Page 89 of Glass

His violet eyes examine me closely, but he doesn’t argue as I pass him, twisting in the doorway. “Night.”

Rafe shifts. “Call if you need us. Either of us. Promise me.”

“I promise,” I whisper. I offer them both a smile before I push the door closed.

I crawl under the covers, pulling them over me until I’m covered.

It takes a minute.

And then the shaking begins again. Starting in my hands, working its way up.

I told them I was fine.

Iamfine.

They came before the worst happened.

But I can’t stop seem to stopshaking.

33 – Silas

The red flows off my skin, swirling away down the drain as I scrub.

Scrub the last, odious traces of Lazarus Mayhew from beneath my nails. Black joins the red, dirt and blood and who the fuck knows what else mixing together and sliding away from my skin.

Turning my hand over, I examine my knuckles. The skin is split, cracked, my own blood oozing out.

And then I turn, and I slam my fist back into the wall.

Crack.

Again.

It’s not enough. The small bite of pain pales in comparison to the look in her eyes when Kit pulled her up, away from that fucking rat of a man who now lies in pieces less than a mile away from where she sleeps.

My breathing is harsh as the water sluices over me. She should have been safe under my fucking roof. I should have known better than to have him here, than to even fucking suggest it.

I should never have put her at risk.

The water turns cold, icy, and I embrace it, tipping my head up and attempting to chase the fire from my veins. My adrenaline is surging, the activity of the last hour not nearly enough to put the flames out.

Dismemberment was not enough for him. I could have ripped him apart over days, weeks, months. It still would not have beenenough.

I debate going downstairs, going to join them, but I can’t look at her, can’t see the fear in her eyes, my own fuckingfailurereflected back at me.

Because I’m scared. Scared that she’ll look at me differently.

The twins will take care of her. They’re far, far better than me at that.

They’re what she needs right now.

Eventually, I step out of the shower, wrapping a towel around my waist. I should wrap my knuckles, but my head is still turning over the images in my mind.

I can’t stop seeing it, the memory burned into my retinas even as I scrubbed his blood from the floor, every fucking inch of it so she didn’t have to be faced with it.

When I eventually walk into the bedroom, it takes me a moment to realize that someone is tapping on the door.

The gentle taps are soft. Cautious.