“Well if that’s the case, let’s try and get some sleep, then.” I help her to a stand, and she goes right for her suitcase, unzipping it and taking out some shorts and a cropped top. She asks where the bathroom is, and I lead her there.
She starts up the shower when I shut the door behind me, and after several minutes have passed, I hear her crying. I can tell she’s trying to do it quietly, but it’s not working.
As badly as I want to go in there to comfort her, I change clothes instead, giving her time to let whatever she’s feeling out.
I know it’s hard. I hate that it’s even happening, and I still can’t help blaming myself for it.
When she’s out of the bathroom, I’m already in bed with the lights off, and she’s holding her pre-shower clothes close to her chest, like she needs their protection.
I guess I can’t blame her. This is all very new. This isn’t like the villa, where it was our form of escape and we could say and do whatever the hell we wanted without boundaries. This is my home, where we’ve both been thrust back into reality and are dealing with the consequences of what happens afterward.
I’ve never had a woman sleep in my bed for longer than a few hours, but Gabby will be here all night. Something about that makes me completely aware of everything that’s happening right now, even if it is nearing three in the morning.
“Don’t act shy now,” I murmur as she places her clothes down in a corner. “Come here.”
And she does. She climbs into bed as I open my arms, sliding between them. I wrap them tight around her.
A slow sigh escapes her, and a long silence passes by. Then, before I know it, she sucks in a breath, and her body shudders with a loud sob.
“Shh.” I stroke her damp hair back with one hand, using the other to hold onto her tighter. “It’s over, Gabby. You’re with me now.” I stare up at the ceiling as her sobs become heavier. I let her cry again for a moment then I sit up, which causes her to shift a little.
“Gabby, look at me.”
“I can’t,” she says through a loud sniffle. “I’m sorry. I’m trying to stop, but it’s just—it’s too much to take in. I feel like an idiot, and my face is—”
“No, Gabby. Look. At. Me.”
She finally peers up, eyes shimmering from the slits of moonlight above. My heart aches just looking at her, realizing the pain she’s in.
“You will never be hurt like that again, do you understand?” I murmur. “You have my word. You won’t be hurt by him, and you definitely won’t be hurt by me, or anyone else, for that matter.”
She blinks most of her tears away with a nod. “I’m sorry,” she whispers brokenly.
“You have nothin’ to be sorry for.” I close my arms around her again. “I’ve got you, little thing. You’re safe with me.”
As if my words are the balm she needs, she shudders one last breath and then wipes her face. I hold her the entire time, even when I realize she’s fallen asleep.
As I start to doze off, she makes a small noise and cries out a little, her body twitching. I don’t want to wake her, so I stroke her hair, hoping it’ll soothe her.
Fortunately, it does. She’s sleeping soundlessly again.
Damn.
Kyle really messed her up. I’m certain she’s been traumatized, and I can’t help wondering what he did after I left their house. I’m certain if it caused her not to care about the consequences for good, it had to be something that broke her even more than she already was.
And now, here I am, left with a woman’s fractured soul—a fractured soul that I pray I can help heal.
Chapter Nine
Gabby
When I wake up, I smell something salty.
I sit up in Marcel’s bed, scanning the room with tired eyes.
I didn’t get the chance last night to take in the view of Marcel’s bedroom. From where I am, there isn’t much to look at, but again, it’s cozy and homey. It seems he’s lived here for years, despite not having much to look at.
There’s a dresser across from me with a TV mounted above it. A nightstand is on the right side of the bed and there’s a black and white poster on the wall to my left that says Wake Up Every Day And Be Grateful. The name Shayla W is written in thick, black ink on the bottom corner of the poster. Above my head is a square window, the sun beaming through dark-green curtains.
I roll out of bed, planting my feet on the carpet. I brush my teeth and then wash my face in the bathroom, taking note of the bruise. It’s gotten even darker, healing in the ugliest way. I squash the thought, refusing to let that dampen my mood. I cried enough last night. I’m safe for now.
When I’m out of the bathroom, a picture frame on top of the dresser catches my eyes. It’s a small, sepia-colored picture with three people in it—a teenage boy, a younger girl, and a woman with glasses and curly brown hair.
It takes me a while to realize who the boy is. It’s Marcel, only a much thinner, happier version. He’s smiling in the picture, with teeth that are too big for his face. They’re the same teeth he has now, and I’m glad to see he’s grown into them. I laugh at the thought. His eyes are full of joy in this picture.
The girl is several years younger, also with dark hair. She has freckles and round, friendly eyes. The mom looks a little more serious than the kids, but she’s wearing a faint Mona Lisa-like smile, almost like she’s proud of where she is and wouldn’t trade her life for anything in the world.
I smile as I run the tips of my fingers over the silver frame.
“You’re awake.” Marcel’s deep voice catches me off guard and I gasp, snatching my hand away from the picture.
I take several steps back, looking away. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to snoop.”
“Not exactly snoopin’ when it’s out in the open.”
He’s smiling. Good. I’m glad this doesn’t bother him.
“You look so happy in this picture.”
