Page 5 of Hearts Etched in Glass (The Afton Adders #2)

Death Wish, Royale Lynn we can get you cleaned up. I have some of Bobby’s clothing and I think they will fit you darling.” He nods his head in agreement, then we head in that direction.

Biscuit stays outside on patrol as Marcus follows me up the stairs to take a shower. My bathroom is very extravagant. I may thank my dear Bobby for that. The counter tops are granite, with turquoise tiles covering the floor. The walls are a light blue, painted with bright pink petunias and poppies.

As I grab Marcus some extra clothing and return to the washroom, my feet are glued in my tracks. Marcus is standing stark ass naked, and though I have seen many nude individuals as a nurse, it is hard to look away from his form.

I follow the path of corded muscles from his forearm up to his olive toned shoulders and 5 o'clock shadow.

I notice some small bruises peppered across his back and wonder what gang activity he got those from.

He stretches his arms over his head and every single muscle delectably tenses with the movement.

Hell, even his ass cheeks tense, alongside his tan calves and into — .

My thoughts are cut off as he turns towards me, and I freeze from being caught in my gawking state.

Our eyes lock as we hang suspended in this scenario. I feel like a fox, caught in a trap.

What do I do? How do I not make this awkward?

I’ve seen many naked humans, why am I freaking out right now?

Probably because I am objectifying my fiancé’s best mate.

Jesus, I’m a fucking harlot.

Then Marcus moves. His strides confident and calm as he comes closer, gently taking the towels and clothing from my grasp.

“Thank you, Tilly, I am so sorry you saw me like this.” He tries to take the items from me, but my lips begin to move of their own awkward accord.

“You are a naughty, naughty boy Marcus. Don’t do that again.” I playfully shake my head at him, and I have no idea where or why I thought that statement was a great idea. But I do notice Marcus’s cheeks heat at my words and his throat bobs, as he nervously swallows.

Oh ?

I can’t help it, but my curiosity gets better of my judgment. I turn my head to assess his manly appendage, and my fleeting theory was correct. He is slightly aroused by some scolding. Peering up at his face, I notice his lips are pursed and his normal olive complexion is now completely red.

“What do you want me to do now?” He questions with such a heady tone it makes something in my core tighten. In surprise I shove the clothes at him and shout, “Take a fucking bath!”

His head turns back to look at me in confusion. “Do you want me to take a bath, or a shower? The shower head is running.” I push Marcus’s large form back into the washroom.

“Take whatever you like dear, sorry! Just get washed,” I shout, then panic as I slam the door in his face.

Oh my God I am a terrible fiancé.

My thoughts begin to spiral as I try to regain my breathing from the panic of guilt and stupidity.

I’m a terrible fiancé and a terrible daughter.

My thoughts collide within my soul as I go to my room and silently shut the door, the sounds of the shower settling behind me in contrast to the raging war erupting in my mind.

Bobby deserves better than me .

I put that man through so much hell and now this. I’m a colossal failure to my parents. Forcing myself to sit on the wooden floor of my bedroom, I huddle between my nightstand and the door. I cup my hands over my ears, trying to breathe out the pressure building within me.

It needs to be released. It beckons me.

I whimper to myself as I try to fight the thoughts, but my demons have grabbed hold of my logic and self-worth and shoved them deep down into a cavern I cannot reach.

So, I crawl to my nightstand and with a shaky breath, I retrieve my blade.

A blade I’ve had for as long as I can remember.

My tiny sinful secret. It has helped me ease the pressure and strain that I had felt as a child being bombarded by judgment and cruelty at the hands of my parents.

It helped me release the pressure building within me and let its cry out with my blood.

That is all I need.

One cut.

Just one cut to release the pressure, the pain, the strain of the things I cannot be, to those that I hold responsibilities to .

I settle my back against the wall and clean off a portion of my thigh with an alcohol swab.

Then ready my gauze beside my leg. I draw in a steady breath, anticipation building within me as my hand begins to tremble.

When I begin to make a cut, the door to my room creaks open.

Clenching my molars, the breath catches in my throat as I guiltily turn my head. Bobby’s handsome face comes into view.

Terror slides down my spine as I watch his eyes assess my thigh and then the blade in my hand. Cocking his head, curiosity paints his features.

He knows now. He knows and he shall despise me and find me to be unworthy. I shall be labeled as damaged goods, then tossed aside for someone not as deranged.

I wait for the impact with each anticipating beat of my heart.

I wait for the judgment and yelling but am met with Bobby calmly entering my room. He throws his jacket onto the adjacent seat and lays beside me on the floor.

“So that is what those are?” He asks with such nonchalance it sparks anger inside me, for I was ready to argue. I was ready to be embarrassed, scolded and shunned. Not this . How do I react to this ?

He slides one tantalizing finger over a healed cut along my thigh. “I thought these were stretch marks.”

I shove his hand off me. “No, you idiot! Stretch marks? All this time together and you thought stretchmarks? They are scars. All of them!” Then I lift my skirt up to expose the tops of my thighs, exposing my past. My shame. My sins and deepest vulnerabilities.

Bobby cocks an eyebrow but stays calm. “Who did this to you?”

Narrowing my eyes at him I retort, “Me, you idiot.”

“But, why?” he asks with such innocence it pisses me off even more to the point I break. Tears begin to stream down my face, I try to catch them with my forearm.

“I did it, because I hate myself, Bobby. Even though I wear this happy mask every fucking day, the demons' claw at my insecurities. No matter any happy moments, the pressure builds and builds. I hide my need to release all this pressure inside,” I explain while gesturing at my thighs. “I’m not good enough. I’m not a doctor like my brothers.

I am too fat, unintelligent and frumpy for my parents.

For Christ’s sake I just ogled your best mate after I assaulted him with my uniform full of spew! ”

Bobby continues to stare, propping his head on his hand as he comfortably lays next to me, stretching out his legs. His eyes are so full of admiration and love that I can’t help but react by snapping at him.