I think about you when you reach for me.
Despite your closed eyes, I knew you were awake when I climbed into bed. I could see the stress darkening your sweet face in the dim lamp light. The frown pulling down your gorgeous lips.
I tried to be respectful. Didn’t touch you even though I wanted to more than even I can understand. To sink deep inside you and hold your body tight and whisper in your tiny ear that it’s over. He’s dead. You’re safe. I’ll never let him or anyone hurt you ever again.
In spite of my shower, the scent of bleach lingered on my skin. A light sheen of sweat coated my chest from the exertion of adrenaline still pumping through me. I took from him everything I could until he died. Yet your steady touch reminded me you still love me despite the monster within. Forgiving me for the mistakes I’ve made.
You scooched over close enough to entwine our hands. Your loose tits bounced under your tee shirt brushing my bicep. Your silky hair tickled my neck. Your hesitant gaze met my eyes. Healing me, if not you. Not yet anyway.
I say this will take a long time. I believe it will take a long time. But I don’t want it to take a fucking god damn long time anymore. Now that he’s gone, I want you back completely. I want the insecurity out of your eyes. I want you to believe you’re mine again.
I think about you when you find me in my little studio.
My happiness to be back in this comfortable space and to see you in it faded when I saw the worry lining your face. Highlighting the dark circles under your intense brown eyes. Neither of us sleeping well. Together in the same bed, but barely touching or talking. An ocean of guilt and fear keeping us apart. Neither of us able to fight through the undertow to find each other.
Despite my doubt I accepted your outstretched hand. Strong fingers wrapping around mine with love and refuge you imbue with your resolute touch. Nodding as you explain we have a guest. Someone who I didn’t realize I would see again.
My feet stalled from the stranger jumping to his feet when we entered your office. Familiar dark eyes, almost black, greeted me. A hesitant smile flickered on his face before vanishing. I couldn’t stop trembling when I heard his accent. The recognition of who he is. What he saw. What he did.
I had to swallow down vomit on my tongue when he called me kitten and jerked away from his handshake. Stumbling backward into your hard, broad chest to not let him or the insult touch me.
I thought I wanted to see him again. To thank him. To ensure he knows how appreciative I am for his actions. But the memories of that night flooded my head, and I couldn’t form thoughts or words or emotions. I could only lean on you to keep from falling.
I could feel your body shake with rage in spite of the thickness of our clothes between our bodies. Biting out through a tight jaw that my name is Giselle not kitten.
All I could do is nod when he apologized. Unaware of the faux pas. Of the shame imparted in that nickname.
When you pulled me onto your lap, I should’ve been embarrassed. Insulted to be treated like a child. Yet, I couldn’t bring myself to be. I loved your possessive touch to remind him I was yours. To remind me I was yours. Not anyone but yours.
Tight arms curled around my waist trapping me within your embrace. Protecting me from the monster he resurrected with his presence. Shielding me from the evil we experienced together.
He sat down hard. Almost slamming into the gray leather guest chair. Uncertain with his hands curling and uncurling into fists on the fat arm rests. Explaining slowly at first about being under cover and unable to endanger his case. Too damn powerless to act lest he jeopardize the other agents planted in the organization.
The words came more quickly when he described the shame he felt to watch me be violated. His confession rushing out in a flurry of guilt and shame as he admitted to the nightmares that had plagued him for weeks afterwards. That he wanted to contact you to let you know where I was but he was so deep inside he couldn’t risk being caught. Desperate for a chance to message you that never happened. Almost pleading forgiveness when he said he did all he could. It wasn’t enough, he certainly realized, but it was all he could do.
I’m sorry. Two simple words that were unnecessary. A genuine apology he offered and I accepted. Because I believed him. For as horrific as the situation was, he really did all he could and I was grateful.
The tears wouldn’t stop. I couldn’t stop my sobs to thank him. So I showed him my gratitude the only way I could.
But of course you didn’t like it. And at that point I didn’t like you.
I think about your now dead husband when I grab the back of your dress.
The heavy blue fabric ripping from the force of me jerking you back when you attempted to jump out of my arms to hug that motherfucker. Who didn’t kill that bastard when he had the chance. Who didn’t do a damn thing to stop him. Who didn’t do a damn fucking thing to save you.
I would never have introduced you—never let him into our home—if I knew how he failed you. You hailed him as hero. But he’s nothing but a fucking cock sucking coward. But my rage was nothing on yours. Not at him. But at me.
Your petite body swirled around, ready to battle with me when I told you not to touch him. When I reminded you that you’re mine and no man but me touches you.
Blackness filled my view. Stealing all the light from my vision when you murmured he kept all the men from touching you. Your voice raising higher and higher. Shrieking with hysteria as you explained how that motherfucker raped you. Many times. Before that night and after that night. Mornings and afternoons too. Any damn time he wanted.
But that night, that horrible night, was the worse, you yelled at me. He raped you in front of this stranger and a room full of all the other men who wanted to take their turn too. If it weren’t for this man, they would have each touched you and I wasn’t there to stop them. Not then. Not any of the four weeks you were gone. Not once during the entire month you were kidnapped was I there to keep him from touching you. So don’t you dare blame the one person who helped you.
