by Dee Carney
I…” She settled into the bed, almost not caring if he stayed or left. All she wanted right now was sleep. Precious, solitary sleep. “Need to rest,” she mumbled.
Sleep claimed her before she heard his reply.
* * * * *
Her back was on fire. How much time had passed? One hour? Two? Three?
The pain brought her around and she cried out, turning to get away from the heat burning her alive. Someone stopped her, pressing down until she stopped squirming.
“Shh…”
“Burns,” she moaned.
Streaks of searing pain kept moving, washing down her back and shoulders. And she thought she would die. Her lungs refused to draw air, her brain too busy processing shrieking sirens of alarm to remember the need to breathe.
“It’ll get infected if I don’t clean it. Bear with me for a few minutes, baby. I know it hurts.”
She wouldn’t survive the pain. It swallowed her whole, peeling away her skin until only raw, sensitive flesh lay open to air. Even then, the fire would burrow deep, eating at her until there was nothing left.
But it would take her from Him, wouldn’t it? That was a comfort at least.
She closed her eyes.
* * * * *
Tears moistened her face, dampening the pillow beneath. They might have been tears. Or maybe sweat. The room was hot. Buried beneath a comforter, she wondered briefly at the name given the instrument of her asphyxiation. She tried to push it away, turn her face toward the small gap of cool air sneaking in, but lacked the strength.
Her back ached, and the memory of fire made her gasp.
The bed moved, the comforter whisked out of her way. “Take these.” 44
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Gummy eyes refused to open, so she had no idea what these were or what he wanted her to do with them. The comforter kept her trapped, but she didn’t care. Sleep sounded so wonderful. Just a perfect place to cradle her head and spend an eternity.
Something rested on her lips. Her eyes wouldn’t open, but her mouth moved until the little dry discs slipped inside. Bitterness flooded her mouth, but hard glass pressed against her lips before she could protest. Delicious water, the best water she’d ever tasted in her life, slid down her throat, overflowing until it spilled onto her cheek and neck, but oh, the wonderful water.
“Slow, Sabrina. Sip it.”
Sip. Gulp. Drown.
Beautiful, miraculous water.
She would have drunk until she floated away, but it left before she was allowed that luxury.
Later, after she rested, she would taste more of the water, but for right now, she wanted to sleep. Just close her eyes and drift.
She did.
Some time later she awoke. She didn’t know how much time had passed. Maybe a few minutes. It could have been hours. Time meant nothing. He’d stopped hurting her and that was all that mattered.
A moist cloth touched down on her eyes, her mouth, her neck. She turned into it, following the movement as best she could without awakening the pain in her back.
“You’re awake.” Jason spoke softly, and although her headache thumped, it didn’t flare like before. Sabrina nodded, skeptical about the strength of her voice.
“Hungry?”
She nodded again, this time managing to open her eyes. He looked worried, and that made her smile. There hadn’t been anyone in her life close enough to be concerned about her welfare in a long time.
Sitting upright made her breath catch. Pain, not as sharp as before, coaxed a groan from her. He moved quickly, propping her against a pillow, careful with his actions.
Forced to slump forward to keep her back away from the rest, she let Jason position another pillow across her abdomen. He did it with a precision and efficiency that surprised her.
She followed his exit out of the room with her gaze, at once awed by his attention and ashamed he found her in this position. The sheets she lay upon had been changed, whatever blood that had ruined them no longer evident.
“Jason,” she managed to croak loudly. The sounds from the kitchen stopped. “Why are you here?”
The microwave dinged, but no other sounds issued. A drawer opened and shut a moment later. More silence followed. Then Jason appeared in the doorway, a mug in one hand and a spoon in the other.
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He looked pensive, so he’d heard, but mused over a response. Scooping some of the cup’s contents into the spoon, he sat down on the bed and held it out. “Eat some of this.”
This ended up being cream of mushroom or maybe cream of chicken soup. The canned kind she kept in her pantry for those rare occasions she felt like making a casserole. It went down smoothly, warming her throat and belly along the way.
“Jason?”
He fed her three more spoonfuls, ambrosia of the gods she would have poured into her mouth if she possessed the strength. “I brought you home from the hospital,” he replied after wiping the side of her mouth with his finger.
She remembered that, but it didn’t explain his presence in her apartment. “Why are you here now?”
“They gave me a prescription for you.”
The little discs he’d given her… No, she didn’t want to believe he’d given her the antipsychotic meds the doctors insisted would drive the voices away. They hadn’t worked for her as a child and they didn’t work now as an adult either. All they did was produce side effects that may or may not go away, the doctor had explained. No thanks.
“What did you give me? Those pills, what were they?” She tried to keep the panic out of her voice, but a faint note of hysteria resonated. Food that tasted so good a minute ago sank like lead.
“Tylenol.” He frowned. “I wouldn’t give you anything else without your knowledge.” A pause. “What happened here? Who hurt you like this?” She kept her attention on the mug, noting a chip along the rim. She’d have to throw it away later. A picture of flowers decorated the side. So faded, she had no idea what kind they might have originally been. How many other items in her apartment had been bought in the first months of moving in over five years ago, but never replaced despite the passage of time?
