Painful Feet
SARAH
When Cullen finally reached the university gate, he realised it wasn’t the right one. He had to loop around and head to another exit. Apparently, there were three ways out of this place, but right now, only two were open.
He backed the car in and waited for me, the engine quietly humming, his eyes scanning the area until they landed on me. As I approached, leaning slightly from the pain in my feet, he got out of the car. The look he gave me made me feel like I’d just returned from battle....and lost.
“What happened to you?” he asked, walking briskly toward me.
“It’s nothing,” I muttered, trying to wave it off. “It’s just my feet... I think I have blisters...”
I didn’t even finish my sentence. He scooped me up without hesitation, making me let out a startled squeak. He carried me straight to the passenger side of the car and gently set me down in the seat. Then he crouched in front of me, tugging off what remained of my sad, broken shoes. His eyes darkened as he examined my feet.
“You were right,” he said softly, spotting the angry red blisters. And then he did something that completely took me off guard.
He leaned in and began to gently blow cool air across my skin. Not dramatically, just a soft stream, as if he were trying to soothe the sting with his breath. It felt... good. Strange, but good. Then he started to massage my feet with a feather-light touch, his thumbs moving gently over the sore spots. My body nearly melted into the seat from how relieving it was, but my mind was elsewhere, conscious of where we were, who might see us.
“Wait....Cullen, just get in the car. Let’s go,” I said quickly.
He looked up, frowning, still cradling one of my feet. “Are you sure? This looks bad.”
His eyes were narrowed with concern, like he was angry....at my feet, as if they had personally offended him by making me feel pain.
“Please,” I whispered. “Let’s just get out of here.”
And then, he kissed my feet. Not a peck. Not a joke. A slow, deliberate kiss before placing it gently back on the seat. I stared at him, stunned into silence.
He helped adjust my dress, made sure I was seated comfortably, and then closed the door with care. He walked around to the driver’s side and got in, but he didn’t drive off right away. He just sat there, hands on the wheel, staring straight ahead, a deep frown etched into his face. Like he was arguing with someone silently....himself, maybe.
“Cullen,” I said softly, reaching out and placing a hand on his shoulder. “What are you doing? Let’s go. Get me out of here.”
"No."
“Wait, what?” I asked, blinking fast. “What do you mean, no? What are you saying? I'm not going back there. If you’re not going to take me out of here, I’ll call an Uber or something.....I’ll think of something.”
I reached for the door handle, hand shaking slightly, but before I could touch it, his hand reached across and clamped down on mine softly, but firm enough to make me stop.
“No,” he said. “You can bet your life I’m going to take you out of here… but not until I hit your brother in the face.”
He was already snapping open his seatbelt.
“What are you saying?” I asked, my voice rising with confusion. Whiplash. That’s what it felt like, emotional whiplash. My heart was racing, and I had no idea what conversation we were suddenly having.
Cullen turned toward me, hand already gripping the door handle. “I’m going to find your brother, and then I’m going to hit him until his face looks like your feet.”
“What?!” I gasped, eyes wide.
“Exactly,” he said, reading my expression. He flung the door open.
“Wait!” I said, clutching his shirt to stop him. “Don’t.”
“Why not?”
“Okay....listen. He didn’t do this to me. Okay? He was just giving me a tour. I guess I should’ve worn slippers. Or sneakers. Or Doc Martens or something. I shouldn’t have worn high heels. I should have known better. He was just doing his job. He told me he was going to give me a tour, and that’s what he was doing. He didn’t touch me. He didn’t lay a hand on me. He didn’t hurt me. So… just don’t.”
Cullen’s jaw ticked. “He still should’ve said something. The moment he saw you walk in there in heels, he should’ve warned you. He should’ve told you something..... I don’t wear heels, but I have a mom. I have Bella, we practically grew up together like sisters. If I can notice that, so can he.”
He was getting heated again. “You’re his younger sister. It was his job to make sure you were okay. He should’ve looked out for you. And then..... he snapped your shoes. Snapped them. How dare he?”
“I know, right?” I echoed, snatching the ruined shoes and holding them up like damning evidence. “The audacity! These are Jimmy Choo shoes,” I said, voice cracking just a little. “It’s a new brand. Do you know how much it costs to get these?”
“I don’t,” Cullen replied, eyes narrowing as he studied the destruction. “But I’m guessing… a lot?”
“These were my favourite pair,” I mumbled. And I knew, it wasn’t about the shoes. Not really. But it felt like the last straw. I blinked fast, trying not to cry. “I got them myself. They made me feel good. Now look at them.”
“You see?” Cullen said softly. “He deserves that hit.”
He started getting out of the car.
“No!” I shouted, scrambling after him. “That’s not what I want! Don’t fight him...." But he was already out of the car. " .....Cullen !”
I jumped out barefoot, ignoring the heat of the pavement under my feet, running after him.
“Cullen !” I called again.
I half expected him to keep storming away like Ryan always did today. But he didn’t. He stopped. He turned around. His eyes swept over me, and in the next second, he was striding back toward me.
“What are you doing?” he snapped, already lifting me again like I weighed nothing. “It’s hot! Why would you walk out here without anything on your feet? What are you thinking?”
He carried me back into the car, one arm around me, the other opening the door.
“I just don't want you to fight him,” I whispered, burying my face against his shoulder. “That’s not what I wanted.”
“I know,” he said. “But someone has to stand up for you. And today.... that person happens to be me.”
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