Pieces Of Her Novels & Stories

I mumbled under my breath. She looked so fragile lying there. I sat at the edge of the bed and began carefully pulling out the shards one by one with steady fingers. The last thing I wanted was to hurt her further. I set each shard I removed aside on a cloth. My eyes traced every inch of her as I worked — the curve of her neck, the silver strands of hair stuck to her damp forehead, long lashes resting against her cheeks, the way her chest rose and fell weakly. Even unconscious, she flinched slightly whenever I pulled a deeper shard out.

I felt her flinch as I touched the first shard, a tiny piece of glass reflecting the dim light like a diamond. "Hold still," I commanded, my voice dropping an octave. "Why are you doing this?" she asked. A single tear escaped, tracking a path through the dried salt on her cheek. "You should be disgusted. I’m a rejected mate. I’m a defect. That’s what Julian said." "Julian is an idiot who wouldn't know the value of a blade unless it was tucked into his own ribs," I said, my focus entirely on her palm. I pulled the first shard out. Clink. It hit the metal tray.

The tissues beneath are still visible to my eyes. She had done this to herself “Oh..lucs…… Good morning,” she slurred, her voice breaking as she spoke, evidence of crying all night, evidence of her pain, one I had put her through. But what made my skin crawl was the oddly creeping smile plastered against her face as they stretched wide on her lips. “I waited, you know, for you to come…for you to see this…” Before I could register what she meant, before I could move, She was faster, A larger piece of broken glass, clenched in her trembling hand.

It made her sick just to look at it. She didn’t even think twice before she lifelessly crouched down and started picking up the shards. Placing them on her other hand, until she picked another a little to fast and it left a small cut on her finger that she didn't notice. The second cut was deeper and it brought her back to her senses as she winced, but even then, she didn’t stop. Blood welled up quick, dripping onto the already stained floor. She didn’t notice how fast her breathing had gotten, how much her hands were trembling until she tried to grip another piece and nearly dropped it from the pain.

“Scattered pieces that don’t fit. Records missing. Witnesses silenced. Every lead vanishing before I can reach it. It’s like someone’s been one step ahead of me all these years.” She was silent for a long while, her expression torn between sorrow and fury. Then, softly, she said, “Eros.” I turned, facing her. “Yes?”

Not silent, grieving tears, but huge, gasping, hysterical sobs. Hysterical. Liam's word. The one he had used to brand her. He had been right. This was hysteria. It was the sound of a life breaking apart. She slid down the wall until she was crouched in the shadows, a pile of ruined white lace, hidden from the road. Her hand. The one she’d used to pick up the broken glass. It was bleeding again, the cuts from the crystal reopened by the gravel. And in her other hand, still clutched so tightly her knuckles were white, was the ruby earring. Her proof. Her anchor in this nightmare.

"What it looks like if the stone doesn't stay whole." "Yes." "Was it better?" A very long pause. "It was real," she said, finally. "That's what it looked like. Just — real. Present." She pulled her hand away. Not sharply. Just reclaiming it. "I don't know how to want something that requires me to trust that completely. I've never known how." "You don't have to know how all at once." She looked at me. "You've been doing it in pieces," I said. "For weeks. Last night in the tub was a piece. This conversation is a piece." I held her gaze. "The stone doesn't shatter in one move. It cracks. You've been cracking it for a while."

She reached out, her fingers catching the edge of the dark wood vanity to keep from collapsing onto the floor. On the floor beside her lay the remnants of her composure: the silk blouse tossed aside, the front-clasp bra, and her dark trousers. She knelt down, her knees shaking as she gathered the clothes against her chest. She didn’t put them on. She simply held the soft cashmere and silk to her cold skin, wrapping her arms around herself in a futile attempt to hold her shattered pieces together. I am still here, she tried to tell herself, but the voice inside her head was no longer a defiant yell; it was a faint, drowning whisper.

Damn that suave nature of his, damn it all! “Well let me get it on,” she said with a small squeak. She raced up to her room, putting it on and heading back down. It was a black bikini, with a small bit of padding in the bust area so her nipples wouldn’t poke out. Her butt hugged the bottoms though, and she could see Darren’s eyes glazing over it. “Sorry for the wait,” she said. “Not at all. You look cute though,” he said. “Thanks,” she blushed.

She muttered under her breath. She carefully examined her leg seeing the glass pieces that pierced her skin, “oh my God” she gasped for air, her breath shaking. She carefully removed the glass pieces, her mind racing with the thoughts of the picture and videos of Felicia and Lucas in each other's arms holding each other tightly, She dialed Lucas's number again, still unanswered. She swiped to Mia's number again, she was determined to beg her, she would swallow her pride, and she would do whatever Mia wanted her to do, to make sure she keeps the pictures private.