Chapter 14

"What the fuck are you doing?"

Katie jumped and dropped the shard of broken glass she was holding. It fell to the washroom floor and broke apart into several more pieces. She stared up at the towering mass of boiling anger and rolled her eyes. Did he have other modes besides brooding and angry? Because she had yet to see them. She was just about to open her mouth and tell him she was in the process of cleaning up the vase he had so inconsiderately broken when he reached down and hauled her ungently away from the mess. She squeaked and clutched his biceps as he swung her out of the washroom and back into the bedroom. The skirt of the long white summer dress she'd put on to cover herself swished around them.

As soon as his hands fell away from her, she jumped back, putting some distance between them. Unfortunately, she chose the side of the bed with the closet instead of the door leading topside, meaning her only escape from him was into a walk-in closet. Not that the top deck was much better, unless she intended to swim out into open sea to get away from him. She wasn't that desperate yet. She watched him warily. He watched her broodingly.

"Stay the fuck away from sharps," he snarled, his eyes hard on her face, arms crossed over his big chest.

She sighed and tried hard to control the eye roll she felt coming on. She really didn't want to have to talk about this, but apparently Roman didn't intend to give her a knife to butter her bread with until she explained a few things to him. So, gritting her teeth, she said, "Can we talk about what you saw on my legs? I think I need to clear a few things up with you."

He raised an eyebrow and arrogantly gestured for her to proceed.

She pressed her lips together and suppressed a glare, telling herself she needed to work with him instead of against him if she were to negotiate her way off the yacht. She closed her eyes for a moment and forced herself to speak of something she hadn't allowed herself to dwell on in years. "As you saw, I used to cut myself, Roman. I haven't done it in years though. After Dex it was a release a a way to make myself feel again. Back then, I was so numb. I started cutting because it made me feel alive when nothing else could."

She lifted her eyes to Roman's, begging him to understand. His gaze remained unmoving. She couldn't divine his thoughts. But that was Roman. No one ever knew what was going on in his head. It was a violent cauldron of death, except for her. It always came back to her. Now here she was, finally within his grasp. And god what a disappointment she must be to him!

"You should have come to me, I would have given you what you needed," he finally said.

She gave him a tiny smile and shook her head. "No one could give me what I needed, Roman. The only thing that helped was blood on my hands and the bite of the knife as it sank into flesh. The feel of adrenaline rushing through my body." Her eyes held his as she whispered, "Same as you."

His sudden roar startled her so much that she jumped back toward the closet and actually contemplated locking herself inside. He paced the end of the bed, his body tense. "Not like me," he snarled. "I didn't cut on myself, baby. I killed the people that hurt Dexter, and others yeah, but I didn't need to slice up my own skin to feel good."

Tears sparked in her eyes. He knew the truth about her and it clearly disgusted him. She lifted her chin and said softly, "Yeah, well, right or wrong, that's what I did and I can't take it back. And I told you, I haven't done it in years. I don't cut myself anymore. You can trust me not to hurt myself now, okay? I was just cleaning up the vase we broke earlier."

His head swung toward her, his dark eyes pinning her to the spot, the heat of accusation slicing through in a way the blades she had used on herself never had. She gasped, pressing her fingers against her sides. He had a way of standing eerily still, like a snake about to strike its prey that made her feel small and vulnerable whenever she was in his presence.

"Maybe you don't cut on yourself anymore, Katie, but you sure as fuck aren't done hurting yourself, are you, little girl?" he asked softly, his words cutting through her.

Her face drained of any colour it had before their conversation started. "I-I don't know what you mean," she whispered, tilting her chin up as though daring him to keep talking. Of course, he didn't stop.

Stalking a few feet closer, he continued. "No?" He growled, his thick, dark brows drawing down. "I think you take any chance you get to punish yourself," he growled, anger seething just below the surface of his calm. She didn't understand how others saw Roman as some ice-cold killer when she got the boiling volcano of heated man. "You left the comfort of your home when you barely turned eighteen. You left the city of your birth shortly after and went to a university away from the people you love. You travel the world alone. You married a man you hated and let him treat you like dirt, even after the divorce. Your life is nothing but suffering and pain and you keep it that way because it's the only way you can feel."

She wanted to scream at him and deny his words. She wanted to hit him until he went away and left her to her misery. She didn't understand how he saw her, but somehow, he did. She opened her mouth to tell him to go away and leave her alone, but the only thing to emerge was a broken sob. Her knees buckled and she sank to the floor. He didn't catch her, allowing her to collapse. She wondered if she was too disgusting now for him to bother with.

He crouched next to her, still towering over her. She slid her arms around her middle, hugging herself, suddenly feeling cold and alone in a way she hadn't felt since her divorce. She longed for her family and her best friend, Riley. He slid his large pointer finger, the one with Dexter's name, across her forehead, sweeping her hair to the side and tucking it behind her ear.

He leaned over her and said, "I'm here now. I will be your penance and your pain, Katerina. Until you can feel only me."

She shivered violently at his words, her shoulder brushing against his chest. She turned to look at him, to beg him once more to let her go, blue eyes clashing with obsidian. Instead of the usual blank hardness, she saw salvation.