by Ancelli
Love Through Pain
By
Ancelli
Copyright © 2013 Ancelli
Kindle Edition
All Rights Reserved
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction, and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously. This is an explicit and erotic novel intended for the enjoyment of adult readers only.
Dedication:
To all of the wonderful readers who supported me from the start, thank you.
Together we can end domestic violence and sexual assault.
Chapter One
Javier Martinez and his girlfriend, Monica Garcia, were at the Rouse Lounge, waiting for his older brother Jose and Monica’s brother Frankie to show up. Annoyed, Javier glanced at his watch again. Jose was over two hour’s late, like always. The bar was crowded and they were getting tired of people bumping into them.
He leaned in toward Monica’s ear to be heard over the music. “Let’s go.”
She gave him a slight nod. He grabbed her hand and headed for the exit, when his brother and his friend Kevin entered.
Jose was the spitting image of his father; one they didn’t share. Jose was the son of their mother’s first husband, Miguel. He was casually dressed in jeans and beige buttoned down shirt. His brown, curly hair stopped at his collar, his light brown eyes always looked empty, unlike Javier. He had their mother’s hazel, blue eyes and black hair. People often said he resembled the Puerto Rican salsa singer Jerry Rivera.
“Where are you going?” his brother asked curiously.
He glanced at the clock on the wall and glared at Jose. “It’s fucking two. You were supposed to be here two hours ago.” He fixed his unwavering gaze on both of them.
“We were on our way, but something came up,” Kevin chimed in.
“Like what?” Monica leaned forward.
“Darlene.” Jose smirked. “She was supposed to join us, but when I went over to her apartment, one thing led to another…”
Monica placed her hand on her hip and rolled her neck. “You could’ve called us. We’re supposed to be celebrating Javy’s birthday. Thank you for screwing that up.”
“Sorry bro,” Jose said while gawking at a blonde girl that breezed by. “The night is still young.”
“Where’s my brother?” Monica swiveled her head toward the entrance.
“Frankie stood us up.” He turned to look at Javier. “Come on, stay.”
“Hell no. This was your idea, I could’ve been doing something better with my time.” He stared at his gorgeous girl. He would’ve preferred to be at her apartment in between her toned, smooth legs.
She smiled, showing her straight white teeth and moved a strand of auburn hair behind her ear with manicured nails. “We still have time.”
“We’re leaving.” Javier grabbed Monica’s hand. He marched out of the bar with her in tow.
He heard his brother yell over the music, “Feliz Cumpleaños.”
“I can’t believe your brother, he’ll never change,” Monica huffed as they walked down the sidewalk. “Frankie is an asshole, too.”
“I’m not going let those fools ruin the rest of my night.” He stopped, pulling her closer to him. “I can’t wait for my birthday cake.” He slipped his tongue between her lips.
She reared back and started chuckling. “Really?” She arched a brow.
“Really—I want a piece of your pastel,” he responded with a naughty smile.
“What are we waiting for?” She turned and pulled on his arm. They strolled hand in hand down the sidewalk. She was singing one of her favorite songs, a little bit off key, making him laugh.
Javier heard a strange noise from the alley they were passing by, and he slowed his pace. “Shhh.” He released her hand.
She stopped singing. “What?”
“Do you hear that?” He slowly moved closer to the mouth of the shadowed passageway.
“Hear what?” She followed him.
He carefully inched toward the sound. “It sounds like someone moaning.”
“Maybe it’s someone having sex, something we should be doing,” she wrapped her fingers around his wrist, “come on.” She yanked.
He jerked his hand free. “I know what pleasure sounds like, and that’s not it.” He continued into the darkness, Monica stayed put.
He could see a female on the ground with her hands around her knees, and her head on her legs. He observed his surroundings, making sure no one else was around. He spotted her purse, one black pump, and ripped underwear. His heart stopped for a few seconds.
“Miss.” He rushed over to her and kneeled near her.
She didn’t answer back or move, but he could hear her chanting. “Please don’t hurt me… Please don’t hurt me… Please…”
He gently touched her, and she violently pushed back, and screamed, “No!”
He eased back his hand, but didn’t move. She was African-American, he couldn’t see her face, but she had long hair on one side, and shaved on the other. Her dress was ripped open, her legs were in a locked position, and her arms were around her knees, covering her breasts. “Miss, I’m going to call for help.” He dug in his jean pocket for his cell.
“No!” she yelled.
Monica walked up to him. She glared down at them. “Let’s go.”
From his bent position, he stared up at her in disbelief. “I can’t leave her here like this.”
“She’s a prostitute. Why else wouldn’t she want you to call the cops?”
“I don’t care if she’s a hooker, no one deserves to be treated like this.” He examined her.
“Javy, let’s go before they think you did this.” She tried to drag him up. “You’re in the military, you don’t need this shit.”
“I said, I’m not leaving her.”
She released her grip. “You’re always bringing in strays.”
