His Worst Behavior

Chapter Four

Warning: this chapter is sensitive. 

CHAPTER FOUR - I WANT TO FLY

In the morning, I walked into the bathroom for a shower.

The water was running as I stared at my reflection in the mirror. There were dark circles underneath my eyes after a night of zero sleep. I was too busy silently crying. I was gaunt with protruding bones and pale skin. My black hair was lifeless and there was a deadness to my eyes. I didn't recognize myself. I didn't like what I saw. My bottom lip quivered as I began rocking back and forth on my feet.

I gripped the edge of the sink, thinking about the conversation with Roarke. He chose me to have his children. I was being used. He wanted me, but I wanted nothing to do with him. I was a prisoner. I couldn't escape him. He would always catch me.

My eyes lifted, meeting my reflection.

I hated that I couldn't win against him. I hated that I was weak. I balled my hand into a fist and slammed it into the mirror. The glass shattered, raining down into the sink. Pain exploded in my knuckles, but I didn't look. I picked up one of the fragments and shakily looked at myself in it. I was acting impulsively, emotionally, as I shakily dragged it over my wrists. 

This wasn't me. I had never been suicidal, but right now, I had horrible thoughts. 

Roarke suddenly kicked the door open, his expression twisting into horror at the sight of me. He reached for me, but I quickly lifted the glass to my neck. "Don't c-come near me."

I dug the tip into my skin, tears rolling down my cheeks. 

"Put the glass down," he said, his voice gentle. I was shocked by his gentleness, but then I noticed the concern in his eyes. Blood dripped from my wrists, splattering at my feet. He seemed to notice and his shoulders tensed. "Chloe."

My body shivered at my name coming from his lips.

Then, Maurice appeared behind him in the doorway, a gasp leaving her lips. Her hands flew to her mouth, her eyes wide. The pity was unmistakable. 

Of course, Roarke took advantage of the distraction and leaped forward, prying the glass from my hand. I screamed in anger, slamming my hands against his chest, smearing my blood on his shirt. He allowed me to hit him, over and over again, until I burst into sobs and my knees unbuckled beneath me.

He caught me, lifting me up into his arms.

"Go grab the medical kit," Roarke ordered Maurice, carrying me down the hallway. "And, call Dr. Burnett."

Before my body was even placed on his bed, my vision went black.

-

"You need to be gentle with her. . .she is not accustomed to our ways." 

"Your female shouldn't be trying to kill herself. . .you've frightened her. She'd rather die than be here with you."

The voices faded in and out, before disappearing altogether. I wasn't sure how long I was unconscious, but when I finally peeled my eyes open, I felt the pain. In my knuckles. In my wrists. In my heart. My eyes felt heavy from all of the crying recently; they felt swollen as I peered around the bedroom.

There was only one person in the room.

Roarke.

He was seated in a chair in the far corner, watching me. Always watching. He was deadly and quiet. Closed off and mysterious. His jaw strained with the force of his anger, but he didn't say anything. My pulse kicked into overdrive as I glanced at my wrists, seeing them bandaged.