Page 91 of Loving Bad

"I should never have left," he revealed, taking another step closer. He was close enough that if I reached out I could touch his hand, but I didn't.

"I know why you’re here," I stated.

He swallowed hard and held my gaze.

"Really?" he asked, looking suddenly very nervous.

"Yes," I said, nodding my head.

"It's guilt."

His forehead creased as his tongue touched his lip ring.

"Guilt?" he questioned.

"Yes. You feel guilty because you left and then something bad happened. You probably think that you could’ve stopped it, but you wouldn't have been able to. Eric was determined, so determined that he would have left a trail of dead bodies to get me."

He was shaking his head as he took his hands out of his pockets.

"You probably also feel guilty that it was someone you knew," I added. "But it doesn't matter."

He remained silent, studying me intently.

"I'm going to tell you what I told everyone else. What happened to me rests solely on the shoulders of the crazy...who did this to me," I stated firmly, despite the way my voice broke slightly.

"You’re right, I do feel guilty. I shouldn't have left and Eric shouldn't have laid one finger on you," he said. I could see anger bubbling inside him just below the surface. His eyes darkened.

I didn't want to waste time on what should have happened because it didn't erase what did happen.

"But that isn't why I'm here," he argued, taking the last step toward me as he reached for my hand.

I allowed him to take it in his and he lifted it to his lips. He dropped a soft kiss on my hand. His touch felt so good, but I resisted it.

"When I first heard you were gone, I was so terrified..." he said, closing his eyes briefly. He looked like he was struggling to contain the emotions he was feeling. "We had no idea if you were injured from the accident."

Subconsciously, my free hand went to my chest where I'd sustained the bruises from the seatbelt.

"We had no idea where you were," he continued.

They'd been out of their minds with worry while I'd been wondering whether I would survive or not. I took a deep breath and released it when I felt the emotion start to build up again. I wished I could erase the few days I'd been a prisoner; it would make coping with it so much easier.

"I didn't just come back because I felt guilty," he revealed to me as he brushed his thumb over my hand. "I came back because I made a mistake walking away. A mistake I won't ever make again."

I shook my head at him, knowing where he was going with this.

"I know what you think you feel," I argued. "But if you really felt that way, you wouldn't have let go of me so easily."

It was harsh, but it needed to be done, like ripping off a Band-Aid. The faster you pulled it off, the less it hurt. He looked at me, a little shocked and still reeling from the blow.

"You know what I learned from this whole ordeal?" I asked softly, pulling my hand out of his. This was easier to say if he wasn't touching me. The smallest touch from him would be enough to distract me and I had to stay focused.

"What?" he asked. His eyes watchful.

"I learned that I'm stronger than I ever thought I was," I told him.

"You were always strong," he told me softly. "You just didn't realize it."

Surprised that was how he saw me, I paused for a moment before continuing.