Beauty in the Broken

He chuckles at her sarcasm. “Are you sleeping?”

“When Damian doesn’t handcuff me to the bed.”

He doesn’t as much as blink. I’ve briefed him on our situation. If he disapproves, I don’t know, and I don’t give a fuck. I pay him to turn a blind eye to everything except giving my wife a prescription if her health warrants it.

“Do you have an appetite?”

“Yes.”

I can’t help but tease. “For sugar.”

She gives me a fuck-you look that’s as hot as hell.

“Do you empty your stomach after you’ve eaten?” he continues.

“Not unless Damian chops off someone’s fingers.”

I suppress a smirk, applying too much pressure on the gauze I press on her knee. She jerks at what must be a bite of pain.

“I see.” He cuts me a look before turning his attention back to my little fire-spitting wife. “How about your general mood? Do you feel sad? Depressed?”

“Not more than what my situation merits.”

Another swipe of cotton makes her bite her lip.

“Are you on any medication?”

“I occasionally take anti-nausea pills.”

“And sleeping pills,” I add.

“I told you Zane forced it on me.”

Zane knows how valuable she is to me. He won’t risk it.

“Who’s Zane?”

We speak simultaneously.

“A friend.”

“His housekeeper.”

“Does he stay with you?”

“Yes.” I carefully apply a plaster to her kneecap.

“They were in jail together,” she says, putting emphasis on jail.

Giving her a smile, I cup her nape and drag my thumb over her soft skin. “Reyno knows who I am, Lina. He knows where I’ve been and why I married you. He’s not going to save you.”

Her expression falls. “That’s unethical.”

“Taking bribes for prescribing Schedule II medication is unethical, too.”

She looks at the shady shrink quickly, disapproval etched on her face.

Reyno remains emotionless. “A man’s got to live. No suicide attempts?”

“Apart from earlier, no,” I say.

“I was saying no, not trying to kill myself.”

“You have a strong way of saying no.”

Reyno gets to his feet. “That’s all for today.”

Lina gapes at him. “Really?”

He adjusts his glasses. “What did you expect?”

“Psychoanalysis. Hypnosis. Drugs.”

“Is that how you were treated before?”

She goes stiff next to me. “I’m only using bad generalizations.”

“No generalizations here,” Reyno says. “I want to see you next week, same time. Let’s see if you can manage a session alone. Damian has my number. Call me if you have mood swings or trouble sleeping before then.”

We rise together, arm in arm, like a happy couple. I nod my thanks. She says nothing as I lead her back to the car.

I start the engine and drive home, maneuvering through the traffic like a calm person, not showing that she shook me to my damn core. I’ve never seen a person react like that over a doctor’s visit. I don’t know what to make of it, but I’m hell-bent on finding out.

Lina

Emotionally exhausted, I fall down in a chair in the bedroom when we get home.

Damian dumps the parcels with the new clothes on the bed, watching me from under his eyebrows. “That’s what I call an eventful morning.”

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” My tone is scathing, but I can’t help myself.

His voice drops an octave. “Careful, Lina. I’m being patient with you.”

I kick off my shoes. “You owe me nothing.”

“Lina.”

The way he says my name makes me shut my mouth. I know his limits and to what pushing them leads.

Shaking his head, he walks to the bed, empties the bags, and selects a pink sundress that he holds out to me. “Put this on.”

It has thin straps and a low-cut back. It’s too pretty for someone like me. “No, thanks.”

A calculated look invades his eyes. “Why? Because I chose it, or because it’ll show off your arms?”

I flinch as he drops the subject I’ve been tiptoeing around since last night. “Both.”

Stalking me with the dress in his outstretched hand, he says, “Woman up and wear it.”

Who the hell is he, the very man submitting me to this torture, to tell me to woman up? Does he enjoy my suffering? Probably. No, definitely, which is why I don’t argue when he drapes the dress with exaggerated care over the arm of the chair and reaches for the hem of my T-shirt. I won’t give him more reason to bask in my discomfort.

He yanks on the fabric, pulling it over my breasts, and I lift my arms at the silent prompt. Since he destroyed all my underwear, I’m naked underneath. When his gaze moves from my face to my breasts, it’s as if a switch flicks in him. He goes from angry to lustful in a second. This was a mistake. What I feared, happens. He circles my waist with his large hands and yanks me forward until my ass hits the edge of the seat. His eyes cut a heated trail over my midsection, coming to a stop on the button of the jeans. Crouching down, he unbuttons the jeans and pulls the zipper down slowly. I cooperate, lifting my ass, making it easy for him to push the fabric over my hips and down my thighs. Maybe, if I don’t delay the undressing, he’ll just pull the dress over my head and let me be. Wishful thinking. There won’t be any such mercy. I know it even before he pushes my thighs apart. My abdomen tightens involuntarily.