Resent, Reject, Regret

Resent, Reject, Regret By Aqua Summers Chapter 41

Chapter 41 Saving Herself for Sterling… And Sterling Only

Any other emotions Brendan could have felt had been displaced by unrelenting ire. “God, I’m going home. I’ll see her tomorrow.”

That took Steven by surprise, but he nodded nonetheless. “Shall I drive you home now?”

“No. Pass me the keys. I’ll drive.”

He checked his suit and headed to the parking garage, almost a little too frantically.

His car zipped through the road, tearing through the air like a fired bullet. When he arrived, he immediately scanned the living room. Resentment flitted past his eyes – he had thought that it would at least be lit.

Because that would mean someone was waiting for him to come home.

He checked himself. She was blind. Whether a room was

lit or not did not matter. He was sure she would be reclining on the couch, just like she used to. Waiting.

Brendan strode toward the door and pushed it open.

The living room was completely empty. Even the dining table was empty-devoid of the warm supper that was once her staple form of welcome.

The days when Deirdre would curl into herself at the edge of the couch at night, waiting for hours to see him come home, were over. Gone was the way her face used to light up gingerly, her bashful joy the moment he stepped into the house, and the way she sidled up to him sheepishly and asked if he was hungry.

An acute pang assaulted Brendan’s chest. His chest caved in, and he felt suffocated. In his mind, there was only one devil to blame.

Sterling f*cking Fuller. That son of a b*tch had replaced him in her heart, and Brendan had never been more livid in his life.

MT

Deirdre had sworn that she loved him with all her heart. Ha! Was this the extent of her love? Was her love so dirt – cheap that any random man could arouse her supposedly profound love?! Brendan flung his coat to the floor and stormed upstairs. He then shoved the door open,

Deirdre was already soundly asleep, but the commotion freaked her out of her slumber. Panic crawled all over her features, and she tugged her comforter even closer to herself, almost as though it would defend her against him.

She was terrified. That display of terror burned away any shred of reason Brendan had left.

He lunged for her and pinned her under him. Deirdre’s

face paled. “What are you doing?!”

She flailed her arms, putting up as much of a fight as she could to stop him from touching her. Enraged, Brendan locked her arms with a twist of his own, bellowing, “What now, b*tch?! I’m getting my end of the deal —what you owe me! Did you really think I brought you here just so you could leech off my goodwill?” A shrill cry was heard, along with the sound of fabric being ripped open. Deirdre’s nightgown was in pieces, and she shuddered in a rage. “I owe you nothing! We’re nothing! There’s nothing between us-and I’m only here because you forced me to! Don’t-touch-me!” “Why? So that Sterling can?” Malice filled Brendan’s eyes. “Sure, let that f*cker try. I’ll amputate both his arms and turn them

into dog food!” Despair filled Deirdre. His tyranny left no space for reason and mercy, and tears now rolled out of her eyes. “Please, just let me go. Why can’t you just let me go? I’m a monstrosity , aren’t I? An affront to your eyes? Doesn’t doing this to me disgust you?! Charlene is right there for you! Just screw her instead, please… Spare me!” Brendan saw red. His blood was now boiling. Had he heard her right? Had she just told him to f*ck Charlene so she could be “spared”?! He felt his chest burning. His beet-red eyes were devoid of common sense even before he held Deirdre by the jaw

with a grip closer to a chokehold. “You fighting me because you’re saving yourself for that son of a b*tch? F* ck you, Deirdre. You’re no Vestal Virgin-you’re a wh*re, and I ran through every inch of your body a long time ago! Me!”

He castigated her mercilessly because she needed to be trampled and humiliated. She needed someone to carve the truth into her bones: He was the only man she would ever have. This text is property of Nô/velD/rama.Org.

His violence-the growing force crushing around Deirdre’s wrist with each passing second in combination with the verbal abuse-only pushed Deirdre even more to the edge of a breakdown.

“What the f*ck do you want from me, Brendan Brighthall?!” she screamed. “What more do you f*cking want from me?!”