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I head down a narrow hallway, assuming the bathroom is at the end. But I only take a half-step in before freezing.
Adam wrecked it in here, too. But even worse than that is the red lipstick he smeared onto her mirror, writing out dum bitch.
The irony of the spelling error isn’t lost on me.
“What?” Wren tries to get a peek, but I step outside.
“Elliot,” I say down the hallway, gesturing with my head to the bathroom.
He stalks inside, swearing under his breath when he sees the mirror.
“What?” Wren tries to wiggle free from my arms, but I clamp down on her. With a groan, she gives up, flopping dramatically and letting her head fall back.
“Do you have makeup wipes, love?” Elliot begins searching through all the shit that’s scattered on the floor, careful not to step on anything.
“Yeah, they’re on the shelf above the toilet. Well—they should be, anyway.”
Elliot turns, scratching his head, before leaning down and snatching a package from the floor. “Found them.”
He gets to work wiping at the mirrors. Wren glares impatiently at me, but I ignore her. I’m too focused on taking deep breaths and too scared that if I look at her, she’ll think the anger strangling my entire body is directed at her.
Elliot steps back from the mirror with a nod. He passes us, giving Wren a quick kiss on her forehead before crossing the hall and switching on the light to the bedroom. As I set Wren on the bathroom counter, I glance inside.
It’s as much of a wreck as the rest of the apartment, with pretty sundresses strewn everywhere, her lamp knocked over, and her laptop smashed to pieces on the floor.
God, that bastard.
“Is it bad?” She looks up at me, her impatience from earlier gone.
I take a look at her foot, gently wiping away the blood with some toilet paper. Breathing a sigh of relief, I say, “No. Just a cut. I don’t think you even have a piece of glass stuck in there.” I cut her a hard look. “Which means you’re lucky. It could’ve been worse.”
Her shoulders sag, and she looks down. “I’m sorry. I really don’t know what I was thinking.”
It’s not your fault, I want to say. Because, really, it’s mine. I never should’ve let her walk in here alone. If I hadn’t, Adam wouldn’t’ve thrown a mug at her, and she wouldn’t be nearly as shaken.
Apparently, my thoughts are displayed right on my face, because Wren shakes her head. “Don’t blame yourself, Rhett. He’s never been violent like that before.”
My heart stutters at her words. “Like that? What do you mean?”
She just shrugs, staring at my chest.
“Wren.” My voice is harsh as I grab her chin, forcing her to look at me.
The color drains from her face, and she stops breathing. One look in the mirror tells me that I’ve finally snapped. The anger that should be safely tucked away is on full display, and it’s probably terrifying for her to see.
“Fuck,” I mutter, releasing her. I place my hands on either side of her, bowing my head until it hits her shoulder. “Breathe, sweetheart.”
She does, even if it’s a bit shaky. “He just throws things when he’s angry with me sometimes. But he’s never aimed at me before. That’s all.” Her voice is small, almost afraid, and I hate that I’m the reason why.
“Did he scare you?”
I feel her nod.
“Then he shouldn’t’ve fucking done it.” I raise my head until I’m looking into her soft eyes. “I’m sorry, Wren. I shouldn’t have been that harsh with you.”
“You’re not angry with me?” she whispers.
“God, no.” I kiss her lightly. “I don’t think I could ever be angry at you, sweetheart.”
