Most everything in relation to Morrigan hurt. Brooks hated to admit it, had thought he might be able to move on, to be the better person he'd just said he was trying to be, but they were toxically intertwined and he couldn't extricate himself from her web. He ran a hand down her arm, taking the wine glass and reaching to set it on the nearest surface, a sidebar at the wall of the parlor that housed the rest of his booze. He didn't touch it often anymore, only after long days, and only one at a time, but he liked having it available if he needed it.

With empty hands now, Brooks grabbed her hips in a rough grip, switching their positions so that he had her pinned to the door frame, his weight pressed against her as he let his hands and lips wander with brutal ferocity, leaving the beginnings of bruises and red marks in their wake. She said to make it hurt and he would, if only to add to his mounting shame later, after the fact.