He got closer to her. “Miss, I’m not going to hurt you. I know that doesn’t mean much right now, but my girlfriend is here, too.” He crawled a little closer. “Her name is Monica.”
She kept shaking. “Please don’t hurt me.”
“I’m not.” He was now on his knees. “You have two options. I call 911, or you let me help you.”
He was caught off guard, when she finally lifted her head, he’d been overseas and seen much worse, but for some reason, this affected him in a different way. Her lids were swollen shut, he could barely see her eyes. Dried blood crusted her split lips. More blood and snot still flowed from her nose, and she had a deep cut on her left cheek.
“Oh God.” Monica covered her mouth with her hands.
“You need medical attention,” he softly explained.
She could barely talk, but she mumbled, “No hospital … no police.”
He slid his fingers across the screen of his phone, and she yelled, “No!” and tried to grab it.
He moved his hand out the way, and dialed. The phone rang several times, and then someone finally answered.
“Javy, what’s wrong? Are you okay? It’s three in the morning.” He could hear the concern in his mother’s voice.
“Ma, I need your help.” He was nervous, staring at the young, black lady. Javier prayed that she would be okay.
Monica just stood there looking at him. “What are you doing?”
“What happened? Where are you? I’m coming.” His mom sounded frantic.
“Ma, I’m okay. I just wanted to let you
know I’m on my way, and please have your nurse bag out.”
“Javier, answer me now. What is going on?” she asked in a stern voice. “Estás bien?”
“Yes, I’ll see you soon.” He ended the call, and placed the phone in his pocket. “Miss, I’m going to pick you up. I promise I won’t hurt you.” He grabbed her purse.
She gave him a short nod.
He stood, unbuttoned his shirt, took it off, and bent down, placing it around her body. He put one arm under her knees, and the other around her waist. She groaned as she placed her hands around his neck, and her head against his shoulder.
She was getting blood on his T-shirt, that’s when he noticed the bruises on her arms and legs. He hugged her closer, to ward off the way she trembled in his arms. He couldn’t explain his emotions, but he was feeling very possessive and angry that someone would beat a woman like this.
“Javy, what the fuck are you doing?” Monica glared at him in disbelief.
He straightened up and took long strides out of the alley, toward his truck.
“Javy!”
He ignored Monica, maneuvering the hand he had around the injured woman’s waist to grab his keys. A push of the key fob, and the doors clicked unlocked. He gripped the lever, opened the door, and gently placed her on the passenger seat, buckling her in.
“I’m not getting in the truck with that prostitute.”
He turned, upset, and shot daggers at her. “Then don’t! Get a fucking ride home with Jose.” He closed the passenger side door.
“Excuse me?” She placed her hands on her hips and rolled her neck. “Are you fucking crazy?”
He stepped closer to her. “You better get in this truck, or I’m leaving you.” He trotted around to the drivers’ side, opened the door, threw the lady’s purse on the back seat, and jumped in. “Get in!”
Monica yanked the back door open, and hopped in. She slammed it shut, and then crossed her arms over her chest without saying another word.
The black lady laid her head on the headrest of the car, tears rolling down her face, as he drove to his parents’ house.
“We’re almost there.” Javier glanced at the bruised lady. “My mother is a retired nurse; she’ll help you.”
She was grunting in pain, as she gripped his shirt closed. Her knuckles were bloody, too. He could tell she’d fought back, a few of her nails were broken.
Twenty minutes later, he pulled up to his parents’ driveway, and parked. Before he even opened the door, his mom was running down the steps with a black bag in hand.
He jumped out and rushed to the passenger side.
“Javier, what’s going on? You got me worried,” his mom yelled, coming down the path, tying her old blue robe.
“Ma, I’m okay, it’s not me.” He opened the car door when his mom reached the truck.
“Dios mío.” His mom eyes opened wide. “Javier, que paso?”
“I’m not sure, but I think she was assaulted.” He unbuckled her seatbelt. “I found her like this.”
Monica jumped out of the back seat and slammed his door. “Maria, he brought a prostitute to your house.”
“A prostitute?”
“Yes. He was going call the cops, and she begged him not to.”
His mom stared at him.
“We don’t know what’s going on, and does it really matter?” He gently picked her up. “She needs help.” When he was on a mission, he didn’t ask questions or wait for instructions, he just helped innocent civilians whenever he could.
His mother pressed her lips in a firm line before speaking. “Take her to your old room.” She moved out the way.
Monica looked at them dumbfounded. “Maria! Let the cops help her.” She dug into her purse and pulled out her phone.
“You don’t know why she doesn’t want to get them involved.” His mother grabbed Monica’s cell. “I’ll check her out first.”
His mother and Monica followed him into the house. Monica went into the living room, and they continued up the stairs to his old room. He gently laid her in the middle of his twin bed. “Miss, my mom is going to help you.”
She grabbed his hand with her bloody fingers. “Please, don’t leave,” she whispered. “Please…”
He squeezed her hand. “I won’t.”