“Sabrina, please. I honored your request not to call the police, only so I could get the story from you first. I still think they need to know.”
“No—”
“Do you know how worried I was? When you wouldn’t wake up… Two days! Two days of watching you and wondering like hell if I made the right decision.” Had that much time really passed?
He looked away. “I cleaned you up as best I could. There was a lot of blood on your back. And uh…” His voice dropped, horror creeping into it. “You were… I think you were raped. I know some women don’t want the police to know when they’ve been assaulted like that, but there’s nothing to be ashamed of. It’s not your fault if some monster takes advantage. Don’t let him get away with this, please.”
“I wasn’t raped.”
“But there was…on the bed. Between your legs.” 46
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She pressed her lips together to stem the emotions ready to contort her face into a mask of shame and regret. “I know what it looked like and I appreciate your concern, but I wasn’t raped. What I do with Him is always consensual. I always have a choice.” Sort of. She had the choice between madness induced by the voices or giving her body to Him for a few hours of His pleasure. Not much of a choice, but at least it existed.
“You’re not going to tell me who he is, are you? Despite what he did to you.”
“It’s not something I can explain.” He handed her the mug when she reached for it.
“What? You’re into some sort of masochism or something? You think I wouldn’t understand if you’re into some sort of games in the bedroom? Games that leave you hurt and bloodied.” His voice thickened, concern so palpable she looked up. “Do you have any idea of the thoughts going through my mind over the last forty-eight hours? I haven’t slept since I got here,
afraid that if I drifted off for even a second, I’d awake to find you gone. Dead. Me, here with you, knowing I should have gotten help, but torn between doing the right thing and respecting your wishes. I sat up and watched you. I watched you cry out in your sleep, I listened to you whimper like a wounded animal. I held you as you cried. Give me something. Something that’ll ease my mind.” Her hands shook as she brought the mug to her lips, swallowing down large mouthfuls of the soup. It no longer tasted like nirvana in a mug, but it filled a hole like nothing else she’d ever known. Placing it on the nightstand next to her when done, she dared to lie on her side. She patted the bed. “I’m tired, Jason, and I’m fine. Lie here next to me for a little while. Let’s get some sleep.” A fire burned in his eyes, so she offered the only salve she could think of at the moment. “Rest with me and let’s talk when we wake up. You can go to sleep now without worrying about me. I promise.” She watched him wrestle with himself, still vacillating between his role as hero and savior and his role as friend. He needed to rest, she could tell. Days-old stubble grew over his face. His clothes were wrinkled and had the faint odor of old sweat on them.
“You don’t look fine.”
His surliness brought another smile. “I don’t?” Jason didn’t smile back. “No, you don’t. And I’m not even talking about the wounds on your back. You look sick. Like you haven’t slept in a week. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re running a fever.”
Pressing her wrist to her forehead disputed his claim. “The Tylenol would mask any fever I might have.”
“I’m worried about infection, among other things. Please, let me get you some help.”
She closed her eyes, cutting off sight of his worry. “I’m going to sleep now. When I wake up, I hope you’ll be here resting next to me. I want to pay you back for your kindness when I awake.”
“Not necessary,” he muttered.
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“I know.”
But she would. If it was the last thing she did, she’d help him get in contact with Thad.
* * * * *
He breathed easily in his sleep. Rhythmic sounds she listened to with rapt attention.
He couldn’t have been comfortable in a shirt and jeans, but always the gentleman, this neighbor friend, exhaustion claimed him before he chose to remove them.
The new growth on his chin gave him a rugged appeal she could grow used to. And why had she never noticed before now the long curl of his lashes, resting against his cheeks?
Jason possessed a strong profile. The straight slope of his nose worth running her finger over. A chiseled jawline the stuff artists dreamed of.
Someone slept in her bed. Rested next to her. Something He would never be capable of doing, nor was she so sure she ever wanted Him to do. But this, having Jason next to her, brought with it a sense of security. A growing feeling of belonging. It wasn’t hers to claim, true, but it hovered there nonetheless.
She dared to reach out to him, hesitated, but then laid her hand across his abdomen, flat and slowly rising and falling in perfect calm. In his sleep, Jason covered her hand with his own, the rhythm of his breathing never faltering.
Sabrina inched her body closer to his, working methodically, watching and listening for any change in his level of consciousness. At last, she was able to press herself against his side to place her head on his shoulder. Jason’s hand tightened around hers and for just a little while, she reveled in the presence of another person next to her. She breathed in his air, listened to breathing that bordered on snoring, and gently squeezed his hand too.
So fleeting this sense of contentment, she would enjoy it for as long as it lasted.
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Chapter Four
Jason paced the door outside of her bathroom, stopping every few minutes to make certain no other noise than the water hitting the tiled shower floor escaped. Why had he agreed to let her in there by herself?
