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I closed my eyes and prayed for it to end soon.
He dug his fingers into my shoulders as he finished; the pain being a blissful escape from the attack between my thighs.
‘There you go. I did it. It’s what you wanted,’ he said blearily before haphazardly fastening his trousers and rolling onto my bed.
He didn’t even remove his condom.
Tremors shook my body as I stood and wrapped my arms around myself, hot tears pricking my cheeks. I had wanted him to get hard, but not like that. Not with me being nothing but a rag doll for him to use.
Within minutes, he was snoring.
I looked out of the window into the thick woods beyond. Hoping he hadn’t seen me like that. Even he wouldn’t want me like that.
Pathetic.
I stumbled through to the shower, flipping on the light and looking at my upper half in the mirror. Blood streaked my clothing. When I removed them and threw them in the wash basket, I saw the first blooms of bruises marring the skin over my shoulders.
He hadn’t even kissed me.
What had gotten into him?
He’d always been selfish in the bedroom, but never detached to the same level.
Why was he bleeding? Or was it someone else’s blood? Had he punched someone?
I glanced at the window before stepping into the shower, wondering if he was out there. If he wanted to do what Tommy had done.
Feeling sick, I got into the shower, letting my tears fall freely as I scrubbed every inch of my skin. I still didn’t feel clean. I let the water run over me until it cooled, shivering as I stepped out onto the mat.
That’s when I saw it.
On the steamed mirror there was a heart in the condensation, water drips falling from its outer edge.
He’d been in my bathroom.
I grabbed a towel and wrapped it tight around me as I peered into the hallway, my heart thundering in my chest.
Tommy’s snores were all that I could hear as I made my way through the house, checking every room, and every door and window. The front door was ajar. Tommy hadn’t locked it behind him when he came in. I pressed it shut and double locked it.
The house was empty. Was I relieved? Or had I been hoping to see him? To talk to him? To find out who he was and why he was stalking me?
Stopping in the kitchen, I opened the freezer and pulled out a tub of ice cream, eating it straight from the container with a spoon.
What was happening to my life?
Tommy was acting more crazed every day. And so was I. The heart on the mirror meant the man was in my house. In my bathroom. He could have hurt me.
I really should phone the police and report it, or at least get Maeve’s family’s security firm to help me out. I had done nothing to the locks in my house when I bought it. A security system would help to alert me to any danger.
Tidying away the ice cream tub, I walked through the house to where Tommy lay snoring, his hands still stained red. Perhaps the danger wasn’t outside.
Opening my phone, I searched for Tommy’s name and for news about Gilded Knife. While plenty of articles and fan posts popped up, there was nothing about Tommy being in a brawl. Not yet, at least. Not that anything would come of it. The celebrity world is almost as corrupt as our mafia world. His agent would have the other brawler paid off already and signing a confidentiality agreement. It was half of his job to go around cleaning up Tommy’s messes.
Loosening his laces, I tugged off his shoes and tried my best to manoeuvre him to one side of the bed to make room for myself. He was a dead weight. Had he taken something other than alcohol?
Anger flooded me as I huffed and heaved him over to his side, hoping he wouldn’t throw up on me in the night. I pulled on an old, loose band t-shirt that served as a nightie and brushed my hair with jerky strokes, rage just building in my limbs the more I stared at Tommy. Yet again he’d come into my home and used me without even considering that I might actually enjoy some pleasure myself. He hadn’t cared if he hurt me. He hadn’t listened when I’d told him to stop.
I threw the brush at him in a moment of rage and watched as it bounced off of his leg and clattered to the floor.