“What are you sayin’? That I don’t look happy now?” He’s teasing.
I laugh. “You look fine now. I’m glad to see you grew into your teeth, though.”
He belts out a laugh, coming closer to me. “You know I used to get picked on for my teeth? I was glad when the day came where I actually looked okay with them.”
I giggle. “They’re nice teeth. The people picking on you were probably just jealous.”
He caps my shoulders with both hands. “How you feelin’?”
“Better.” I shrug.
“Good.” He points outside of the bedroom with a thumb. “Made breakfast. Bacon and eggs. It’s all I had. Want some?”
“Sure.”
I follow him out of the bedroom, looking at the picture one last time.
He pulls a chair out for me when we meet at the table, and I sit, then he brings two plates and forks, placing one of the plates in front of me. He hands me a fork and I grin, digging right into my food.
Surprisingly, I have a fierce appetite this morning. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, since I didn’t eat the food Kyle cooked and didn’t eat much before the incident with Marcel or after he made the spaghetti.
I’m halfway finished with my food when Marcel returns to the table with two glasses of orange juice. “Damn. Someone’s hungry,” he chuckles, sitting and digging into his food too.
“Sorry,” I garble out, covering my full mouth. “Didn’t eat much yesterday.”
“Well, there’s more in there if you want it. Don’t apologize.” He smiles warmly. I return a smile that’s just as warm.
We eat in silence for a while, forks scraping across porcelain, and I lower my fork, thinking about everything I had planned last night.
I need to get in touch with my parents, let them know what’s going on. The sad thing is that I’m a millennial at heart, and since we can save contacts in our phones without writing the number down, I don’t remember either of my parents’ numbers. Trust me, I know it’s terrible.
They also changed their numbers several months ago, wh
en they got new phones. They were marked in the phone Kyle gave me as Mamá and Dad.
As if Marcel senses that my mind is elsewhere, he asks. “What’s going on up there?” He points at my forehead with his fork.
“Oh—uh, nothing.” I wave it off.
“Gotta be somethin’. You’re frownin’.”
I am? I rub my forehead, as if the gesture will smooth out the wrinkles. “It’s just…well, I’d hate to even ask you this, but I don’t think there’s anyone else to ask at the moment.”
“You can ask me anything. You know that.”
“I know, but this is a pretty big favor.”
“What is it?” He straightens his back, waiting for me to spill it.
“I need to catch a ride to Virginia. It’s where my parents live, and I don’t remember their numbers, but I do know their address.”
“You don’t remember their numbers?” Marcel asks, slightly confused. “How do you forget your parents’ numbers?”
“I don’t know. I have their number in my old phone, but Kyle has that phone now. They used to have another number for years, and I remember that one, but they got new phones and new numbers a few months ago, and I can’t recall either one.” I smile sheepishly. “I do remember Teagan’s though, but I don’t think she has my parents’ new numbers either.”
Marcel can’t fight his laugh. “That’s gotta be the funniest thing I’ve heard in a long time. Even if I can’t remember, I write all my numbers down. What if you lose your phone and need to have a backup source? Then you’re shit out of luck.”
“Well, that’s what they have iCloud for! You’re older than me, okay? To me, a phone can be replaced. You probably hold onto the same phone for years,” I tease.
“Nah, I ain’t that old,” he chuckles.
I shrug, still smiling.
“Well, about the ride, that can be arranged, no problem.”
I sigh, relieved. “Really?”
“Yeah. When do you want to go?”
“Maybe tomorrow? I bet they have a few rental cars up for grabs somewhere. Or…if you want, you could come with me,” I offer.
He quirks a brow. “You sure that’s a good idea?”
“Maybe not, but at this point I don’t really care what anyone thinks.”
He nods and smiles, as if pleased to hear me say that. “If I go with you, we can just drive my truck up there. That way we can take Callie with us. I’d hate to leave her here.”
I look over at Callie, who is eating the dog food Marcel must’ve poured for her before I woke up. “You’d be willing to do that?”
“I’ll do whatever you want me to do, Gabby.”
My eyes are getting hot, burning with emotion. I blink it all away, focusing on my plate.
“You’re too nice to me. I’m not used to it.”
“That’s because all you were used to was him.” I look up, and he’s scanning me with curious blue eyes. “He was your first, wasn’t he? That’s why you stuck around for as long as you did, even after gettin’ married?”
My head bobs with a press of my lips.
“It’s hard adjustin’ to what’s right after dealin’ with somethin’ so wrong. Give it time. You did the right thing by walkin’ away, trust me.”
“It just feels so wrong. I mean, we just got married. Everything was supposed to get better, not worse.” He’s quiet, probably unsure what to say to that. I don’t blame him, so I decide to switch the subject after taking another bite of egg. “Shayla was very pretty. You two looked a lot alike.”
He pauses on his next bite, avoiding my eyes. “We got that a lot.”
“Your mom, too. She looks like she used to keep you in check.”
He smirks, taking another bite. “That she did.”
“Why isn’t your dad in the picture? If you don’t mind me asking…”
His blue eyes finally lift up to mine. “He’d just been diagnosed with cancer around that time.”