Those wounds still looked like death on her back despite four additional days of Tylenol and alcohol baths. A full week since her attack had passed, each day bringing a stronger Sabrina with it. Her lovely brown skin hadn’t been marred before, and to see the bluish-black circles turned his stomach sour. How could any man do that to another person—much less a woman—and live with himself? Thank God most of the damage came from bruises, but the others…they looked as if someone had driven nails into her.
He’d managed to pass a few of the newer projects to some of the firm’s independent contractors who were greedy for work. Other business he managed to keep afloat from the convenience of his laptop. Another day or two, though, and he’d have to request vacation time or at least put in an appearance. Even salesman in the field weren’t immune from some office time.
That decision he’d make later. For now, he wanted answers from Sabrina. But no matter how he pleaded, he couldn’t get her to tell him who’d done this to her. The topic of the police instantly made her lips seal into a firm line, unopenable until he changed the subject.
He glanced at the clock radio. Three more minutes and he was going in. She could be as shy as she wanted to be, but face it, he’d seen every intimate part of her over the last week of sponging her down in the bed, and then later, helping her in and out of the bathroom.
With three loud raps against the wood frame, he gave her the countdown to his intrusion.
“All right!” she called surly.
Fine. At least she wasn’t in there slumped over in pain, unable to call for help or something worse. The few times he’d gone to his place to gather replacement clothes and toiletries had filled him with so much dread, pain filled his chest to the point he ran back across the hall to check on her. Every time she’d been there, either sleeping or reading, maybe watching television, and making him feel like an idiot for his worry. So far, she hadn’t exhibited any symptoms of hearing voices, but he walked on eggshells around the idea they would eventually come back.
The theme song to Mission Impossible played in pleasant tones and he glanced toward his cell phone lying on her bureau. He backed up to it, reached out blindly until he grasped the thing in his hand, all the while keeping his attention on that door. Only seeing Sabrina emerge through it would ease the knot in his stomach.
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Without reading the display, he barked into it, “Yeah?”
“Why, hello stranger.”
Fuck. “Hey, Kelly.”
“Is that all I get?” She laughed. “Hey, Kelly?” The shower cut off and heart thumping, he moved closer to the bathroom door.
“What’s up?”
“Whoa, I can’t get you to stop talking today. Anyway, I hadn’t heard from you in a while, and just wanted to check up on how things are going.” He put his other ear to the door, satisfied when he heard movement beyond. “Not much happening on this end.”
“I stopped by your place yesterday, but you weren’t home.”
“I’m not home now.” And why did he just admit that?
“Oh?”
“Yeah. I’m with a friend.”
“A friend…anyone I know?”
“Uh, yeah, listen, I gotta run.”
The door opened and Sabrina walked out, a towel wrapped around her body. A misty cloud floated around her, giving her an ethereal aura. Kind of like what he expected to see on no less than an angel.
Her skin was damp, some escaped tendrils from the bun in her hair dripping water onto her shoulders. There was a fresh innocence about her, the way her exotic hazel eyes smiled at him without pretense or cunning. Just short of annoyed, but with a hint of gratitude in them.
His mouth dried up and he wanted to kiss her again. Feel the gentle caress of her lips against his, the same as the night she offered her thanks. Only instead of thanks, he wanted her surrender. A giving of herself that he suspected she didn’t ever offer. He’d earned the privilege of breaking down the barrier she erected and wondered if she felt the same
. A single kiss.
“Jason, what’s going on?”
So lost in the fantasy standing before him, he’d forgotten he still held the phone to his ear. Kelly’s voice startled him. “I’ll catch you later, okay?” he murmured.
He clicked the phone shut before waiting for her reply. Kelly was a part of his past, and standing before him, perhaps—just perhaps—stood the doorway to a future.
“Did you need to take that call? You don’t have to wait on me hand and foot, you know.” She blessed him with a lopsided smile. At what point had he crossed the line where a flash of her white teeth went from merely making him smile too, to making his pulse race?
Shaking his head, he shrugged. “Just Kelly. I’ll call her later.”
“The blonde?” A flash of darkness crossed her features.
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“Yeah.” He furrowed his eyebrows, not quite getting the sudden chill he sensed.
“What’s wrong?” She moved toward the bureau, sidestepping him without touching.
He fought down an urge to move closer, perhaps bring her into his embrace. “Sabrina?” With a yank, she opened one of the drawers and rifled through it. “Send her my thanks for letting you stay. I suppose you need to go now.” Not wanting to risk aggravating her injury, he pulled on the towel until she either had to follow it closer to him or lose it altogether. “Letting me stay? I stayed because I wanted to.”
Slowly, she asked, “And she knew what you were doing?”
“What does it matter if—”
“Oh my God, please tell me your girlfriend knows you’ve been sleeping in my bed, even if nothing happened.” She threw her hands in the air. “And now that I’m saying it out loud, I can’t believe I let you.”
Something rose within him, snapping off his restraint and demanding he admit his desires. Before doubts and second thoughts formed an alliance, Jason gave in. In one forward motion, he pulled her close, studying those delicious lips and knew as sure as he knew his own name, within the next few seconds, they were his to claim.