Blyssfully Undone: The Blyss Trilogy - book 3 (26 page)

Nick listened intently, not once interrupting me as he soaked in every word. After I finished explaining, I notice he’s calmed significantly, and his breathing has evened out. “Once I got my memory back, Travis still had every intention to hold me hostage, but the first chance I got, I escaped.”

“You ran home, though. You didn’t run to me,” he says like a petulant child.

“I didn’t know where you live, Nick. I had no numbers, nothing. If I was against you, wouldn’t I have called the police the first chance I got?”

Nick half-laughs. “I fucking own half the police, but yes; I’ll give you that. You didn’t run to the authorities when you had the chance.”

Silence grows between us for a brief moment as he studies me. He glances at my lips as if he wants to lean in for a kiss, and I’m not ready for that, so I begin to talk out of nervousness to keep a conversation going.

“He drugged me with Blyss the entire time, told me so many lies while manipulating me at every possible turn. He’s been using me, Nick.” Damn, Travis sounds really bad when I paint him in that light.

Nick’s eyes soften. “Yes, I know he drugged you. He stole a shitload of Blyss when he took you.” My heart begins to settle down now that I think Nick is less maniacal, and I let out a sigh. Then his lips turn down in a frown as deep regret fills his eyes. “I should have never left your side that night,” he confesses.

Reassuring him, I gently place two fingers over his lips, shushing him. “You didn’t know. It’s not your fault.”

He wraps his arms around me, pulling me into him for a tight embrace. “Nevertheless, you are my responsibility and I let you down.”

Silence settles between us as he guides my head back to his chest. My left hand settles over his heart as I take in a breath, inhaling his all too familiar cologne. You would think I’d hate the smell, because of the association it represents, but I don’t. He smells incredibly delicious. His fingertips massage my scalp, and I close my eyes as I listen to the thrum of his heartbeat. I realize by the beat of his heart, he’s still wired, even though he appears calm, gentle, and caring on the outside. He then whispers over my head, “Did my men shoot at you?” A tinge of rage is evident in his question.

“Yes,” I tell him. The memory so fresh, I grasp onto his dress shirt, clenching his fabric with my fist. “Bullets whizzed by my head, they were so close I could hear them whistling through the air.”

All his muscles tense as he holds me tightly. His lips rest against the top of my head as he mumbles, “I’m so sorry.” I want to say it’s not his fault, but it is. All of my predicaments trace back to Nick as being the root of all my turmoil. I have no idea where this home of his is, and right now, I don’t care. A wave of exhaustion suddenly overcomes me, and I do the only thing I know to do anymore to escape the mental pain, and that is to fall asleep.

“Wake up, sweetheart,” Nick whispers in my ear before his soft lips press against my cheek. I stir and stretch out my limbs, and notice immediately my legs don’t fall off the edge of the limo’s back seat. In fact, I feel like I’ve been sleeping on a cloud. I peel my eyes open, and I’m met with Nick’s beautiful smile.

“Where am I?” I ask, confused.

He kisses my nose first, and then answers me, “You’re home, sweetheart.” I roll my head to the side and realize I’m in his master bedroom, on his king-sized bed, and tucked under a thick, soft comforter.

“I don’t remember you carrying me in.”

His smile grows wider as he rubs his nose with mine in a gesture of familiarity.

“Your body apparently needed the rest. You’ve been sleeping for several hours now. It’s dinnertime. You have to be hungry by now, no?”

I’m too sleepy to be able to discern as to whether or not I’m hungry, so I shrug my shoulders.

“Mmm,” he murmurs, “maybe you’ll feel like eating after a nice, hot shower.” A hot shower does sound wonderful. Being that I’ve been up since before the crack of dawn, and then ran a marathon, I feel sticky, grimy and somewhat chilled. I nod in reply.

“C’mon then, let’s get you up.” And with those words, he peels back the blanket and I shiver, suddenly cold with the need to have scalding hot water warm my bones. He gets off the mattress and holds his hand out for me.

I take his hand and scoot out of bed as a chill runs through me. I quickly glance around at my surroundings, and as I take in his décor, I’m somewhat surprised. His tastes are not what I would’ve expected them to be. I pegged him as clinical and modern, but as I look around the room, it’s full of ornate and eclectic décor, with splashes of color everywhere.

“Do you like it?” I pull my gaze away from the grandeur of the room and sheepishly smile at him. “I’ve done my own homework too,” he says, grabbing me by the waist and pulling me into him. “I’ve come to know your tastes for unique pieces of art and composition. I put most of this together myself, but I’ve left many open spaces on the walls so you can display your own masterpieces as you accomplish them.”

He leans back, looking at me as his thumb rubs between my brows, smoothing out the wrinkles. His lips lift in a sly grin. “What? Don’t look so surprised. How could you not think I wouldn’t want pieces of your work spread throughout our home?”

I’m speechless. What am I supposed to say? Nick looks jovial and happy, and I’d prefer this over maniacal Nick any day. I decide to return a small smile, one that I don’t feel, in order to keep the peace. He leans in and quickly brushes his lips against mine, and I close my eyes.

“Let me show you to the master bath.” He guides me into the bathroom, and my eyes go wide. It’s freaking huge. It’s as big as one of the bedrooms back at the cabin. Pointing toward the earth-toned marble shower, he states, “The towels are already warm for you.” I spy two thick, plush towels draped over a towel warmer, and I can’t wait to feel the soft warmth on my skin after I clean up. I hug myself out of awkwardness, not knowing what to do with myself.

