“Shouldn’t you try to not hurt your shoulder…？” Her dispassionate words trail off when her vision zeroes in on the souvenir she gave me.
Her lips part, trembling as she studies the gash on my chest. It’s a red, ugly hole that Mum and my nan suggested I get plastic surgery for.
A suggestion I promptly dismissed.
I’m glad I did, if not for anything else, then for the whirlwind of emotions that dance in Annika’s eyes.
She’s no longer numb, dull, and lifeless now that her feelings pour out in a splash of colors.
Her shaking hand reaches out for the wound, but I grab her wrist, stopping her halfway.
“Who gave you permission to touch me?”
She jerks, lips pushing and falling in an O as she trembles. “I…”
“You’re what? Trying to finish what you started by actually killing me this time?”
“I never wanted to kill you. If I did, you’d be dead already. I told you I don’t miss, but I tried to, even when I wasn’t thinking straight.” A sob tears out of her throat. “I only wanted to stop you.”
Using my hold on her wrist, I push her back, my chest rising and falling in harsh breaths.
Annika stumbles backward and winces, her face scrunching as she lifts her foot off the ground.
I pause, and all the anger I’d planned to unleash on her dissipates into a much more prominent feeling.
The need to protect her.
The fuck is wrong with me? She shot me and all I want is to remove anything that hurts her. All I want is to keep her safe from the world.
But not from myself.
I inspect her foot that she’s resting on her calf. “What is it?”
“N-nothing.”
“Annika, don’t fuck with me. What’s wrong?”
She stares up at me with those round eyes, so big and tormented. “I think I cut my foot earlier, but it’s not a big deal—”
Her words end in a yelp when I carry her bridal style to the bed. The moment I drop her on the mattress, she stands up again.
“I-I’m really fine.”
“Sit the fuck down.”
At my order, she flops down on the bed and that’s when I go to the bathroom and retrieve a first aid kit.
A strange feeling grips hold of me when I find her in the exact position I left her in, her eyes focused on the bathroom door.
I kneel in front of her and place her leg on my thigh to inspect the sole of her feet. Sure enough, there are some bloodied cuts, and while they’re not too deep, they would definitely be a hindrance.
Due to her ballet passion, Annika never, and I mean never, allows her feet to get hurt. She told me I could flog and spank her anywhere, but her feet were off-limits. The closest I could get to them was binding her ankles.
So to see her this fucking careless about them makes me murderous.
I retrieve a bottle of oxygenated water and clean the cuts on both her feet and then start to apply ointment.
“Next time you hurt yourself, I swear to fucking God…” I trail off at the strained sound of my voice.
The more I touch her, the faster pain and fucking rage consume me.
I feel the tremor in her body before her soft voice fills my ears. “I didn’t mean to. I only wanted to…”
“Escape,” I finish for her. “That won’t be fucking possible.”
“My dad will come for me,” she murmurs, but it doesn’t sound like a threat, more like she’s informing me of facts. “He’ll find me and you, and when he does, this will end badly.”
“This island isn’t on the map, and I left all your belongings back in the States. He won’t be able to locate you.”
Silence stakes claim as I continue lathering the cream on her cuts without looking at her.
After a moment, her gentle voice reaches me again, all elegant and melodic and made for me. “What do you plan to do with me, Creighton?”
“Keep you.”
“And then?”
“There’s no then.”
“How long do you intend to keep me?”
“There’s no time limit.”
“So we’ll live on the island for the rest of our lives?”
“If need be.”
“You can’t do that.” Her voice becomes panicky. “We both have lives, families, friends, a future.”
“A future where you’ll be married to someone else will not fucking exist, Annika.” I shut the first aid kit closed, about to stand up and cool myself before I act on the dark thoughts rushing wildly in my head.