Chapter 67
Camila POV
Last night, in my rage–induced haze, I had shoved my desk chair and some miscellaneous items in front of the door just in case Mr. Hands–On Without Consent decided to get bold again.
It wasn’t much, but apparently, it was enough to stop Anya.
“What the hell is blocking the door?” she huffed.
I groaned, forcing myself to sit up. My body protested- sleep barely clung to me, and my head felt like it was stuffed with cotton. God, I barely got any rest.
Dragging myself out of bed, I kicked the chair aside, yanked the door open, and squinted at Anya.
She was fully dressed but looked rough. Her eyes were slightly red–rimmed, her hair was tied up in a lazy bun, and there was a tired crease between her brows. Wherever she had been, it was definitely not fun.
She stared at me, looking half annoyed, half relieved.
“What happened?” she asked, urgency thick in her voice.
I frowned. “What?”
The only thing that happened was that her boyfriend turned out to be a creep. And I was about to tell her that,
except-
“He’s in the hospital,” she blurted.
I blinked. “Who?”
“Logan!”
Oh.. that was his name.
I stared at her, my brain taking a second to connect the dots.
…Wait.
Wasn’t he just here last night?
I must’ve looked as lost as I felt because she exhaled sharply, running a hand over her face.
“With the look on your face, I’m guessing you didn’t know.” She sighed. “I got a call this morning. Some guy saw him
beaten up in the street and rushed him to the hospital.”
My stomach dropped.
Beaten up?
“He broke his hands,” she continued, her expression shifting to something uneasy. “And his lips were sewn up.”
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The air in my lungs froze.
A sharp chill spread through my veins, my skin prickling with something I couldn’t quite name.
Sewn up.
What the fuck.
I swallowed. “Like… literally?”
Anya nodded, her own face paling slightly as the words sunk in. “Literally.”
I had no response. None.
Because what the actual hell?
My mind raced, trying to piece together what could have possibly happened between the time I shoved him out of my room and… this.
I licked my lips, my voice coming out slower this time. “Did they say who did it?”
“No. Just that some guy found him in the street looking like that and took him in.”
I couldn’t even process a reaction.
All I could think about was last night.
The way he grabbed me.
The way he smirked, laughed, like I was just some game.
How I pushed him off and stormed upstairs, locking my door because something about him made my skin crawl.
Then he followed me up and tried to kiss me.
And now… now he was lying in a hospital bed with his lips fucking sewn shut?
A shiver ran down my spine.
I didn’t feel bad, exactly.
But I did feel weird.
Like the universe had just dropped something in my lap that I wasn’t ready to unpack.
I cleared my throat. “Is he, uh… okay?”
Anya shot me a look. “Would you be okay if someone did that to you?”
Fair point.
I chewed on the inside of my cheek, still trying to process. “So… what? You’re going to see him?”
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“Obviously. She crossed her arms. “I just came home to grab a few things. Then I’m heading to the hospital.”
I nodded, my mind still stuck on the sewn lips part.
Who the hell does that?
Anya studied me for a moment, like she was waiting for me to say something. When I didn’t, she sighed again. “You sure you didn’t hear anything last night?”
I shook my head. “I locked my door and crashed.”
Which was mostly true.
I had locked my door. I had crashed.
But now I was wondering if I should’ve heard something.
Anya exhaled, rubbing her temples. “I need coffee before I deal with this.”
She turned, heading toward the kitchen, and I stood there for a moment, my thoughts still tangled.
What kind of psycho would do something like this?
Like, seriously. Who the hell sews someone’s lips shut? That’s not some casual bar fight injury. That’s personal. That’s
deliberate.
A chill crept up my spine as I stood there, still processing what Anya had just told me.
Wait.
I do know a psycho who would.
My mind flashed to him.
Ethan.
I literally.watched him turn into something not human.
He was there last night. He dropped me off.
I swallowed hard, shoving a hand through my hair.
Oh shit.
Ethan definitely seemed like a guy who would.
My stomach twisted at the thought.
What if… what if he was the one who did it?
I shook my head, trying to snap myself out of it. I was being paranoid. There was no way I could just assume something like that.
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Except… it fit, didn’t it?
The timing. The violence. The fact that Ethan was weirdly protective
me even when I didn’t ask him to be.
I groaned, rubbing my temples.
No. Nope. I was not going to spiral over this.
Maybe it was a coincidence. Maybe Anya’s boyfriend was just a shitty person who pissed off the wrong people. There’s no way I’m the only one who found him disgusting.
Right?
I exhaled and turned back to my room, nudging my barricade of furniture with my foot.
If Ethan had come back, wouldn’t I have noticed?
I sighed, moving to clear the path properly. But the thought kept nagging at me.
The more I thought about it, the more I realized…
I wasn’t scared.
Not really.
If Ethan had done it, what did that mean?
That he was dangerous? Sure.
That he was capable of horrific things? Absolutely.
But… that also meant he did it because of me.
Because someone messed with me.
And that- God help me- made me feel weirdly safe.
I should be disturbed. I should be horrified.
Instead, my brain decided to settle on flattered.
What the actual fuck, Camila?
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