Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-Nine

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As usual, all good things—no matter how small—come to an end. Often much too soon. And my bath is no exception.

Well...I suppose it wasn't so much a bath as it was a sit-and-soak. Not that I could help that. Even the smallest attempts to lather my body resulted in nothing but a butt-load of discomfort and pain that I just gave up trying altogether, even though I would love nothing more than to vigorously scrub every last trace of yesterday away.

Water that felt incredible seemingly just a moment ago has now gone so cold that I'll probably end up catching pneumonia if I stay submerged in it any longer. Reluctantly, I prop myself up, emerging from the tub even slower than I got in, my movements measured and cautious. The last thing I want is to accidentally slip and add a major concussion to my long list of physical woes.

I step out, feeling the water part from my skin like fudge, my body sluggish and heavy in the way you get after being in a pool for a while, only worse, and I find myself intentionally keeping my gaze off it the entire time.

I reach for a single, over-sized robe nearby, foregoing the lush pile of towels next to it. I don't even have the energy to dry myself off. I slide into it, careful to not further irritate any sections of broken skin. But my caution is almost unnecessary because it literally feels like a blanket of clouds, unbelievably soft and warm, the kind of cozy you don't expect and can't ever get enough of.

A most welcome distraction.

I snuggle into it impulsively, letting the thick, plush fibers cover me and do away with the beads of moisture on my body. I can't resist the urge to rub my nose against the dense collar, breathing in its faint, soothing scent of lilacs and lavender even though the thoughtless action results in an unpleasant twinge of torsion in my neck.

"Mmmm," I sigh contentedly, smiling into the multi-layered cotton.

Lavender.

My favorite...

I frown abruptly, the brief spell I'm under shattering in an instant.

My eyes dart to the mirror, zoning in on the robe suspiciously...until they meet the rest of my reflection.

Oh...God...

I stare ahead in horror, my eyes as wide as saucers, the bags under them the size of melons, far more prominent than I'm used to seeing, enhanced by the absence of my glasses. But it's a double-edged sword, their MIA-ness also sparing me crystal-clarity of the horrific sight in front of me.

My lips part without my permission, but sheer shock ensures that I can't even voice what I feel:

Utter and absolute dread.

Foreign spots peek at me from between the robe, varying shades of red covering almost every bit of the narrow, vertical line of my exposed skin, the evident, shapeless marks seemingly melding into each other. I struggle to swallow as the rest of me stays frozen, my gaze locked on just a glimpse of the nightmare I know is hidden underneath.

My eyes flutter closed instinctively, my head pounding intensely as I feel myself go faint for several moments. My teeth clatter without my permission, and I wish it was because I stayed in the water too long. I have to grit them against the surge of unadulterated fear that sweeps over me, struggling to breathe as I silently count to three.

It's now or never.

It's the last thing I want to do. Hell, I don't want to do it at all, but I know it'll only be worse for me if I draw this out any longer.

I force my eyes open again, even when my heart ricochets in my chest like a bullet in a metal cage.

With trembling fingers, I lift the lapels of the robe, revealing more of my body...and I nearly choke from what I see.

A hoard of angry bruises stare back at me, swollen and discolored and very, very obvious.

Crimson blotches cover my chest, my breasts marred with an indiscernible constellation of contusions, and more than a few marks are quickly taking on a purplish tinge.

I can barely even recognize myself.

The shock is so overwhelming, so paralyzing that all I can do is look, physically unable to scream or cry or react in the million and one ways my brain is urging me to.

I struggle to swallow, my sore throat working against the colossal lump that's suddenly taken up residence in it as more of my body is exposed, bracing myself for the worst.

I open the robe all the way, pulling it back reluctantly, unveiling my entire lower half...and damn near pass out.

My ass is literally covered in bruises, so battered that it doesn't even look like it's a part of my body anymore. Hell, it doesn't even look like it belongs anywhere on a human. At least, not a living one.

Uncontainable mortification fills me.

I swear to God, it's like something out of a Frankenstein movie. Another surreal, mind-boggling, out-of-body feeling; my brain simultaneously accepting and rejecting this gruesome display as reality.

A few distinct, prominent welts have already formed; raised, swollen lines that are even uglier than the surrounding sea of damage they punctuate, and if their discoloration is any indication, more will follow soon. They look a lot worse than they feel, but I'm not sure if that's a good or bad thing, each one reminding me of the object that created it—and the ruthlessness of its wielder.

My eyes slam shut against the thought that they're most likely going to look even more appalling in the coming days.

But as soon as I do, images I desperately want to forget instantly flood my mind, forcing me to relive each lash all over again.

Moonlit darkness.

Silver cuffs above my head.

The large, clock-like contraption they bind me to.

The two, designated numbers on the mirroring circle below it.

A long, hard leather crop.

The single figure at the center of it all and his cold, sapphire eyes, gleaming with uninhibited lust and danger.

The instrument of my torment slices through the air, singing as it comes down for another blow. But just as it's about to connect, my eyes fly open, my breath coming in short, stuttered gasps as a small, involuntary whimper escapes me.

I yank either side of the robe impulsively, pulling it over me completely, unable to bear looking at the horror show that is my body any longer. I cinch the belt around my waist with more force than necessary, as if that will make the profound mess underneath it disappear.

I think I want to cry, but I must be completely out of tears because it doesn't happen. Perhaps once the shock wears off I will, or maybe my body simply can't handle anymore just yet because I did a pretty bang up job of bawling my eyes out not too long ago.

I need to get out of here...

As hard as it is not to, I'll go mad if I continue to dwell on this. And standing in front of the mirror will only tempt me to keep looking, which will only upset me further, ensuring I do just that.

All I can do right now in this somber, overwhelming moment is hope that these marks heal quickly...and don't leave any lasting scars—physical or mental.

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