Wretched Love

Kate

The club wasquiet when we walked in. No partygoers, no one sitting at the bar, nothing. But the second I walked into the common room, I relaxed. My gaze landed on the bar area, memories of my last moments there rushing forward. Of Preston, of Swiss and his cold stare, but I quickly shook those off.

I would not let those scarce moments ruin a place that signified so much for me.

A place that was my home.

Swiss was watching me very carefully, his own tortured gaze on the area where he’d been so cruel.

“Let’s go to bed,” I whispered. Sure, there was a part of me that wanted to berate him for his cruelty. How fickle he’d been. How cold. How he’d broken my heart in less than a minute.

An angry, bitter part of me ached to throw all of that at him, hurt him for how he’d hurt me.

This was not the time for that. Besides, there was nothing I could say to Swiss that was worse than what he was repeating to himself.

His gaze lingered for a second longer before we walked down the corridor to his room.

With every step, my pain, though ever present, somehow became duller. Lighter. No more sterile hospital smells, no beeping of monitors or far-off conversations from nurses and doctors.

My body relaxed as Swiss closed the door to his room, and I inhaled the scent of him. Of us. The bed was still mussed from when we’d gotten out of it… A week ago? Two? Before everything happened.

My things were still neatly arranged on top of the dresser, a pair of my jeans thrown over the chair in the corner. Everything was how I’d left it.

My eyes found the hooks attached to the bed, pleasant memories swam through me, filling me with warmth and need.

It had been a long time since Swiss touched me without being cautious, with pure hunger, without worrying about hurting me. Fuck, wanting to hurt me.

Desire pooled at the bottom of my stomach, looking at those hooks, longing to be attached to them by Swiss. But when I looked at the man in question, it became clear that desire was the last thing on his mind.

“Jesus,” Swiss murmured, his eyes moving from the hooks to me. “You let me do those things to you.” His expression was haunted.

Fucking wretched.

“You let me hurt you,” he whispered brokenly. “After years of a man laying his hands on you, I fuckin’ hurt you.”

The pain in his voice cut across my skin.

“Yes, Swiss, I let you do those things to me,” I agreed.

He flinched.

“Listen to me,” I squared my shoulders. “I let you do those things to me. If you remember correctly, I was the one who initiated that.” I tried to make my tone lighter, to coax us back to a time when none of this existed.

It didn’t work. Not in the slightest.

A muscle in Swiss’s jaw twitched.

“Yes, you did. When you thought that you’d get a fuck. A good time. A fuckin’ escape from the shit you’d been living with… Fuck.” He ran his hand over his head in distress. “An escape from everything you’d been living with, not another fuckin’ version of it.”

I raised my brow at him. Or at least I tried to. Such facial expressions weren’t possible with my current injuries.

The pain didn’t bother me in that moment, though. It was the naked emotion on Swiss’s face that did. The guilt. Shame.

Over us. Over what we did.

It cut me somewhere deep. Somewhere vulnerable.

“I chose you,” I looked at him intently, hoping he saw the truth in my eyes. “Now I don’t believe in magic, and I certainly don’t think I have any kind of magical abilities, but I do know that there is something about us. Something special. Something magical that has been there since the start. And on some level, I knew what I was going to get from you. You gave me something.” I took in a deep breath. “You gave me everything. You saved me, Swiss.”