by Leah Holt
How do you even find the right words of gratitude and appreciation for something like that?
I couldn't, they simply didn't exist.
This man had risked his life for me, he had taken a chance that most would only ever do if it was for someone they loved to death.
But he had done that, he risked himself for me.
Braiding my fingers together, I picked at the skin of my cuticles. It was a nervous habit that started years ago, long before all this shit happened.
It was probably the only thing I recognized from the past version of myself. The naive girl was gone, a brutally depleted woman left in her wake.
Staring out the window, I watched the trees blow in the wind and the stars twinkle in the sky. I tried to find the four points that created the Big Dipper, but I couldn't quite see them from where I was seated.
The moon was full and bright as it shone down on the treetops, sprinkling them in silver dust. Under its rays, the fallen dust glinted like windblown powder as it generously coated the pine needles.
It was beautiful.
Say thank you at least, you owe him that much.
Turning my head, I licked my lips and exhaled the words. “Thank you.”
Flicking his eyes in my direction, he stayed quiet, staring down on me with a million questions in his gaze. Rocking his jaw, he gave me a small nod and let his eyes drift back to the road.
That was it, a nod. He didn't ask me who I was or how I ended up in that closet. He didn't curse me out for slowing us down in the hallway when my legs crumpled in tainted memories.
He nodded.
I sat confused, wondering if that acknowledgment was a good or bad thing. With Diablo, a nod was always followed by a command. We didn't have casual conversation or bicker back and forth until we both came to an agreement.
Conditioned, that was the word to describe me. I was conditioned to Diablo, to his motions, his words, his demands. I was a product of repetition and callous need.
Now I had to learn the mannerisms of another. This man could mean absolutely nothing with his nod. Or it could mean something devious, something painful.
Twisting back to the window beside me, I laid my head against the glass, allowing my eyes to settle on everything and nothing at all. I didn't want to think anymore, I just wanted to live in this victory.
What he did after my thank you didn't matter, he had already done more than I could ever wish for.
I was free.
I felt like I was floating, riding the wings of some magical beast that swooped down and scooped me up just in the nick of time.
My shoulder shook and I opened my eyes. I sat in a daze for a second, confusion clouding my brain. My surroundings took me by surprise, and I instinctively jerked my shoulder away, trying to scramble back, only to hit the seat.
I opened my eyes expecting to see Diablo, anticipating his evil black stare and sadistic smile.
But I was met by the face of the stranger, his gaze warm but hard, delicate but fierce. “Come on,” he said, opening his door and stepping outside.
His voice skipped across my brain, crawling into my chest and setting my heart ablaze. A fire began to burn, his voice the spark that ignited it. I could feel myself falling, tumbling over his two simple words.
What the hell is going on with me?
I couldn't place these feelings, the warmth and tingles took me by surprise. Sitting in the car, I tried to focus my eyes. Everything was fuzzy and blurry, I couldn't see where we were or anything around me.
I must have fallen asleep while we were driving and didn't even realize it. I had no clue how long we had driven for or where we were.
Every inch of my body was tired, so I sat still for a minute, trying to catch my bearings. I'm not in that house, this man got me out. I'm free, I'm safe—
A heavy knock forced my attention to the window beside me. Turning in my seat, the man was waving his hand for me to come out.
Opening the door, I looked around. We were surrounded by trees, a thick spread that captured the darkness and hid the moon. Spotting a small trailer behind him, the soft bulb over the door was flickering, emitting barely enough light to cover the front steps.
My bare feet sunk into the cold sand, goosebumps jetting up over my skin as the night air slipped around my body like a blanket made of ice.
“Where are we?” I asked, wrapping my arms around my ribs, and hugging myself for warmth.
The man turned away from me, starting for the door. “Home,” he said, his voice husky and thick.
“You live here?” Standing outside the car, I rubbed my arms, looking at his house.
There was a protectiveness in my stance, eyes warily searching my surroundings for any other signs of life. But it was too dark, I couldn't see anything except the small home.
It didn't look like anyone actually inhabited the place, and I couldn't help the anxiety that took me hostage as I stood in the cold.
The grass hadn't been mowed in ages, standing calf-high against my legs and tickling my skin like the tiny feet of marching ants. Thick green mold spotted the lower half of the tan siding, growing up towards the windows. The screen in the door was torn in one corner, falling open into the outside world.
“For now.” His long legs brought him up the steps as he fiddled with the keys. “You coming or do you want to stay out here?”
I was hesitant, unsure of what would happen if I went inside and he closed the door behind us. Taking a small step closer, I hugged myself tighter and darted my eyes around in the darkness.
There's nowhere to go.
Metal jingled in his hands as he flipped through his keys. I couldn't see his eyes from where I was standing, but I knew he was looking at me. I could feel it. It was a chill, it was a shiver and a double beat in my heart.
His hands stilled and the quiet of night filled the air between us. “No one will find you here, those men don't know where you are.”
“You don't know that.”
The man chuckled, his voice low and amused as he spoke. “Trust me, I know.”
In the faint light above the door, I watched him brush his hair away from his face and stick the key in the doorknob.
