by Poppet
Gently I stroke the face of my broken angel, "Shhhh. I'll make it all better."
The mouth that was cutely curled up in the corners this afternoon has turned. Her misery is touching. Leaning closer I examine the dried cuts on her brow, right cheek, and lips. Her lips are blue! Fuck me, this is worse than I've seen. Usually my victims are dead. No bruising or bleeding to mock me with. Tears still flow from her eyes, which are so swollen I'm surprised she can see out of them. The left one is turning kohl black.
Sitting back, my stomach clenches in a sickening twist. "Jesus."
Her lips quiver and I watch the grimace of agony as she pushes herself up on the basin to stand erect. Each breath is exaggerated with a faint squeal.
Stumbling into the shower, she fumbles with the taps. Soft wailing flows into the room around me as water bites into cuts. Slowly she slides down the tiles huddling into a ball, hugging her knees, sobbing again. Unable to look away I stare at the pooling water around her, running dark with blood. Rolling onto her back, her neck arched, she lets out such a god-awful scream that I'm tempted to cut the audio feed.
"Hush …" Trying to soothe her with a gentle caress, my fingertips slide down the cold screen.
Deep moans saturated in anguish smother my calm.
"No baby. No …"
This hurts me. I love her. An uncomfortable ache grips me, and the first tear I've allowed in over twenty-five years escapes my control. "You made me do it! You made me!"
I can't watch her. Unaware that it is loathing and self-disgust gripping me, I leave the darkroom. Reminding myself, "What are these wounds on your breast or between your hands? Then he will answer, Those with which I was wounded when disciplined in the house of my loving friends. Zechariah 13:6."
Striding purposefully to the fridge I pull out a beer, twisting the cap off. Castle lager is something I'm still getting used to, living here. There must be something decent to watch on TV. Flopping down I switch it on, flipping through the many DSTV channels. Nothing. It's all crap.
Actually, I wanted to research how they make ink from oak galls. Slugging the beer, I open my MacBook Pro and enter my search into Google. Propping my feet up, I relax back.
"Much better."
***
Oh God! My face! Jesus! I hurt everywhere. He wants to kill me. I know he does. I wish he would. Then this pain and misery can stop. I think I'm in shock. I can't stop shaking.
My eyes catch the ring of blue around my neck, in the mirror. I have to wash this blood out of my hair. If I let it dry it will just hurt so much more washing it tomorrow.
I hate you! I HATE YOU! I wish your fucking god would smite you!
Sobbing wells up like an oil spill. My very soul hurts. Spilling smothering black lifeless fluid out of the emptiness inside me. My heart breaks at the sight of me. No one will love me now. He's destroyed the only thing I had to attract with.
Desperation oozes through me, breaking my will. Taking a deep breath, forcing my legs to co-operate, I stagger into the shower. Grasping the tap to turn it. Please! Oh come on. I'm so fucked. Open damn it. With a mammoth effort punctuated with a grunt, I get the slippery thing to move open. The effort makes my shaking so severe. Shit. Maybe I've got brain damage. Is this a seizure?
Fuck! Jesus fucking Christ. Searing agony slices into my skin with the sluicing sprays. Trying to hush the automatic squeal of pain. Turning the other tap open, my strength deserts me. Leaning heavily against the tiles, my legs refuse to support me. Quivering pathetically, my knees buckle and I slide down the cold tiles with each centimetre a lifetime of hellish torture.
Despair lodges into my broken heart. Vengeance just stole the happy bubble of hope I cherished. He says I have to never break Victor's heart. But now I'm too broken. My tendons and muscles scream at me with every inch of movement. I have nothing left to offer. It's too early for common compatibility. All we had was animal attraction.
Curling over, I hug my knees and cry. Grief envelops me. The loss of hopes, dreams. Vengeance, I hate you. Demented fucking bastard. If there is a God I hope you die tonight.
Rolling to bathe my face in the invigorating spray, I release it. Screaming out my agony, my pain, my broken desperation. I can't summon the strength to move.
