My princess

chapter four

liya

Another week had passed, and I was all healed up.

Tom found another job. I don't know why, honestly — I personally thought we were doing fine. It's nothing too demanding. it just shifts at the gas station three times a week, but still. I wish he wouldn't push himself like this. I wish he'd just stop.

I got up, cleaned up, and opened his plate.

He'd left without eating again.

He's losing weight. Doesn't he know he won't be handsome anymore if he keeps this up? I almost laughed at myself for thinking it — almost. But underneath the joke was something heavier, something I didn't want to name yet.

He hasn't touched me. Not once. Not since I got back from the hospital.

Does he think I'm dirty now? Because I'm... not pure anymore. Because another man touched me.

I picked up my phone and called Rose.

I didn't plan on telling her. She's in Australia, and I'm in England, and the last thing I wanted was to drop something this heavy across an ocean when she couldn't even hold my hand. But she needed to know. I needed her to know.

It rang twice.

"Hey, b***h. You finally ready to dump your man so I can kidnap you?"

"No! Rose, we talked about this—"

"Fine, fine. What's up?"

I paused. The words sat in my throat like stones.

"I got r***d, Rose."

Silence.

Not the awkward kind. The kind that means someone is trying very hard not to fall apart before you do.

"Oh my God, baby." I could feel the anger in her voice before she even said another word. "How? When did it happen? Who did this — are you okay? I'm turning this to video."

The moment her face appeared on screen, I saw it — jaw tight, eyes wet, expression twisted into something between fury and devastation. Like it had happened to her. She was still in the office, blazer on, hair perfect, and none of it mattered because she looked like she was about to burn the world down for me.

"Answer me, Liya. Does Tom know? What did he do? Did you report it? Are you infected with anything? Talk to me—"

"I'm fine," I whispered.

The tears that filled her eyes finally pulled the ones from mine. Like my body had been waiting for permission. Like I'd been holding my breath for two weeks and only just now remembered how to exhale.

"I'm so sorry, baby." Her voice cracked. "Why are you just calling me now? When exactly did this happen? Where is Tom?"

"He's at work."

The call ended with both of us crying — her consoling me, me finally letting it all out. When I set my phone down, I felt lighter. Hollow in a good way, if that makes any sense.

Rose owns her own company. Makes millions every week — her parents are the kind of rich that doesn't need to be announced. From the outside, her life looks picture perfect. But she loves me like family, the messy unconditional kind, and I love her just the same.

Later that evening, I heard his key in the door.

I'd been preparing since afternoon.

A long bath, shaved, waxed — not that it ever really bothered Tom. He'd eaten me and f****d me either way, hair or no hair, he never once complained. But tonight felt different. Tonight I needed the armor. I ate pineapple too, which in hindsight was perhaps a little desperate, but I was willing to try anything.

I slipped into his shirt — just his shirt — and settled into the small living room, arranging myself like I wasn't absolutely terrified.

When I heard the front door, I shot up.

My heart was doing something embarrassing in my chest. What if he looked at me and felt nothing? What if he looked at me and looked away? I don't think I could survive that. Not from Tom. Not right now.

"Princess?"

"Over here," I called, keeping my voice even.

He walked in and his eyes moved over me — or maybe they didn't. Maybe he didn't notice the shirt, or the legs, or any of it. He just looked... tired. And that made something in my chest sink quietly.

"I cooked," I said quickly, before he could head to the kitchen.

He paused. Then nodded. "Thank you."

I turned toward the bedroom, telling myself it was fine —

Strong hands closed around my neck and waist at the same time.

"Where do you think you're going?"

His lips found my neck before I could answer, trailing slow and deliberate like he had all the time in the world. You smell amazing, he murmured against my skin. You look amazing. His hand slid under the shirt, cupping my breast, squeezing until I felt it between my thighs. I could feel him hard against my ass and I thought — finally. Finally.

Then he stopped.

One step back. Just like that.

"I'm really tired, princess." Soft voice. Almost gentle. Which somehow made it worse. "Maybe tomorrow."

And then he went to bed.

Without eating.

I stood in the middle of that living room in his shirt with pineapple still on my breath and tried to make sense of what just happened.

What the actual f**k.

I was right. He doesn't want me anymore.

The next day I woke up to an empty, cold bed.

Just like always.

I lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, listening to the silence he left behind. Then I got up, cleaned up, took a bath, and decided to take myself on a me date.

I do that sometimes. When the sadness gets too heavy to just sit with.

And today? Today I was crazy sad.

He was disgusted by me. That was the only explanation that made sense anymore. He didn't desire me. Didn't want to touch me. Didn't want to look at me. The man who used to pull me into him before I even finished a sentence now slept on his side of the bed like there was a wall between us.

I got dressed, grabbed my bag, and walked out the door.

If he wasn't going to make me feel wanted, I was at least going to make myself feel alive.

I headed to my favourite coffee shop with my book tucked under my arm.

I think I've read it almost ten times at this point. But there's something about a familiar story when everything else feels uncertain — like an old friend who never asks too much of you.

I ordered my usual, found a corner table, and sat with my cake and coffee. The first tear came somewhere around page twelve. Then another. I wiped them quietly, hoping no one noticed, and kept reading anyway.

After that I got ice cream. Because why not. I deserved it.

I found a bench in the park, book still open in my lap, and let the afternoon just... pass. Later I got up and walked, and somewhere along the way I started taking pictures. The sunset bleeding orange across the sky. The trees. A couple holding hands near the fountain. My own shoes on the pavement.

My shoes.

I stared at the photo for a second and almost laughed at myself. I was taking pictures of my shoes in a park because I was too sad to go home. Pathetic. Completely and utterly pathetic.

But the sky was really pretty so I took three more.

On the way back I heard music — heavy and loud, spilling out of a club onto the street. I told the taxi to stop before I even thought about it.

When was the last time I went to a club?

I got in. I came out twenty minutes later.

Yeah. Clubs weren't my thing anymore. But I was slightly drunk, which was honestly the best I'd felt all day, so I counted it as a win.

Before I knew it, it was almost midnight.

Shit.

Shit, s**t, s**t.

Tom would be looking for me. Tom would be—

I saw him before he saw me.

He was walking toward me down the street, barefoot, tears running down his face, looking like a man carrying something too heavy for his chest. My stomach dropped straight to the floor.

I knew about his separation anxiety. I knew. And after everything that had happened to me, of course he would be terrified. Of course his mind would go to the worst place. I should have texted. I should have called. I should have—

I ran to him.

He went to his knees the moment I reached him, arms locking around me, whole body shaking. I held his head against me and just stayed there, on the pavement, in the cold, for a long time.

It took me almost an hour to get him home.

And even then, he wouldn't let go.

"I'm so sorry, Tom." I ran my hand through his hair, slow and steady. "I'm sorry. I'll be more careful, I promise. I'm here. I'm right here."

He wasn't listening. Or maybe he was and it just wasn't enough yet. He stayed pressed against me, arms still locked around my waist, still shaking like something inside him hadn't gotten the message that I was safe.

I didn't try to move. I just held him back.