I swallowed and approached slowly, gathering her blonde hair in my hands and sweeping it over one shoulder. She grabbed it, her fingers brushing against mine. I lingered at the touch longer than I should have.

She shivered as my fingers grabbed the zipper and pulled it down. The wet dress peeled away. Water droplets streaked her skin, glistening against the soft glow of her bedside lamp.

I stepped back quickly, turning away as I heard the fabric pool at her feet. Closing my eyes, I forced my breath to slow, but my mind wouldn’t stop conjuring up images.

I felt like a monster—because right now, I was.

I needed to stop thinking about her skin.

And I needed to bury Mason six feet under.

“I’m done,” she whispered after a moment.

I turned, my jaw tight as I nodded. “Good. Get in bed.”

She hesitated, chewing her lip. “Can you stay for a little while? I don’t want to be alone right now.”

Every part of me screamed that this was a bad idea. I needed space. I needed to be anywhere else, where I couldn’t see the lingering fear in her eyes or the bruises on her wrists.

I nodded anyway. “Yeah. Sure.”

She slipped beneath the covers, her face turned toward me, and I sat at the edge of the bed, staring at the window. The images of her wrist wouldn’t leave me. My nails dug into my palms, the anger manifesting as an unbearable tension in my shoulders.

I needed to destroy something.

“Please don’t tell Dad,” she said sometime later. “Please, Blake. It’ll just make everything worse.”

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

“You’re not… You’re not going to do anything, are you?”

A thousand calculations ran through my mind—what she needed to hear, what I wanted to say, what would actually help. Then I pinched the bridge of my nose, forcing myself to think logically, rationally. I couldn’t let my anger dictate my actions.

I had to be smart.

If I went after Mason, I had to be careful. Precise.

“Get some sleep,” I told her, dodging her question entirely.

She closed her eyes, but I knew she wouldn’t sleep.

I sat there, listening to the uneven rhythm of her breathing and the way she still trembled beneath the covers.

“Thank you for being understanding,” she murmured, sniffling. Her voice was raw, stripped bare. “I was scared you’d be disappointed in me.”

Disappointed?

I turned my head, my eyes tracing the fresh tears slipping down her cheeks. It physically hurt to look at them. Without thinking, I reached out and swiped my thumb across her damp skin.

Her eyes fluttered open, cloudy and exhausted, but still hers. Still beautiful, still full of all the things I wanted and would never let myself have.