I lay there long after the hot water runs out. Shaking violently. This is the only thing reassuring me I'm alive. Turning my head, I force an eye open, puffy eyelids press back. Blurry. Everything's out of focus. My eye stops on the pink of my razor. I stare at it, considering the options for a long time. But the eye shuts, aching mercilessly. Even the water on my lips feels like I'm smashing them into concrete.
I hate you. I hate you. Sob. I really wish you would die!
Chapter 27
To photograph truthfully and effectively is to see beneath the surfaces and record the qualities of nature and humanity which live or are latent in all things.
~ Ansel Adams
"SHAUNA!"
Roused, I listen. Loud vicious banging on my door. Slowly I roll over onto my knees. My body feels seized up like rusty cogs. Movement is an effort. Clenching my teeth I make myself crawl to the towel rack. Feebly pulling the pink towel down to my level. Sliding it under my palm, I push it with me to the door. Slowly advancing to the noise.
"Yesh?"
"Shauna? Honey?"
"Mmm?"
My face is so tight with swelling, speaking makes my whole face ache. I lean heavily against the door. Pulling my knees up as I haul my body into a sitting position.
"Open the door."
"Na uh."
"Come on angel. I'm worried about you. Let me in. Please?"
"Uh, don'ch whunt you ta shee me."
It sounds like he's crouching, as his voice seems to come from my level now, with better clarity. "Shauna is everything all right? You don't sound well."
The compassion in his tone breaks my heart wide open. Suppressed emotion comes flooding out again, making my body shake against the door, rattling it. Sobs force me to breathe. Too upset to speak further. Shaky deep inhalations make my lungs hurt my tender back more.
"Shauna if you don't open this door, I'm going to kick it in."
My objection comes out as a wailing that sounds desperate even to me. Forcing myself up to twist the handle and move the bolt. Scrambling to move away when the door opens. I hide my face in the towel, stifling sobs.
Such a warm hand touches my shoulder. "Shauna? Shauna, you're scaring me. What happened?"
He tugs the towel, and I don't have the strength to hold it in place. I raise my hand and hide behind a palm. "Don'ch loohk."
A strong warm hand moves mine away. He sits next to me, pulling me into his chest, wrapping softly embracing arms around me, rocking me. "Jesus. What the hell happened? I'm here now."
"Venchuhnce."
He cradles me, warming me, wrapping the towel around me. "You're frozen. Your hair is like wet ice." He rubs a hand to warm my back, eliciting a wince of pain. "Oh baby. I'm going to find that prick and cut his heart out."
As if life isn't hard enough, my phone starts ringing.
"Want me to get that?"
"Uh uh."
Pushing with more inner determination than I knew I own, I crawl the five steps to answer it. "Hulluh?"
"Uhm 'kay."
"Denchist. Nohvacain."
"Shanks Duhd."
"Luhve you choo."
Dropping the phone back in the cradle, strong arms hoist me into the air, hooked behind my shoulder blades and knees.
"I don't give a shit about how stubborn you are. You're coming home where I can take care of you."
I don't have the resources inside me to complain. Closing swollen aching eyelids, letting my head rest heavily on his chest. I only open them again when he lowers me onto his bed. He grabs the camera off the night-stand and before I can object, snaps photos, blinding me with the flash.
"Nuuuuuuh!"
"Shauna this is evidence. We have to."
Holding a hand up
defensively, I manage to rock my head from side to side, muffling out, "Uh uh."
He puts it down, to my relief. Leaving my vision briefly before returning with one of his sweaters. Helping me put it on, then gently laying me back down. Wrapping my hair in the towel.
"Stay right there. For Christ's sake I'm a doctor. You should have called me. I'm getting you pain killers and anti-inflammatory's. Then you are going to rest, while I go lock up your home."
"Uhkay."
It feels like two seconds when he pulls me up into a sitting position again, "Drink." Tablets are placed into my mouth gently, putting a straw in through my swollen lips, he orders, "Drink."
Obediently I let him take care of me. He didn't run. He didn't freak. So calm in a crisis. "Luhve you."
He kisses my forehead tenderly. Wrapping me up in his duvet. "I love you too. Now rest baby. I'll be right back. And I'm locking you in. You're safe now."
"'kay."
