Page 92 of Bound By Threads
It’s control, and for the first time, I finally feel like I have it.
Chapter39
Crew
“That was bullshit,” Roman growls, stomping ahead of us to our rooms.
It’s one of those days when the heat curls the humidity in the air like a warning of a storm brewing.
Roman kicks his shirt into the hallway and mutters something about dying of heatstroke and stupid student conduct. Elijah follows him, silent as ever lately since Lottie locked him in that classroom as revenge, and I drag myself up from the couch to follow.
I feel… human today, which is saying a lot after the week I’ve had as the drugs purged themselves from my system.
The withdrawals are done. For real this time. No more shaking. No more bile, and no more waking up choking on nothing and everything. Just sweat and lightness and a weird kind of peace I’ve not felt in two years that I don’t quite trust yet.
The three of us step into the en-suites attached to our rooms.
I strip, turn the tap, and step in, ready for the cold water to hit my skin.
It takes a second—just long enough for me to blink at the weak water pressure and think,Seriously? Now? Today of all days?—before the showerhead coughs and then erupts.
Red.
Bright, vivid, thick as blood.
It stains the tiles, splashes across my chest, and runs down my arms like I’ve just walked through a warzone.
“What the fuck—” Roman’s voice explodes, followed by athunk, a girly scream, and the sound of a wet body slipping and slamming against the tiles echoes through the rooms.
I look down at my chest, my arms, and the now dripping floor. Then I do the only thing that feels remotely sane… I laugh.
Not just a chuckle—a full laugh, loud and deep, the kind I haven’t felt in years. It bubbles up and bursts like the pressure that’s been building in me since I was told she was dead is finally releasing.
Elijah steps out of his room completely dry and stain-free, just as I get to the doorway… still laughing. His brows furrow as he looks between us. “What the hell?”
Roman storms out, a towel wrapped around his waist, his entire torsobright red… in fact, all of him is covered from head to toe. His hair drips crimson. His jaw is locked tight enough to snap.
“This was her,” he growls, eyes locking onto me like I’m supposed to rise with him because she got me too.
I lean back against the doorframe, arms still dripping, still laughing. “No shit. You think we’ve pissed anyone else off enough to do this?”
“She thinks this is funny?” he grits out through clenched teeth.
“Itisfunny, Roman,” I say, grinning even though my skin is now a shade of cherry homicide. “Look at us. We did it to her.”
“She wants a war?” Roman spits. “I’ll give her one.”
Elijah’s expression shifts, almost sad, as he stares at our lovely shade of sunburnt skin, but my focus shifts back to Roman as he continues his tirade.
“You know why we did that,” Roman continues, ranting to no one. “She’s going to pay for this.”
But all I can think about is that, for the first time in weeks, I don’t feel sick.
I feelalive.
Stained, yes.
But alive.
