She hesitates. Her eyes drop again. She takes a deep breath, looking back up at me, with tears pooling in her eyes. “He was my oldest brother Jeremy’s best friend, lifelong friends. His family has lived across the street from mine before there were any kids in the picture. Our parents seemed to have kids within months of each other, all four years apart, so by the time I was born, Jeremy and Dax were twelve. Anyway, Jeremy was extremely protective of me because I’m the only girl. Dax was always nice but never paid much attention to me. He has three brothers of his own. I was the lone girl in a pool of seven boys. Our families were so tightly knit I didn’t know the difference between blood brothers and the neighbors for years.
“When I was fifteen, they were twenty-seven. I went to a party I wasn’t supposed to be at; I got drunk and called Jeremy to come pick me up, hoping he could get me in my house without my parents seeing me. When I called him, he was with Dax. It was late, and Dax said he would ride with Jeremy to come get me. They showed up about fifteen minutes later, both giving me the riot act about how immature I was to go to a college party, how someone could have taken advantage of me. I just rolled my eyes at them, ignoring everything they were saying. Jeremy turned to look at me in the backseat, to make sure I was paying attention. When he did, he ran a red light and a truck hit the driver’s side of our car. He died at the scene. I was in really bad shape. I had been sitting behind him, and both of my legs were broken, my left arm was broken in multiple places, and I had a head wound. The pressure on my brain put me in a coma for several weeks. Dax never left my side. I’ve had nightmares for years as the scene replays in my head over and over.
“My parents said he was vigilant – he would shower there, people would bring him clothes, but he never left. Because he refused to leave, he lost his job. When I finally came out of it, he assumed Jeremy’s role, and he’s been my keeper since then. He’s been delivering here for as long as I’ve been working here, and when I’m in school, he takes the packages to the mailroom. When I’m working, he comes up and delivers anything for our floor just to check in on me.”
As Julie tells me her story, I want so badly to tell her I understand every emotion and all the sorrow she has endured. Of course, I don’t, doing so I would have to allow myself to relive my own personal grief all over again. She seems to have finished her story. I just stare at her, dumbfounded that the same Dax who broods in my office and ordered me to dinner tonight is the same man Julie just described – the man who has been her protector for the last nine years.
“Cameron, he has been asking about you since I was here last summer. I promise he has a heart of gold.”
“Sounds like it.” I didn’t have anything left to say. She took my silence as dismissal, rising from the chair and going back to her desk.
What the hell does a person do with information like Julie just gave me? I don’t know this man from Adam. I had been adamant I wasn’t going to meet him tonight, and now I feel like I should give him a chance. Ugh, all I want to do is go home and climb in my bed. The fact is while he is intriguing, we are too different – I can tell that just by looking at him. I don’t have time for a relationship and have never been good at meaningless sex.
I glance at the clock at five minutes to seven, knowing I could still make it if I ran, but I resolve to go home and save us both from a pointless charade. I pack up my things and make my way to my car. Pulling out of the garage, I wish I had asked Julie for his phone number so I could at least tell him I wasn’t going to show tonight. Instead, I justify my no show by telling myself I never agreed to go in the first place.
CHAPTER TWO
I don’t see Dax on Friday. I don’t know if he came to see Julie or not. In fact, I don’t see him again at all. In fact, I haven’t seen him at all for weeks on end. I’m edgy, on high alert, cursing myself every time I look at the door and he doesn’t pass through it. I did this to myself; I discarded his advances like he wasn’t worth the time of day. Trying to let go of the anxiety I feel toward missing him, I decide to go out with my girlfriends to a bar downtown. It’s on a side street off Main Street running through town. Friday nights downtown are usually pretty busy, but when you close the bar down, it’s fairly deserted when you leave. My friends head out when I call a cab. They all live in the vicinity while I am out in the suburbs. I told the cab driver I would meet him on Main Street, since it’s easier than trying to get near the door to the little hole in the wall dive I was in, and the fresh air would aid in my sobriety.