Taking a few steps closer, I kept watching him. I took note of his body language and how relaxed he looked after everything that happened, despite what he had done. It made me question myself more about how good of a person he was.
He's done things. . . Bad things.
No one could act that casual if they had just killed someone for the first time. I wasn't stupid. There was no panic on his face, no shaking in his fingers.
What am I walking into?
Glancing over his shoulder, his eyes steadied on mine. A flash of sympathy sparked in his stare as soft lines drew up across his forehead. My chest constricted as a thin rope strung between us, linking us together. We had gone through something together, good or bad, that didn't matter. We were connected, we were bonded by our actions. He killed and I watched him, I shot someone and he stood by my side while I did it.
As quickly as that sympathy appeared, it was gone. The look he gave me faded away, disappearing behind stone-cold eyes as his jaw angled hard and his shoulders squared.
“I'm not going to stay out here and hold your hand, you can come or you can stay, it's your choice.”
I couldn't help but feel hurt and rejected, like he had just severed that tie, leaving me to carry the burden alone. Hugging myself, I darted my eyes away, unsure of what to say.
“Well? You coming or staying?”
Choice. . . He's actually making it my choice?
My brain rumbled and turned, trying to remember what it meant to decide for myself. It felt foreign, like I was being toyed with. Why would he ask me that? What kind of game is this?
“What if I say no?” Fiddling with the thin cloth around my waist, I twisted my toe into the ground. “Are you going to hurt me?”
Arching a brow, his lip twitched at the corner. He stood
quiet, mouth contorting with voiceless letters, contemplating the right words to use. “I'm not going to do anything to you. But I wouldn't suggest you stay out here, not if you want to see tomorrow.”
What the hell does that mean?
I couldn't figure out if his words were laced in threat or if he was just trying to gently convince me to come inside.
Fuck, Bijou, stop the mind game shit already! Maybe it means nothing at all.
You can't stay out here, you know that, just go inside.
A brisk gust of wind whipped against my body, causing me to sway on my heels as my skin flooded in icy goosebumps.
His house is probably warm, don't be stupid about this.
Staying outside wasn't a good option. It was cold as shit, and the thin t-shirt and ragged panties I had on were barely thick enough to count as clothing. I would freeze to death before the sun rose, and I didn't get free to just die in some twisted hand of fate.
“Alright.” The sand spilled between my toes as I walked up the driveway. Climbing the first step, I looked up at him, allowing my eyes to meet his. “Tha—”
“Don't,” he said, forcing the words back down my throat. “Don't thank me. I said they didn't know where you are, that doesn't mean this is over.” Pushing the door open, he stepped inside, allowing the screen door to flap shut behind him.
Standing on the step, I gently pulled open the door and poked my head inside. Looking side to side, I took the last step in and shut the door behind me.
The house was welcoming and cozy. It smelled like my grandmother's trailer from when I was a kid, with a musty scent, like old fabric and pine floor cleaner. Inhaling a deep breath, I basked in the familiar notes in the air, allowing that simple memory to put me at ease.
A dark blue couch was set against the wall, the edges worn down and frayed. The carpet was thin, doing nothing to stop the sub-floor from crackling and splitting as I stepped further inside. There was a small kitchen to my right, and a hall that hid the rest of the house.
Lowering my eyes to the table beside the door, my shoulders fell forward to investigate the picture in the frame.“This is cute,” I said, running my finger across a colored image of a cat popping out of a basket full of yarn.
“Don't touch anything.” His voice snapped as he whipped his head over his shoulder, brows veering in hard. “Not a fucking thing.”
Pins and needles prickled my body, making my hair stand up on the back of my neck. “I—I'm sorry, I didn't—” Jerking my body upright, my eyes grew wide. I stood waiting for him to strike me, to punish me for over stepping my boundaries in his home.
Don't hurt me, you said you wouldn't.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he closed his lids and took in a deep breath. “It's been a long day, a lot of shit went down that I would have preferred to avoid. I'm going to bed, you should get some rest too. The couch is yours for tonight.” His voice was rough, his muscles tensed and tight.
Exhaling hard, I shook my head in agreement. “Yeah, some sleep would be good.”
He was right, rest could help us both. I knew he needed to collect his thoughts, maybe try to figure out what where we would go from here.
And my head was still spinning from this complete three-sixty. Yesterday I was a captive, today I was free. It was my dream come true and yet I still couldn't completely grapple the idea as reality.
The man disappeared down the hall, and I heard a door open and shut softly. I was alone, allowed to seek comfort on an actual piece of furniture. Inside I was jumping with joy like a kid on Christmas morning.
I can't believe this happening. . . Am I dreaming?
If I am, I hope I never wake up.
Plopping my body down onto the couch, I fell onto my side and curled my arms under my head. That cushion was the most comfortable thing I had laid on since Diablo took me from my home.
The thick padding cradled my skull and my eyes instantly began to close. They were so heavy, begging and aching for sleep. The room began to fade, my lids blinking and opening, blinking and opening, each time a little deeper and longer.
