My mind is in a haze as I dress in record time and run from his bedroom, down two flights of stairs and out the front door. I only make it past a few houses before I stop, realizing I left my handbag inside. I have no money. No phone. No car.
I can’t go back in there. I just can’t.
What am I going to do?
I’ll run all the way home if I have to.
I take off at a lightning pace. My chest hurts, my lungs burn, and my muscles ache all over from everything we did last night, but I welcome the pain. It’s better than feeling numb.
Shame sets in.
I feel dirty.
Used and abused.
I need a shower, I need to scrub every inch of my body. I don’t want any remnants of him left on me. Not one morsel.
Bastard.
“Emma…” I hear as I pass. “Shit, Em, are you okay?” I glance over my shoulder as I continue moving. Grayson’s standing by the opened door of his car, that’s parked by the curb.
I don’t stop.
I can’t stop.
I speed up.
A chink in the sidewalk catches the toe of my boot, sending me stumbling forward. My arms flank out in front of me as I try to regain my balance, but it’s no use, I’m too far gone and go down like a ton of bricks, hitting the ground with a loud thud.
My left wrist and knees take the brunt of the impact. A small whimper falls from my lips as pain radiates up my arm, my skin burning from where it scrapes along the coarse concrete.
Grayson’s crouching beside me in an instant. “Jesus Christ, Em, are you okay?”
“No, no, I’m not,” I say, bowing my head.
The tears return with a vengeance, but this time they’re mixed with humiliation. His soothing voice and the tender way his hand rubs over my back only spur me on further. Suddenly, racking sobs consume me.
“Fucking hell.” Grayson stands, scooping me into his arms. I bury my face in his chest, letting it all out. I know I’m going to regret this later, but I’m so distraught, I can’t control it. “It’s okay… I’ve got you,” he says as he starts walking. “Let me take you inside and clean you up, you’re bleeding.”
“I want to go home.”
“Let me clean you up first, then I’ll take you home. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Grayson sits me on the edge of his breakfast bar after we enter his kitchen, then he passes me a few tissues to wipe my eyes. He darts around opening cupboards and drawers, grabbing what he needs to tend to my wounds. Coming back to stand in front of me, he hands me a glass of water before laying his supplies out on the countertop.
“Thank you.” I take a sip as he goes to work.
Picking up a warm damp cloth, he starts by wiping the blood from my knees. “I’m sorry if this hurts you,” he says while he pours some antiseptic onto a cotton ball. I hiss as he gently dabs it on both knees. “I’m sorry, Red.”
“It’s okay.”
I look up at him and give him a small smile. Grayson covers my scrapes with Band-Aids before moving to my hands.
“It’s just the left one,” I say and wince when I try to move it.
“Do you think we should get an x-ray?”
“No, I’m sure it’s just a sprain.”
“I’m going to contact the city tomorrow and complain about the lift on the path.”
“I should’ve been watching where I was going.”
“I’m sorry I distracted you,” he says. His eyes move up to mine. “What happened, Red? What did he do?”
He ripped my heart out and then stomped on it.
I shrug. “He had sex with me and then told me to leave.”
Grayson’s jaw clenches. “I’m going to fucking kill him.”
“Don’t,” I say, placing my hand on his arm. “It was my fault…” I sigh. “I should’ve known better.”
“Fuck that shit, Red. Jesus. I knew he’d fuck this up eventually.”
“Can we just not talk about it?” I turn away from his penetrating glare.
“He likes you… no, he more than likes you. It’s just hard for him to admit it.”
“Yeah, right,” I say, rolling my eyes. “I thought he did, too, but I was a fool. He just wanted to fuck me. He got what he wanted, so I’m of no use to him now.”
“Emma… fuck. There’s so much about his past you don’t know. Trust me when I say this has nothing to do with you. He sabotages all the good in his life. He honestly thinks he’s not worthy.”
Grayson reaches for my hand and when he turns it’s over to inspect my palm, I hear him suck in a sharp breath the second his eyes land on my scar. “What the fuck, Emma?” The color drains from his skin as his gaze moves from my wrist to my face, then back to my wrist.
I snatch my hand away as shame rockets through me.
He grabs my right hand and flips it over. “Fuck,” he grates out when he sees the other scar.
“It was a long time ago.”
“Why? Why would you do this to yourself?” He lets me go, fisting his hair in his hands. “This all makes sense now.”
“What do you mean?”
“I gather he hasn’t told you anything about Anastasia?”
“No, why. Who is she?”
“His ex.”
“Oh…”
“It’s not what you think, Emma. Ask him… ask him about her.”
“I don’t care who she is, she can have him. I want nothing to do with him.”
When tears rise to my eyes Grayson pulls me into his arms. “Emma, she’s the reason he thinks he can’t have happiness. She’s the reason he told you to leave.”
His words confuse me. “Why? Does he want to get back with her?”
“No,” he scoffs. “She died. She died a long time ago. And since then, he’s never been the same.”
I gasp.
“How?”
“As I told you once before, it’s not my story to tell, but it’s why he’s pushing you away. Trust me on this.”
His words swim around in my mind, but at the end of the day, I don’t care what his story is. Ashton could’ve talked to me, but instead, he chose to throw me away like a piece of trash.
We remain silent as Grayson cleans the small graze on my palm before wrapping a bandage around my wrist. My attention remains transfixed on the ocean through the large glass windows.
“Emma, look at me.”
He searches my face when I turn my attention back to him. There’s concern swimming in his exquisite green eyes.
“Can you promise me something?”
“What?”
“Promise me you won’t do anything stupid.”
“Like try to kill myself again?”
“Yes.”
“Huh. Over Ashton… that’s rich. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. He’s not worth it.”
“I’m serious. This isn’t a joke.”
“Look, I was young when it happened. I was going through a lot at the time. I’m not that person anymore, and I know it’s not the answer. The truth is, even when I did this…” I say, holding out my wrists, “… I didn’t want to die. I just wanted them to stop. I was desperate… I was tired of hurting.”