My first mistake was not going home to change after work before I came out tonight; I am still in a skirt, blouse, and heels. My second mistake was stepping out the side door that my friends had left through that empties into the parking lot for the bar where they had parked. As soon as the door closes, I try to grab the handle to go back in and exit out the front door, but it locked behind me. My third mistake was consuming so much alcohol that I needed a cab to begin with. I feel every drink the moment my heels hit the gravel in the lot. It is pitch black outside. Not a single light shines in the dark alley.
The skin on the back of my neck prickles causing the hair to stand on end. There is someone else in the parking lot with me, but I can’t see him or her. There are still a few cars in the lot. I assume they belong to the workers still inside. My heart starts to race. My sole focus becomes getting out onto the street where lights will illuminate the sidewalk. Shuddering with nervous anxiety, I stay close to the building, dragging my hand along the wall effectively blocking off a line of attack. I hear the crunch of the gravel under heavy shoes, a different sound than my own heels create. The pace of the steps picks up, and instinctively mine increase as well. I am only halfway down the wall when I feel an arm around my waist, and my ankle rolls into my heel. The hard grip catches me off guard, and then a hand slips over my mouth. I scream as loud as possible, but it is like a whisper when I try to force sound through my captor’s hand.
I struggle against what I assume is a man, throwing my arms in every direction trying to make contact with my attacker, kicking wildly. My body is thrown against the wall, my head bouncing off the brick. The smell of blood permeates my nostrils as I feel it trailing down my neck. The harder I try to fight, the more energy I lose, the more light-headed I become. He keeps restraining me, binding my wrists with some fabric behind my back while he holds my mouth with his enormous hand. His other hand rips at my blouse, tearing it from my chest. Tears start to seep from my eyes. I won’t let him win. I will fight with everything I have in me before I allow him to take what he is after. Pleading with him, I beg, “Please – pllleeasse, let me go.” Ignoring my muffled cries he tears my bra from my chest. “Please stop. Please.” My stifled pleas fall on deaf ears. He hasn’t uttered a word, just continues mauling my body with his talons.
Trying to gather my wits, I remember a random Oprah segment about women’s self-defense. In the segment, she said if you ever get in a situation you can’t get out of, try to lure your captor in close enough to his body to plant a kiss, making him think you are giving in. He had begun to press his body against mine, fumbling with his pants. I attempt to knee him in the crotch, but his thigh blocks it. He holds me closer to the wall, eliminating any freedom I previously had, other than my neck and head. I have to steel my resolve. I sigh deeply into the palm of his hand, silently admitting defeat, and quit fighting. Still holding me tightly against the wall with the brick scraping my skin, he relaxes his grip on my mouth and pulls my skirt passed my hips before it falls to the ground leaving me standing in nothing but my thong. I lean into his shoulder, my forehead resting on his collarbone. His hands take it as an open invitation to grope my body. I am panting in fear, but he seems to think I am aroused. He allows me to nuzzle into his neck. I turn my face into him, smelling the stench that covers his skin. It is an odd, moldy smell that permeates my nose in the most nauseating way. It is a scent I will never forget. Forcing my lips to the vein pulsing in his neck, I kiss him lightly, then an open mouth kiss meets the m
ost sour taste my tongue has ever encountered. I go for it. I open my mouth, exposing my teeth to that vein; I bite down with the intention of continuing until they came back together with a chunk of his flesh in my mouth.
I have no idea how much of his flesh I manage to rip from his neck before he screams like he is on fire. He slams my head into the wall, then his fist in my face, repeating the beating over and over like it is a mantra he is trying to instill in me. With each annihilating blow I lose a little more of my hold on consciousness. I feel his hands all over me; I hear the tear of the only fabric still covering my body; something invades my sex; then darkness consumes me.