“Promise me…”
“I swear.”
He saw his mother watching him. “Javier, you need to step out so I can check her.” His mother held up her first aid kit.
The lady held onto his hand. “No, don’t leave me.” She started crying; he looked at his mother, and she nodded.
“Sweetie, what’s your name?” His mom leaned in.
The lady mumbled, “Jaz … mine.”
“Hi Jazmine. I’m Maria, you’re safe now. Okay?”
She nodded.
“This may hurt a bit, but I have to clean you up.” His mother opened her medical bag, which she had put together since he was a little boy. She always said, she needed a first aid kit—especially when you have two energetic boys and a girl, and now a grandson.
Jazz hissed in pain when his mom started cleaning the bruises with antiseptic.
She placed some cream on her cuts and bandaged them. His mother stood, walked over to his old dresser, and pulled out one of his T-shirts and a pair of boxers.
“Javier, I’m going to take off her clothes, you need to step out.”
He squeezed her hand. “Jazmine, I’m going to be right outside the room.” She released him. “I won’t leave.”
He looked away when his mother took off the clothes she still had on, and started wiping her. He moved quickly for the door, opened, and then closed it. Javier balled up his fists. What kind of animal would hurt a woman like that? He was raised to treat women like queens, yeah sometimes he slipped, but he could never imagine ever hitting a woman, let alone raping one.
He went down the stairs to the living room. Monica was on the couch, her thin lips pressed together, appearing angry as hell.
“Monica, I couldn’t just leave her there.” He stood in front of her.
“Why? You don’t know her.” She shot daggers at him.
“You wanted me to just leave her there like she was trash!” he raised his voice. “If I would’ve turned my back and walked away, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. What if she was your mother, or sister? You wouldn’t want someone to just turn and walk away.”
“That would never happen, because they aren’t hookers!” She rose, holding his stare.
“You don’t know that.” He hated this side of Monica—the one that didn’t care about anyone but herself. He’d put up with her all this time because of their families.
“Just fucking take me home.”
“Watch your language in my parents’ house.” He dug in his pants and pulled out his keys. “Here.” He handed her the keys.
She peered down at them, and then searched his eyes. “Why are you giving me your keys?”
“So you can go home.”
She arched a brow. “You’re not taking me?”
“I want to make sure Jazmine is okay.”
“Jazmine… Really, Javy!” She snatched the keys from his hand, grabbed her purse, marched past him to the front door, and slammed it shut.
He heard his truck roar as she started it. Then, the rumble faded.
“Tell your girlfriend not to slam my door.” His mother yelled from the top of the stairs, placing her salt and pepper hair in a ponytail.
“Is she going to be alright?” He climbed the stairs.
His mom’s eyes showed concern.
“What?”
“Hijo, she was raped,” she sighed. “She needs to get checked by a doctor, I saved evidence. She’s asking for you. Try to convince her to go to the hospital.”
He kissed his mom. “Gracias.”
She walked over to her bedroom and entered.
Javier took a deep breath, pushed open the door, and softly stepped into the room. Jazmine turned her head to the side,
grunting in obvious pain as she moved and stared up at him. His mother had cleaned all the dry blood off her face and placed more bandages over her cuts. Even though her eyelids were still swollen, he could glimpse her blood shot eyes. Her hands clutched the sheets covering her body.
He grabbed the computer chair next to the desk, rolled it by the bed, and sat. “Jazmine, you need to be seen by a doctor.”
She just stared at him.
“You might have a concussion or worse?”
“Worse?” she mumbled.
“STD’s, pregnancy…”
Tears traveled down her cheeks.
“I’ll take you, and I swear I won’t leave your side.”
“To-morrow, plea-se…”
Chapter Two
Jazmine could feel their hands on her body as she tried to sleep. Her dreams replayed the attack in vivid color, like a movie. One guy held her mouth while the other ripped her clothes, starting at her cleavage. He called her a cunt as he slapped her. She tried to scream, and the other man covered her mouth with his dirty hands. She kicked, threw punches, fought. But they were stronger than her. Her attacker struck her, and they continued to call her names. The other man whispered in her ear—you know how you black girls like it rough. She wrinkled her nose as the musky smell of his cologne washed through her anew. Debris on the ground pressed through her clothes as she clawed at his arms. Her arms were then pinned down by his legs, keeping his palms over her mouth, as the other fella raped her, tearing into her body with no mercy.
It was beyond painful, but there were no more tears to cry—she gave up—her soul must have left her, because after a while, she felt nothing. Their laughter felt like a physical blow while they took turns assaulting her. When they were done, they continued to beat her until she could no longer stay conscious.
Jazmine woke up screaming, “No! No! Don’t touch me. Don’t fucking touch me, no!”
“Jazmine… Jazmine … it’s just a dream, you’re safe now. I won’t let anyone hurt you,” a deep masculine voice whispered. The room was dark, but she could feel him; he was close, but never once did he touch her. “You’re safe now. No one will hurt you again.”