Page 114 of Wasted Grace

I still can’t believe I saw the woman I love break sodisastrously. Something tells me she wasn’t expecting it. Otherwise she never would’ve actually let herself start tofeel. Not in front ofme.

I swallow hard. Hoping—praying—that there’s some semblance of relief from her recent pain. That her episode was something of a beginning for her healing.

“You’re thinking too hard...” I hear her soft rumble against my neck. Her breath warm.

She’s awake. And I don’t know how long she’s been up but I’m glad I have her breath fanning my throat and not herknife.

“Maybe,” I whisper quietly.

She hums before she croaks. “This has never happened before.”

She’s stiff against me, but she doesn’t move. It’s almost as if she’s trying hard to keep herself balanced between being strong and seeking comfort. Fromme.

I nod and turn my head slightly toward her. Her eyes are back. Notguarded, but still a bit tormented. A heavier version of what I once saw when she told me she needed toprepareherself before talking about what had happened after she left.

God!She needed to prepare herself for the horror I saw reflecting in her beautiful eyes.

“It was... difficult,” I say softly. “To watch you burning like that. I felthelplessbefore I could even... begin to be helpful.”

Her throat clears. “I don’t need help, Advik.”

She begins to inch away, but I hold her tighter. Not caging her, but conveying a silent plea to not leave—not just yet.

“Can I ask you something?” My voice is hoarse, a blend of caution and fear.

“Depends,” she whispers. “Is it about what happened after I left you?”

“It’s... maybe,” I concede. “It’s about what happened a few hours ago. When you... when you werenot here.”

“Just... a nightmare come to life. Nothing I don’t think about anyway.”

She says it so casually that my heart hurts.

“But you felttrapped. I could see it. It didn’t feel like a nightmare. It felt like... you wererelivingit.”

She moves away and this time I let her. Grabbing her precious dagger from under the pillow, she uses it as a fidget tool. As though she’s deciding what to share and what not to.

I watch her as she tactfully moves it through her fingers—her motion fluid,practiced.

Her gaze is fixed on the ceiling, her head resting on her pillow. “It was when Karim... took me for the first time. It wasn’t very...husbandly.”

Her choice of words is so careful that I realize she’s holding the real, horrific truth back. But I think she’s also hoping I’d read between the lines.

And fucking hell,I do.

I exhale sharply, my brain unwillingly concocting the gap she’s left open with her statement. I blink rapidly to banish the images.

I force out the words. “How long were you... were you m-married to—”

“One year, two months, twelve days, and...” she says numbly, “...maybe one hour. Or it could be twenty-three hours—if you include the time my jig was up. And I was tied up in that house.”

Air leaves my lungs. Tears coming back with a vengeance. I let out a strangled sigh that sounds more like a sob.

“It wasn’t all bad,” she says, almost soothingly. “He didn’t fuck me all the time.”

“He didn’tfuckyouat all,” I snap. “What he did was ra—”

“I consented to it, Vik,” she says wearily.