Closing my eyes, feeling warm, snug, safe, and cherished, the happy glow wraps itself around my broken heart again. Almost instantly, I'm asleep.
***
Fuck! Fuck! I never bruised like that. She looks like she's been hit with a Boeing. Stupid fucking fool! Now I have to wait to give her those orgasms. Now I have to nurse her back to health. Her parents will probably fly over from the UK and interfere. I'll put her mother straight back in hospital if they try.
Rushing, I speed through her home. Slamming the door to the balcony closed. Locking it. Choosing not to take her contraception. She can wear my t-shirts. She'll be in bed for days. Now she won't be going to the dentist. I can give her sleeping tablets, telling her it's for the pain. She'll take them. Then at least I can get back in here and put a new feed in. Wireless technology is such a brilliant invention.
Trying hard to suppress the panic I felt when I woke this morning and saw her still in the shower. I thought I'd killed her. I can't lose her. She's my angel.
This is good. I can make this work. Now she can really feel rescued. After all, I am a tender and loving angel too. I'll make her fall so deeply in love with me. The relief in her eyes. Her shame at being a victim. She's just the right mind to fall into the trap. Her gratitude will enslave her. It's all downhill from here. Yes, this is the best move I've made yet. Genius really. Father's divine hand is in this plan. As subconscious as it was to my logical mind, I see the genius of the plan. Now she can't run away. Now she is all mine. And when I use my skills to correct the scarring, she'll love me for saving her pretty face. She'll give me anything I want.
And what I want Shauna, is my son.
I turn the shower water off. Almost slipping on an errant puddle of blood. Automatically I flush the toilet. Picking up a cloth and wiping the basin, then the floor. I catch my grim expression in her mirror. Vengeance can be a real bastard. Frantic I start cleaning the carnage. Locating the bleach next to the loo, I swab every surface.
Moving to the bedroom, I stare at the dent in the bed. Blood staining the white silk, looking black now that it's dried. Intense remorse grips me. Caressing the cold place that she occupied in anguished sobbing for over an hour. Rage grips me as I yank the bedding off. Taking it with me.
Slamming and locking her front door, I return to mine. Closing the door softly. I have her phone and keys. Supplies can be ordered in as she needs them. I shove the bedding into the Speed Queen. Pouring in Vanish and powder, switching it on. Stealthily I return to the bedroom. Pausing I stare at her angelic, fragile body, smothered in voluminous bedding. The black wrapped snugly around her slumbering form. Harshly swollen lips parted so she can breathe.
Laying down imperceptibly next to her, I examine her face. The bruise on her right cheek is greenly yellow. The swelling of both cheeks is as severe as anyone who's had wisdom teeth out. Her precious nubile lips are cracked, crusted blood mars their perfection. Leaning in I kiss her nose with butterfly lightness. "I'm sorry baby."
I have this wrenching queasiness whenever I look at her. I didn't mean to be so rough. I couldn't see how her body would react to the punishment. Only Father can see the future. I'm a humble servant of the Lord. Turning away, bitterness souring my mouth, I leave to fetch the salve for the bruises. And all that swelling after a night in cold water. I'd hate to see what she would have looked like without the bracing compress of a shower long gone cold.
Returning with the balm, I pull the duvet away, administering to my precious angel. She's all mine now. I'll keep her safe. Once I've traced every cut and bruise with the salve, I rewrap her, like the precious gift she is, waiting to be unwrapped and enjoyed.
Laying down beside her, I wrap her in my arms. Holding her, keeping her warm. Letting my body help to heal hers by returning thermal comfort. The stress of the late night, and chastising, allows me sleep. I will never get tired of a willing angel in my bed. Finding my own comfort in our bizarre dynamic, I slumber with my seraph.
Chapter 28
In photography there are no shadows that cannot be illuminated.
~August Sander
Whenever I wake he props me up, making me sip liquids and soup through straws. Days run into each other. All I seem to recall is him holding me in the bath, drying my hair, and putting me back to bed with tablets. Lethargically I stretch, testing my body's response. No pain. Sitting up, the room spins, forcing me to sag weakly back against pillows. The curtains are only half open, but something smells absolutely delicious, and I'm definitely hungry.