Nick then steps forward and opens the large shower door, turning the water on for me. “It’s a little tricky to figure this system out for the first time,” he says as he focuses on the feel of the water streaming out. When he’s satisfied, he steps back and wipes his arm dry as he turns to look at me.

“Go ahead and shower up. I’ll go downstairs and see how much longer it will be before dinner will be ready.” Nick leans in, and gives me a chaste kiss on my cheek before he leaves.

Suddenly, I feel all alone in this big bathroom. I feel cold and empty, both inside and out as I quickly get undressed and step into the shower. “Ohh…” Goose bumps erupt all over my body as the hot water hits and cascades over my chilled skin.

I close my eyes and lean into the spray, allowing the water to rush over my face, and I begin to think about the past twenty-four hours. I’ve stayed strong for far too long, and held back tears one too many times, all in the name of hope. I scoff aloud.

Hope. What a joke.

The memories come charging at me like a hurricane with gale force winds, knocking me off my feet, and before I know it, I’ve fallen to my hands and knees in wretched despair. My crazy, dysfunctional, and fractured life is just too much for me to bear. My heart and soul have been destroyed, blown into subatomic particles, which can never be pieced back together again.

Looking back, it all makes sense now. The year I was sent to boarding school was when my dad was extra moody. I remember Jake toted him around an unusual amount of times, but they passed it off as being extra busy with his business. This must be why Jake never had a life and could never get married. My dad kept him busy around the clock with his psychosis issues, and at the same time, he had to watch over my safety.

I thought the reason for my dad’s distance was business-related stress, but in all reality, he was having paranoia episodes and untold doctor appointments, all because I was looking and acting more and more like my mother with each passing day.

Oh, my God. My mother! How could he? He stole my entire life from me!
My brain feels like it has just been dipped in batter and deep fried in the devil’s kitchen, searing my consciousness to a crisp, marring and scarring what little bit of inner spirit I had left.

As the water rushes over my head, I grab fistfuls of hair and tug hard at the roots. My heart has been ruthlessly ripped out of my chest and bled dry. I wish I could just simply die at this very moment in time. My mouth gapes open as I try for a shrill cry of pain, but no sound comes out. My chest constricts in agony. My lungs burn, scream, and claw for oxygen, but I can’t inhale.
Good, maybe I will die.

At some point, my body finally catches up with my emotions, and I let out a long-winded wail. A torrent of tears follows close behind as I grieve for everything I never had, and nothing I will ever obtain.

I’ve lived in an endless cycle of constant insanity, and an unhealthy psychosis is knocking on my door. The decision is made; I unlock the deadbolt and answer by opening the door wide open with welcoming arms.

A set of strong, muscular arms slide around my waist and pull me up off the shower floor. When it becomes apparent I can’t stand on my own two feet, Nick sits down on the shower floor and pulls me onto his lap. He’s still fully clothed, and how I even noticed is beyond me. He tries to disengage the death grip I have on my hair, but I won’t let go; I’m a mortal mess.

“Let go of your hair, baby,” he softly demands. His hands thread themselves over mine in another attempt to loosen my grip. “Please, let go,” he pleads.

I’m cataplectic, unable to move, but somehow he loosens my fingers, and the second he frees my grip, my hands promptly search frantically for something else to grab onto. Nick’s shirt is the next closest thing I find. I fist his shirt and twist it as pure turmoil rolls through me.

“Oh, God, take it away, Nick,” I cry out in distress. “Take the pain away…please,” I beg imploringly between sobs. He firmly holds my head by cupping my cheeks, forcing me to see him through my blanket of tears. His eyes unexpectedly look tortured, full of empathy and somberness as I wail in his arms.

“I’m right here, baby,” he chokes out as if he feels my pain. The water streams over his face, but he doesn’t blink an eye as his stare penetrates mine, “I promise you, no one will ever hurt you again.”

I wrap my arms around his neck and bury my head into his chest, sobbing until I have nothing left. I don’t know how long I lay over Nick like this, but he holds me without complaint, continually consoling me. Once I’ve cried myself out and my breathing has evened out, I come to rest my head on his shoulder. The same familiar smell of his spicy cologne still clings to his skin, and as I breathe in his sultry scent, the desire to lick and swirl my tongue over the muscular ridge of his neck overcomes me.

What the hell?
And then it quickly dawns on me that I know this feeling. I know it all too well. He must have drugged me with Blyss at some point while I slept. I should be livid, but for some odd reason, one that I can’t explain, I just accept it. In fact, it’s probably a blessing in disguise. Lately, I’ve found that sex and orgasms can be a potent distraction to escape the pains and realities of a fucked-up life.

He whispers sweet nothings over my head as he rubs my back, rocking me back and forth in a soothing motion. Once he feels that I’ve settled down enough, he gently slips out from underneath me and stands up. His clothes are stuck to every inch of him, outlining every taut muscle he owns. He looks like he’s been caught out in a heavy downpour.

I’m feeling very naked and exposed, so I curl up in a ball and wrap my arms around myself. Nick doesn’t pause to ogle or make me feel uncomfortable. He stays focused as every move is made with purpose and intent, as his face is full of nothing but concern. I watch him as he reaches for a loofa and pours soap on it. Even his fancy dress pants are clinging to his taut, muscular ass, hugging every perfect curve. When he turns around to face me, my lips twitch.

“What’s so funny?” he asks as he squats down in front of me.

“You look like a drowned rat.” Then I realize I’ve ruined his expensive clothing, and my smile fades. “I’m so sorry.”