“Oh.”
“He’s the one who took the picture. Believe it or not, he was a great cameraman. Had a good eye.”
“Really?” I can’t help smiling. “That’s cool.”
“There are a lot of pictures of us. Most of them are in my shed out back, though. I kept the one in my bedroom out because it was one of the last pictures he’d taken before his health started deteriorating.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Marcel.”
He doesn’t say anything to that. Instead he finishes up his food and then stands, grabbing his plate. He grabs mine as well and carries both to the kitchen.
I go with him, bumping him out of the way with my hip and turning the faucet on.
“Take Callie out. I’ll clean up.”
He smirks. “Look at you, demandin’ things under my roof already.”
I fight a smile. “I guess some things never change.”
“I guess not.”
Before he can get out of the kitchen, I shut the water off and catch his hand. I reel him back my way and push up on my toes, throwing my arms around the back of his neck and gluing my lips to his.
He catches my waist in his large hands, his touch soft and warm, and kisses me right back, groaning at the surprise.
We kiss slowly, carefully. It still lights me up inside, which proves that maybe I didn’t just want him because I couldn’t have him. I have him now, and I still feel that fire—I feel it times ten. It travels down my throat and blooms between my legs.
But the thought of having sex right now completely turns me off. I look hideous with this busted lip and bruise, not to mention I feel sore from what Kyle did to me last night. I blink hard, biting back tears.
I pull my lips away, and step back, locking eyes with him. “Thank you for letting me stay here for now.”
“Yeah,” he breathes, putting on a smirk. “More than welcome.”
He leaves the kitchen and immediately starts playing with Callie, patting his upper thigh and telling her to go out the back door with him. I wash the dishes and place them on the drying rack.
As I dry my hands off, I step in front of the door, watching Marcel as he stands in the middle of the backyard with his fingertips tucked in his front pockets while Callie trots around and sniffs.
I’m not sure if I’m supposed to be with this man. Maybe he’s only here for now, as a means to rescue me, but nothing more. I’m not sure, and I don’t want to think too hard about it.
What I do know is he’s a good man.
Kind.
Giving.
Protective.
He’s everything I never knew I wanted, mainly because I’d been blinded by abuse, neglect, and demands for months.
Marcel is different though. I just can’t help wondering if maybe he has other secrets that I don’t know about. Secrets that could possibly destroy everything between us.
There was the fight he had where he was charged with assault.
Is there more to him like that I should know?
* * *
Marcel takes me to the police station so I can file a report shortly after bringing Callie inside. After I file it, one of the officers, Officer Reynolds, snaps photos of my face, and then informs me to go to the courthouse, where I wait several hours to file a report and request a restraining order. Marcel waits with me, and I feel guilty—like I’m wasting his time. He assures me it's fine—that he doesn’t want to be anywhere else but here.
I grow increasingly impatient, and am more than relieved when my case number is called and I am seen by a judge, who grants the order of protection without hesitation.
It’s around six in the evening by the time we leave the courthouse. Marcel picks up dinner, and we head home.
His phone rings on the table and he stands up from the couch to grab it and answer.
“Really?” I hear Marcel say. He blows a sigh of relief. “Well that’s good. At least something happened. Thanks, Officer Reynolds.”
I turn to look back, sitting up on the couch. “That was Officer Reyn
olds?” I ask. “What did he say?”
Marcel places the phone back down, returning to the couch. “They brought Kyle in. He’s in jail for now, but Reynolds believes he’ll make bail by morning. I told him to call me if he could, once they arrested him.”
I huff. “Yeah, I’m not surprised to hear that. He has plenty of money to bail himself out.”
He strokes a thumb over my cheek. “We’ll be gone by then and he won’t be able to bother you for a few days, so don’t stress, all right?”
I nod. He sits beside me again, sighing.
We watch TV a moment, both of us quiet.
“Marcel?”
“Yeah?” His voice is lower.
“Thank you for everything. Seriously. I know you could be doing something ten times better than dealing with my shit.”
He reaches down to tip my chin. “It’s all good. I’m here for you. Don’t forget that.”
His words bring me comfort, and I can’t help smiling as he brings me closer to his chest and rests his chin on my head, like he never wants to let me go.
Chapter Ten
Gabby
Around 4:45 in the morning, Marcel is placing his suitcase on the back seat of his pickup truck. Callie’s dog bed, food, and a few toys and treats are packed up, and my suitcase is in the back already.
I climb into the passenger seat with Callie in my arms, and Marcel shuts the door for me. When he’s behind the wheel, he looks my way. “Sure you want me taggin’ along?”
“Yes.” I give him a reassuring smile. “It’ll be fine.” I have no idea if my parents will understand. I’m driving hours to see them, all with another man. They’ve only met Marcel once, and that was at our housewarming.
They’ll be confused on sight, not only from seeing Marcel at my side, but by the bruise on my face too.
* * *
The drive isn’t all that pleasant. Callie clearly doesn’t like being confined to the truck, so we have to stop several times so she can use the bathroom, eat, and so on.
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