coated me in a thick layer of dread, but it’s not better. It’s so much worse.
I step toward the window and grip the curtains I hung just a few days ago. I feel like I’m losing my mind as I wrench them open and stare into the darkness.
Maybe I am going crazy, because I swear I can see a shadow lurking by a large tree. I can’t make out any features, just the human-like shape on the grass beside the trunk. Holding my breath, I wait to see if the figure will move. No one can sit still forever. But maybe my mind is playing tricks on me, because the shadow remains as still as stone.
Instead of pulling the curtains closed, I ball the fabric in my fists and rip them down. The tension rod tears paint from the wall as it bends and falls to my feet. Tears sting my eyes. I told him he couldn’t come back, that he had to stay away from me. Now he’s finally honoring my demands, and I have no one to blame but myself.
Then the shadow moves.
It could be another game my exhausted mind has conjured up, but I’m willing to play. I step back from the window and grip the hem of my shirt, pulling it over my head with slow, deliberate movements—my best attempt at seduction. I go for the bra clasp behind my back and let the straps fall. When I step toward the window, I keep my breasts on display for the man I should hate.
Disappointment washes over me when I realize the shadow is gone. I probably imagined it in the first place.
“Get your shit together,” I whisper to myself. “He’s not there.”
With a sigh, I turn on the shower and wait for the water to warm, then remove my skirt and step beneath the spray. Hot water taps against my body, and I lean against the wall and let it wash over me. Instead of thinking about Maxim’s selfish touch, I focus on the beads of water as they hit my skin.
Once I wash my hair and body, I feel a small semblance of comfort, as if I bathed the dirt and decay from me. I wasn’t covered in physical dirt, obviously, but my mind is filthy and fucked up.
I turn off the shower and stay inside until the steam dissipates. I open the glass door just enough to slip my arm out and fumble for the towel on the rack. My fingers meet warm metal, so I lean further in case my towel slid down the rack.
A towel pushes into my waiting hand. Almost as if someone held it toward me.
I shake off that thought. Maxim would never offer a towel. He’d just take it away and force me to stand naked in front of him.
I wrap the towel around my body and ease open the door, simultaneously afraid and intrigued by my imaginings. When I step onto the tile floor, there’s no one in the bathroom with me. I start to think I imagined the towel thing too, but then footsteps hit the tile floor and my eyes rush to the doorway.
Maxim.
His haunted gaze pierces me, burning a hole through my chest, but his gaze leaves the curves of my breasts and rises to meet my eyes.
“Why were you giving me a show, doc? Aren’t you sending me back to jail? Isn’t that what that little manilla folder was?”
That means he watched me go into my job.
“You’re still stalking me?” I ask.
“I’m watching you. That’s all. I think I deserve to know if you’re sending me back.”
I swallow. “Maxim, listen?—”
“Don’t give me an excuse. Just tell me the truth. I know I don’t deserve it, but I need it.”
“I’m trying to! Will you just shut up for a damn minute?” A frustrated exhale leaves my lips when a smirk crosses his face. “I went to your old house. The one you grew up in. Where...the incident happened.”
The smirk drops, and Maxim’s throat bobs, as if even the mention of his childhood home puts him right back inside that little unattached hole in the ground.
“I bet that got your psychological panties wet,” he says. “Did you find what you were looking for?”
“I found the truth.”
“And?”
“I saw the cellar. The scratch marks. Everything you told me was the truth.”
He swallows. “Okay, so you saw the house of horrors. Now what?”
“I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”
“I’m not a very believable guy. And I need to apologize as well. I’m sorry I took advantage of you. I’m sorry for the man in the mask.” He takes a deep breath, his eyes never leaving my face. “But I’m not sorry for fucking you or making you come around my fingers. On my cock. On my chin. You were the one good thing I’ve ever had in my entire life, something I will never get close to having again, and I won’t apologize for getting to experience that.”
A bright blush creeps down my neck and spreads across my chest. Though his apology is wrapped in a narcissistic blanket, it’s still an apology. It’s still an improvement of character. In some small way, I’ve made a change. I’ve impacted his life.
And isn’t that all I’ve ever wanted from him?
I grip the top of my towel and spread the fabric. His eyes finally leave my face and caress every inch of my body with a stare that I’d begun to miss. No one has ever looked at me so intently, with so much desperate need.
He doesn’t speak as I drop the towel to my feet. Maxim has little control and so few morals, but he doesn’t even take a step toward me.
What is he waiting for?