This time it was me who freaked out. An enormous melt down that destroyed my office. The furniture smashed, the art work shredded, the carpet soaked with the wet bar toppled to the floor. Bad enough I fucking scared myself. Bad enough my men came running to restrain me. Bad enough that Jane ushered you out as I fought four guys pinning me to my desk while the biggest battle raged inside myself.
I’m losing you and I can’t fucking take it.
I think about you when Jane tells me she’s proud of me.
I don’t like her praise. I don’t deserve her praise.
I hurt you.
I hurt you with my honesty. With my anger. With my thoughtlessness.
The words just burst out of me, and now I can’t take them back. No matter how much I want to. I don’t blame you. I really don’t. That doesn’t mean I wasn’t frightened and doubtful and vulnerable. All I wanted was for you to come for me. All I wanted was for you to stop him. All I wanted was for you to kill him.
Which isn’t what I should have wanted. I shouldn’t wish death on anyone. I never thought I was capable of thinking that.
I don’t know myself any more.
I think about you when I find you back in your studio.
Jane already counseled you for hours and headed to bed. As exhausted as both of us are. You were pretending to work but I’m not stupid. Well I am right now. I can’t get my shit together. I know you were hiding from me. Can’t say as I blame you. I pretty much hate me too. You didn’t invite me in so I stayed in the doorway. The exact opposite of what I want. What I normally do. But obviously what I normally do isn’t working so I did what I think you would do. If you were in my place.
I finally told you I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that I’d never said the words until I heard him apologize to you. I guess they didn’t seem like enough. How the fuck could they be enough after what I let happen to you?
Your swollen eyes shined when you stare at me as I begged you to please
forgive yourself. Which is even more important than you forgiving me. I reminded you how proud I am that you were so damn brave and resilient. That not very many women—if any—could have gone through the hell you went through and still be this strong. Still be fighting him and me and the doubts I created within you. Don’t let my mistakes be what holds you back.
I failed.
Two words I hate more than any others in the entire fucking universe. Especially when they involve you.
I failed you, and I’m sorry.
I think about him when I find you brooding in your office.
Your body pulsed with rage as you scanned your phone. A terrifying mania filled your expression. Making me shudder when your eyes flicked to me and then immediately back to the screen. My heart weeping when I know your anguish is because of me. In the past, no matter how stressed you were, how much work you had waiting for you, you always seemed happy to see me when I’d surprise you. Abandoning your papers and laptop to stalk to me. Ravishing me so quickly and thoroughly, we wouldn’t make it to the bedroom. You’d take me right on your desk.
Now, I’m a burden. To you and myself. I’m almost skeletal from his abuse, but my body has never felt heavier. Weighed down with the shame I carry in my mind and my soul.
Today you brushed past me. Kissing my forehead almost as an afterthought. Cursing even more than normal if that’s possible as you raced down the hallway, two of your men flanking you, struggling to keep up.
Just when I think maybe we’ve found our way back to each other, I realize we’re more lost than ever.
I think about my motherfucking bastard captain when I found you hiding in the pantry.
With Jane.
With my gun.
That thank fucking god you weren’t turning the weapon on yourself. Or asking me to.
You were protecting her from the massacre I caused when I discovered one of my most trusted men fucking betrayed me. That’s how that god damn motherfucking fucker stole you. Tony gave you to him. He fucking gave you to fucking him!
Don’t worry though, rosy girl. You never have to worry about him or any of his traitor bastard buddies again. I’ve taken care of all of them. I would’ve loved a slow, glorious, agonizing torture again for those motherfuckers but I didn’t get that luxury this time. Their bodies blasted beyond recognition is a close second though.
I hope you believed me when I told you that you were never in danger despite the battle. The men assigned to guard you are paid well. Very fucking well. But I know they hold the same beliefs as me with regard to women. Honor among us bastards to shield you from threats or die trying. Just like Trent.
I’m sorry I destroyed the house. Almost too damn much blood and bullet holes to repair. I’ll fix it rosy girl. Or build you a new place. Anything you want my brave, brave girl. I know I shouldn’t be smiling after I just gunned down those three assholes. But after all the bullshit you survived you are just too damn tough to let anyone hurt you again. You even protected your therapist. I’m so proud of you. I’m so fucking ecstatic you’re proud of yourself.
But I think we’ve fucked up Jane.
I think about him when the doctor inspects the surgery site for the last time.
Hopefully, the only time he’ll have to. He’s promised me that when I wake up the hideous tattoo will be gone permanently. I shook my head when he asked me if I wanted to see the lines he drew on my back. To confirm where he’ll make the incisions and graft the skin, forever removing the monster’s brand.
I don’t ever want to look at anything that reminds me of him. I just want it gone. I just want the anesthesiologist to come and put me out. I just want you to stop pacing as I write this. Both of us expect so much. I hope the operation is enough to give us what I pray it will.
I think of you when you wouldn’t open your eyes.