He's got supernatural senses. I watch him walk into the room slowly, leaning casually against the beech chest of drawers opposite the bed. "Sleeping beauty finally wakes."
My smile is automatic, it registers only after I smile, that my cheeks no longer hurt. "God sent you, didn't He?"
His smile is enchanting. He has perfect straight white teeth, a strong chin, in a smoothly shaven face. His skin is still youthful, with the only crinkles showing next to his eyes. Actually they suit him. They make him more handsome. He unfolds strong, yet not bulky arms, strolling toward me and sitting down next to me. I could stay lost in his Java coffee eyes forever. A hand comes toward me to smooth the hair off my face, and without intending to, I flinch.
"Yes, He did."
He pauses, retracting his hand with a reproachful expression in his eyes. I didn't mean to, it just happened.
"How are you feeling, angel?"
"Dizzy, hungry, but otherwise fine."
He leans with one arm on the other side of my legs. Absently rubbing a hand over my thigh. "You're looking much better."
Running a palm up his arm, I stare deeply into his eyes. "Thank you Victor. You've been like a guardian angel to me."
His expression squeezes my heart with its silent rebuke. "You don't know how many nights I've spent awake, wishing you'd slept over that night instead of going home."
I can't face that hurt in his eyes, retreating from them I stare instead at the way the blue t-shirt clings to his chest. "I just couldn't … I needed some privacy … some space."
"But you left your sliding door open and the security gate unlatched. You know he's out there. Don't you care what he does to you?"
My disbelieving eyes jump back to stare bitterly into his, "Of course I do."
"I'm going to be a demanding boyfriend, Shauna. It's time you stayed here indefinitely. You can't go home alone until I know you are completely, one hundred percent, recovered."
My heart just melts. I've never had anyone want to protect me like this before. "You got it."
He smiles, leaning closer and delicately placing a kiss on the tip of my nose. "I've run a bath for you. Maybe after your bath we can eat together for a change?"
Nodding, I silently agree. Unexpectedly he throws back the duvet, exposing my nudity, and possessively carries me to the bathroom.
"I'm sure I could have managed."
"You just said you were dizzy. I'm not taking any chances."
He lowers my legs into the white tub, waiting for me to regain my balance before
releasing me. The wall opposite the bath and shower has a long mirror above the basins. So white in here it almost hurts my sensitive eyes. Fascination grips me as I stare at my body in unashamed curiosity. Turning this way, then that, I inspect my back, my arms, my legs, using the mirror.
It's like he can see what I'm thinking. He picks up a smaller mirror and hands it to me, before seating himself on the edge of the tub, facing me. Feeling slightly self-conscious, I inspect the inside of my thighs with the mirror. Shortness of breath causes my heartbeat to palpitate, and I lower myself into the frothy bubbles. Mild dread mingled with inquisitiveness grips me, leaning back I hold up the mirror to inspect my face.
This isn't possible. I look no different to the day before Vengeance beat his god into me. I'm flawless. Well except for some bruising. But, I thought I was going to have marks for the rest of my life to remind me of that fucker. Wherever I had cuts, now it's as if they never happened.
Handing the mirror back, I notice the smug grin he's trying to suppress. "You did this?"
He takes it from me and places it on the vanity with a stretch. Dipping a hand into the bath, he extracts my foot, cupping the heel in a hand while his other hand kneads the sole gently. "I'm a cosmetic surgeon. There have to be some perks to dating me."
I'm smiling so much it makes my cheeks ache. Wrenching my foot away with a messy splash, I scoot across the tub to wrap my arms around his waist. Squeezing him so tightly my arms shake. "Thank you! Thank you!"
His laughter reverberates deeply off the walls into the hollow space. A soul caressing sensation grips me when he hugs me back.
The conversation I've studiously been evading is unavoidable after dinner.
"Your Dad called. I told him I was your boyfriend and that you had a bad case of the flu."
"Oh. What did he want? Did he say?"
"Your Mum's physio is going well. She'll be able to walk again soon."
"Well, that's good news." I glance at him as I fiddle with my fork. His masculine hand covers mine, forcing me to rest the fork on my empty plate.