There is a lot of yelling, sirens, and arms around me. I struggle to escape but can’t get away. I fade in and out but am never coherent enough to make sense of anything going on around me. My eyes flutter open, and I am flat on my back, strapped to what I assume is a gurney in what I presume to be an ambulance. I can’t move my head, and my eyes seem to be swelling shut faster than I can blink them. I feel a strong hand gripping my fingers, but I can’t see the face attached to the hand. The more I try to move my hand away, the tighter the grip gets. There are tattoos covering the part of the arm attached to the hand holding mine, but there is no voice, there is no body, and there is no face. I feel utterly alone even though there are at least three people in the ambulance with me. I’m scared, and I can’t hold onto consciousness.
CHAPTER THREE
I float in and out over what seems to be a short period of time. Each time I try to open my eyes; there’s only a small slit that provides any visibility. My throat burns, and I feel like I’m choking. I have the worst migraine I’ve ever felt, and there isn’t a single part of my body that doesn’t seem to throb in pain. I’m not lucid. I’m having the most beautifully vivid dreams, and when I do manage to peak out of slumber, it’s as if there’s an angel next to me, luring me back to unconsciousness with his songs – an acoustic melody softly echoing off the walls of the room. The sound of the guitar is beautiful, and I wish I could hold onto it, hear it forever, and it become part of my spirit.
I finally manage to drag myself into a semi-coherent state, taking note of the stark white walls, the hum of the fluorescent lights above me, and the constant rising and falling of the machine breathing in time with me. I’m alone, and for the first time since my parents died, the solitude scares me. I hear the beep of the heart monitor start to quicken as my anxiety rises. I can’t scream for help and can’t see through my swollen eyes to find a button to call a nurse. The bathroom door flies open, and a massive form stands there. Or, is it my imagination? A nurse races in, giving me what I assume is a sedative before I can identify the form in my room. Everything darkens, and I hear murmuring voices.
The next time I wake, it’s dark. There’s a little overhead light behind me, but the sounds are the same. This time, however, I’m not alone. There’s a bear of a hand clutching mine. When I turn my head to see whose hand is clutching mine, I get shooting pains in my head, and I whimper with the suffering. My pitiful cries wake him, but I still can’t tell who he is.
“Shh, baby. Don’t try to move. I’ll get the nurse.” There’s a light kiss on top of my forehead, and though it has a familiar sound, I still can’t identify the voice.
The nurse comes in, checking monitors, typing things on her iPad, before acknowledging me. “Ms. Pierce, you gave us quite a scare. Don’t try to talk with the tube in your throat. I’ll see what we can do to get that taken out soon. Are you in pain?”
I nod my head to communicate.
“Can you hold up your fingers to tell me from one to ten, what your pain level is?” She seems kind. Her voice is patient and warm. I show her eight fingers and point to my head. Then six and point to my arm, which I realize, is in a cast. There’s a throb between my legs, and I almost motion a number for that region, but with the memories flooding my brain, I just start to cry instead. Quiet tears stream down my face pooling on my shoulder.
The mammoth of a man stands beside me the moment the waterworks start, wiping them away, caressing my cheek. I try like hell to focus on his face, to recognize him, to hold on to something familiar when the voice I’ve heard singing to me in my dreams softly whispers in my ear, “Don’t cry, Kitten. You’re safe.” Fucking Dax Cooper. Oddly, I just lean into his voice, my cheek rubbing against the stubble on his face. He kisses me softly on my cheek, sitting back down next to the bed. He picks up a guitar that must have been close by and starts to play, and within minutes, he’s lulled me back to sleep.
“Kitten, I need you to wake up. Come on, I know you’re tired, but the doctor’s here to see you and to take the tube out.” I open my eyes wider than it seems I have in years, the light blinding me as I reach up to cover them with my hand. There are cords everywhere; I can’t imagine how many machines are monitoring some function of my body. Once my eyes adjust to the light, everything comes into focus. Turning my head is still painful and I’m sporting a massive migraine, but the overall level of pain has definitely dropped since the last time I evaluated it.