God damn, rosy girl, you about fucking killed me today when you struggled so much to come out of the anesthesia. The nurse said it’s relatively common, that some patients take longer than normal to overcome the sedative effects. Especially a petite woman like you. But I don’t give a damn about any of them or any of that. I just wanted you alive and awake and okay.
And happy that it’s gone. You were. The first words out of your mouth when you finally blinked open your gorgeous blue eyes. Tears rolling down your too pale cheeks when I confirmed everything went exactly the way it was supposed to. The doctor said you’re perfect. Fuck yes you are. Even though I should kill him since he’s seen my girl naked. But I’m relieved enough you’re doing well to let him live.
And satisfied that he implanted the tracking device without revealing my demand to you. Probably all kinds of wrong but I don’t give a damn. I’ve got to keep you safe. A tracker on you isn’t enough. Your phone and ring were ripped away too easily. But a microscopic chip inside you, that no one knows about but me, ensures I always know where you are. I’ll always have you.
I think about the damn nurse when you scream from me touching you.
Why the fuck did she leave you? Everyone’s under strict orders to never leave you alone. I step out for one phone call and come back to you sobbing. What the ever living fuck? God damn panic attack that you thought that motherfucker would come back and fucking rape you again while you’re strapped down. Too distraught to realize you’re not strapped down. We can move you and massage your neck and leg cramps and give you more pain relief. I swear to god we can ease all your suffering. I will ease all of your suffering rosy girl.
I have never laid a finger on a woman except in pleasure, but that was the closest I’d ever come when she told me you didn’t need someone to sit with you. Complaining that it was an uncomplicated procedure and no need for you to act like a baby. That emotional hysterics are completely unnecessary.
Fuck that.
Fuck her.
She had no fucking clue what you’ve been through. And I was damn sure willing to let her know. To give her a tiny taste of the abuse you endured when I raged at her with my mouth since I didn’t have anyone to demonstrate with my fists or my gun how fucking furious I was.
Finally, it was her crying like a baby. Good, you fucking weep, you cruel bitch. You sob long and hard and inconsolable just like you abandoned her to do.
After I kicked her ass out, I finally got the good nurse in here. The woman who actually cares about her patients and doesn’t belittle them. Who helped prop you up while I slid underneath so I was holding you rosy girl. No one else but me. You slept hard from exhaustion and the sedative she pumped into your IV. This time when you woke up, you were safe in my arms again. Then and for as long as you need to be. I promise I won’t ever leave you again.
I think about my cock when you cling to me.
My hard, hungry, desperate cock. I couldn’t help it, rosy girl. My dick likes you as much as I love you and when your gorgeous body was draped across my chest in that tiny hospital bed, he wanted inside you too. You didn’t seem upset but it fucks me up to think you might be too nervous to tell me. I just hope you know I’ll never rush you. I’ll never fucking making you do anything before you’re ready. I’ll never make you fear me like that bastard.
But if you’re stuck on your stomach and seem frightened, I’m lying with you. Holding you until you feel safe. Protecting you until both of our fears are gone.
I think about your surprise when you grin.
The rare small smile growing so huge and beautiful on your soft pink lips when you woke up and saw the pumpkins I had delivered to your hospital room. Too late for Halloween I know. But it’s still autumn, and after all the bullshit you’ve endured you deserve a reminder of your favorite things of the season. I fucking love making you happy.
I think about you when I deposit a hundred grand into the good nurse’s account.
Hell, I’d given her ten times that if she’d asked for it. But Abigail’s enormous eyes and mesmerized head bob when I offered her the money to take care of you seemed to indicate her approval and acceptance. She did
n’t even question how I knew her banking information.
Easy, done, and time to move onto the next step. Get you home and in our bed. Doctor said you were ready to be released, and I’m beyond ready for you to be with me all the time. Just right down the hall. I work while you recuperate. Under Abigail’s supervision of course.
You know I’m never scared—except when it comes to you. But I can’t fuck up. I need twenty-four-hour attention for you to make sure you heal properly and are never left by yourself. You said I’m overreacting and all of this is unnecessary so I reminded you that I give absolutely zero fucks you think either of those things. And assure you that you’re never going to actually be able to sway me despite being hot and sexy as hell when you get all feisty with me. I said I would take care of you, and I fucking mean it. It doesn’t matter if you like it or not. I’ve never listened to your arguments about my craziness before, and that’s sure as hell isn’t changing now. I. Take. Care. Of. You. Period.
I think about that motherfucking bastard when you cringe in pain.
You don’t deserve that. You don’t fucking deserve any of this. I want you to be able to lay on something other than your stomach. I want you to be able to climb out of bed without almost dropping to your knees from dizziness. I want you to be able to soak in the garden tub with those bath bombs the way you like.
God damn that cocksucker!
I think about you when you reach for me.
Not because you were scared but because you wanted me. Almost as fucking much as I want you. Fuck missing my morning run. I’ll fucking miss anything for the chance to hold you while you cuddle next to me.
Dirty, Bruised Martini: A Dark Mafia Romance Page 7