Footsteps approached, a figure taking shape and fuzzy above me as I opened my eyes one last time. I couldn't keep my eyes open long enough to know if the figure was the stranger or if it was someone else.
Blackness took over, my mind going into hibernation and refusing to wake up.
I was out, lost in dreams and nightmares.
Lost in false reality and forgotten happiness.
Sleep had finally won.
Chapter Five
Bijou
I felt the sun on my face and the warmth on my skin before I opened my eyes. The sound of dishes clanking together and the scent of toast roused me awake. Blinking my eyes open, I rubbed them gently as they adjusted to the bright room.
Pushing up on my elbow, a crocheted blanket was laid over my body, covering me up to my shoulders. Brushing the thick strands of yarn, I pushed my fingertips into the small holes and tried to remember where I was.
I felt lost and confused, as long lost sleep created a haze over my thoughts. Images of the night before mingled with everything I held inside; all the feelings, all the emotions that I had folded up and put in the pocket of my mind had blown open, leaving me raw and tender.
Hate for the man who kept me as his pet.
Anger for the world that hadn't done a damn thing to save me.
Sadness for the loss of everything I had ever known.
And hope. . . That tiny root was still there, slowly pushing up the topsoil and searching for the sun's rays.
Finding a single strand of yarn, I twirled it around my finger and stared at the tip, watching it change from pale pink into deep red.
Val. . . His face popped into my head, the several shades his skin had turned twisted in my gut. I remembered it all.
The deep brown eyes that peered down on me, the thick black hair that framed his face and brushed his brows as he gave me his hand. I had been rescued, I had been freed from my box.
For that brief moment as sleep ended and consciousness swept in, I had thought it was all a dream. But it wasn't, I was away from that hell.
The stranger's home, I'm actually here. I wasn't dreaming.
Quiet voices went back and forth in the kitchen, two people talking and whispering to each other. Pushing up on my arm, I tried to see who it was.
“She's finally awake,” a small voice said, her tone low and curious. “Do you think she's hungry? She probably is, she's been sleeping forever.”
Forever?
How long have been I out?
“Wait here, I don't want you going near her.”
“But I just—”
“Wait here.” The man commanded, his feet thudding across the thin floor with determined steps before the small voice could say another word.
Looming over me, he had the same expression on his face that I remembered seeing before; dark, empty, and stern.
All the softness and concern I had seen when he opened that closet door had vanished. Thick lines creased his forehead, a deep frown plagued his lips as his eyes ran with thoughts, worries, questions; all of them understandable considering what had happened.
But none of that mattered to me. As far as I was concerned, I owed this man my life. Whatever thoughts and worries he had were warranted under the circumstances, I couldn't be angry at him for it.
I felt his body first as he got closer, his presence a weight on my chest and a twinge in my gut. Flicking my eyes away, I looked at his hands. They were large and thick, the skin rough, with a letter tattooed onto each knuckle.
The word wrath was on one hand, the word amity on the other. I had no clue what those two words meant to him, or if they meant anything at all.
Wriggling his fingers, his glare bore a hole into the top of my head. Looking back up, I gave him a half smile, and adjusted myself on the cushion. My eyes were open wide as I forced myself to say something, anything to break the silence that bristled my skin
.
“Good morning,” I said, scooting up and leaning back against the arm of the couch.
His eyes hardened, lids thinning into tight slits as he stared down on me. Something had changed in that instant. The man didn't look at me with a mind full of questions, it was something different, something darker.
I knew exactly what that look meant, and I didn't like it. He was seeing me as a threat, as a possible enemy. But I was determined to change that, I would make sure he knew that I wasn't the one he had to fear.
I was just a woman, a woman who had been resurrected from the grave because of him.
“Are you hungry?”
“Did you do this?” Running my hands over the blanket, I traced the large circle pattern, following the purple lines.
“You looked cold.” Glancing over his shoulder, he checked on the young girl, then looked back down at me. “I've got scrambled eggs if you want some.”
My face scrunched up tight, heart flickering with old pain. Just hearing the word egg made me cringe. I wanted nothing to do with another egg again in my life, not after what happened. “No,” I said sternly, shaking my head. “No eggs, no eggs ever.”
Angling his head, his brows furrowed in thought. “I've got cereal, I'll get you some of that.” Walking back to the kitchen, he pulled out a bowl from the cupboard over the stove.
Relief flooded my body when he didn't ask me any questions about why I reacted the way I did over an offer for food. I didn't want to have to explain, talk, or relive anything I had been through in that house.
The less questions the better.
Small eyes peered at me through the window that opened into the living room from the kitchen. The young girl had big curls in her rich black hair that were wild and messy, untamed in every way.
She couldn't have been more than twelve years old, her curiosity a painted expression in her big brown eyes.
“Vicki, stop staring and turn around.”
“Who is she, Redd?”
Redd. . . My savior's name is Redd.
“I told you not to ask me that anymore.”
“Fine, I'll stop.” Pursing her small lips, her eyes squinted up tight. “Maybe she's a runaway mental patient from the insane asylum.”