The doctor catches my attention in his white lab coat. I just stare at him, waiting for him to speak since I can’t. He smiles at me, and I think I just heard Dax growl next to me, but it could have been a machine. “Hi, Ms. Pierce, I’m Dr. Johnson. You seem to be doing much better than the night you came in.” I just shrug. I don’t know how I felt the night I came in. I look over to Dax for comfort, but he is giving Dr. Johnson the death glare and wringing the life out of my hand in the process. Rounding the room again with my newfound vision, the doctor starts asking about pain levels, but he is more specific in his questions. He tells me that my skull has been fractured in multiple places, hence the reason for the migraine. I rate it at a seven; then change it to a six. My arm has been broken in two spots; it is uncomfortable but not really any pain, so I hold up a one. There are bruises and lacerations all over my back and sides from the brick wall. When questioned about them, I give him a one. Three of the toes on my right foot have been broken, and I show him three fingers. Every time I try to wiggle them, the little bastards shoot pain through my leg. Dr. Johnson hesitates – it doesn’t escape my attention that he has gone all around my body but skipped a large section. “Ms. Pierce, would you like us to go over the rest of your injuries privately?”
I look over at Dax; he is the only person in the room that isn’t a medical professional. His eyes are swimming with kindness; I’d only seen them so soft when he looked at Julie that day at her desk. “Cameron, if you want to do this privately, I can step outside. I don’t mind. Or, I can stay here and hold your hand and try to walk through the heartache with you.” If I could reach up and kiss him, I would. His words are soft and sincere; he’d whispered them to me, giving me the choice. “Do you want me to wait in the hall?” I debate, and my guess is he already knows what happened. I don’t know how long he’s been here, but I’m pretty sure he was in the ambulance with me, how I’m not sure. This is going to be humiliating with or without him, but at least with him I won’t be submerged in solitude. I shake my head no and give his hand a small squeeze. When I look back at the doctor, he resumes speaking.
“There is no delicate way to put any of this. You were brutally raped. There was an object used for penetration other than a penis, although that was used as well. There was tearing both inside and out. Your uterine wall was torn as well. There are a lot of stitches, which is the discomfort you still feel. Unfortunately, until those come out and the swelling goes down, we can’t evaluate long-term damage. Hopefully, there won’t be any other than a few small scars.” He keeps talking, but I tune out. It appears Dax is listening intently, so I let my mind wander and block out the voices. At some point, they decide to take out the breathing tube leaving my throat feeling like there is a raging inferno burning through my esophagus. The nurse brings me water but doesn’t want me to drink much at one time. She asks if I want pain medication, but I just shake my head no. I want to hold on to a few mom
ents of lucidity, even if I am in pain. The medical posse files out of the room leaving me alone with Dax.
Looking over at him, taking in his overwhelming presence, his beautiful green eyes staring at me, waiting for me to say something. “Dax, why are you here?” My voice is hoarse and comes off harsh, which is unintended.
“I’ve been with you since the police found you,” his voice is smooth and empathetic.
“But how?”
His eyes close slowly as if he is reliving an event he doesn’t really want to talk about. “My buddy, Fisher, is on the Greenville PD. I’ve talked to him a lot about you, so has Julie. When they found you and got your license out of your wallet, he recognized the name, although not the beautiful woman I had spoken so fondly of. He called me.” He pauses as if to collect his thoughts, “Geezus, Cameron, he scared the shit out of me. He wouldn’t give me any details and just asked if you had any family he could contact. I called Julie, and she said you didn’t have any that she was aware of and didn’t know how to reach any of your friends. I called Fisher back, found out where you were, and once I got to you, I couldn’t leave. I was in the ambulance with you, but I paid hell when we got here because I wasn’t a relative. Fisher managed to use his pull to get me in, and once I had been here for a couple of days, the nurses all knew me and left me alone.”
Silence fills the room. I don’t know what to say to this man. I have been nothing short of a raging bitch to him and stood him up for dinner; yet, here he sits.
“How long have I been here?”
“Today makes the eighth day.”
“You’ve never left?”
“No.”
“I kept hearing a guitar and someone singing to me. I thought it was an angel. That was you wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Pieces of Paisley Page 32