Only You

Chapter 18

Elora

"What's planned for tonight?" I ask even though I haven't gotten a proper answer to that question once so far. I simply don't know how else to break the tense silence now that Alexey and I are alone in the hotel room.

"Actually, I thought about something but I'm pretty sure you won't like it." His honesty startles a laugh from me.

"Okay, go on," I say.

"Well, it's about your hips. Last time just kind of made me think that just avoiding it won't make it any better, you know? I did some research and apparently, your reaction to touch on it might get better if you trained it," he says slowly, watching my reaction closely.

I force myself not to visibly react to his words, to not let my panic show when all it does is prove him right. Even the thought of hands on my scar, that ugly reminder of one moment that ruined something I loved so dearly for me forever makes me slightly nauseous.

I was prepared to feel good tonight, something that Alexey easily makes me, but this won't and I know it.

As if knowing that I was about to turn the idea down, Alexey keeps talking. "Only if you want to, of course. I just thought that the root of your problem is your trigger since you seem fine doing everything else. So if there was a way for you to get over it, we could move on without having to worry about you freaking out at any moment," he says, cutting a little deeper with every word.

Hell, did that man just hear himself? Or am I being sensitive? All I just heard was "You're broken. You need to be fixed because this is inconvenient." God, is this why he always flees after getting me off? I was starting to think that's just how escorts work but now I can't help but wonder if I'm the problem.

I clear my aching throat, the urge to cry almost too strong to fight off. "Actually, I think I'm kind of tired tonight. Maybe it's something I ate or something." I trail off, clearing my throat once more and blinking furiously as I pick up my purse. "Anyways, you're more than welcome to spend the night and you'll be paid all the same but I'll be going now."

I'm already halfway to the door when Alexey speaks up, something urgent in his voice. "Wait, did I say something? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to overstep."

I cut him off, walking faster and shaking my head. "No, don't worry about it. Just need to sleep it off. Bye, Alexey." Before he can even reply, I'm out the door and speed-walking down the corridor, trying desperately to gulp down air past my closing throat.

Something heavy is sitting atop my chest, almost weighing me down enough to make me stop and curl up right here but the thought of someone, especially my date waking in on me like that is enough to keep me going. The last thing I need is to scare him off further by solidifying his assumption that I'm a broken, weird, scared little girl.

I painfully swallow a sob and push out of the building, welcoming the icy sting of the cold air, all the while repeating my mantra. I'm fine. It's not so bad. It's nothing. I'm good.

By the time I unlock my front door and sneak up to my room, I've calmed down enough to manage a smile when my youngest sister pops her head out of her room to see who's making all the noise.

"You're home," Rhea says, stepping into the corridor that connects our rooms. Lifting a teasing brow, she adds, "Not staying overnight at your lover's?"

I stop in my tracks. "My what?" I hiss, mortified.

"Oh, come on. You've been so smiley lately, especially after your nights out, it's obvious you're meeting someone special. So, will you tell me what their name is?"

"No. No to your hypothesis about me having a lover and no to ever telling you a name if there ever is anyone special in my life. No offense, but you're a very loose-tongued drunk and I don't need you to sprout any private information about me at one of our nights out or even worse, a wedding or something." I shudder, shaking my head even as Rhea laughs it off.

"Fair enough but just so we're clear, I'm not that loose-tongued," she says in a way that tells me there certainly is something she hasn't told me. I know better than to ask about it though. If Rhea wants to tell me something, she does. Loudly and in an overly detailed way. But if she doesn't, she won't budge no matter the argument.

My best guess is that it concerns a certain grumpy blonde in our friend group she keeps teasing. Thalia is the same age as Rhea but they couldn't be more different. And yet, the small smiles the blonde reserves exclusively for my little sister whenever she jumps a hug onto the grump isn't lost to me. For someone who claims she doesn't like hugs, she sure as hell never bothers to cut those she receives from my sister short.

The two of us fall into silence, both staring at the other and I'm suddenly grateful there are no lights on around us. Only the faint glow of the moon offers the smallest amount of light, not nearly enough for my sister to identify my puffy eyes and red nose, though I could brush the latter off on the cold.

Despite knowing it's irrational, I'm still scared my sister can see right through me.

Eventually, she says, "Well, if that's all, I'm going back to sleep. Good nighty."

"Good night," I reply, waiting for her door to close before walking further down the corridor to my room. I get ready for bed, trying to keep my mind blissfully blank- and succeeding, right up until my eyes catch on the yellow bicycle figurine.

I let myself drop onto the bed and curl into a ball, hesitantly bringing one of my hands to the swing of my left hip. A faint brush of my pointer finger over the long scar makes me shudder, something ugly growing within me. I don't let myself pull away, no matter how strong the desire is.

Maybe Alexey is right. Maybe getting used to touching and having the scar touched will help me react less but I can't jump into that headfirst. Not yet. If I can hardly stand my own hands on it, I'll certainly hate someone else's. I don't want to hate a thing about what Alexey does.

I keep touching it, over and over until I practically pass out from the exhaustion of the day and the effort to keep my memories at bay all day.

All that work only for them to claim me in my sleep. "Such a pretty skirt, Elora. Did you wear it just for me? Come a little closer, let me take a closer look at the material." I don't want to step closer. I want to run as far away as possible, to cry or scream because whenever I step closer, he makes me feel wrong.

I step closer.

"That's it." Once I'm within reach, his hands shoot forward and he starts fiddling with the edges of my skirt. I hold my breath and keep my body still, barely resisting the urge to close my eyes and cry. His grip on the rich, yellow fabric changes and he pulls me onto his lap in one smooth tug. I bite my lip so I don't cry out and keep biting down when his hands start squeezing the flesh on my narrow hips so I don't say anything wrong.

"See how well we get along when you don't lie? You know you like this. I'm glad you've stopped claiming otherwise." He buries his nose in the curve of my neck, breathing me in and making me cringe so hard I can't stop the shiver rushing down my spine.

"Yes, I know you love me too," he adds in response, misreading my reaction as always. He's wrong. I don't love him. I hate him. I'm disgusted by him. I'm scared of him. I certainly don't love him.

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:( Any guesses on who that man was to her?

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