No. He kept whispering it to her. She was hunched over, her arms across her chest, squeezing her sides and he was all around her, bear-hugging her, as his mouth went right next to her ear. He rocked her gently, and quietly kept saying over and over again, “It’s not your fault.”
A scream tried to claw its way out of her chest, like a small, wild animal being taken down by a predator. There was so much inside her. Her gut churned and hurt, but all the while, he told her, “It wasn’t your fault.”
What if it really wasn’t her fault? What if she could find forgiveness inside herself for staying there? For not walking away sooner. For not saving herself. What if she could blame Elliot?
Noah held her for five minutes, ten minutes, then longer. She didn’t know. She never cried this long, or so freely before. Not in all the years or after any of the beatings. Even during the times when he left her locked in their bedroom, before he had the special closet for her. She never could cry much more than a few tears, because tears always incited Elliot’s wrath. It made his temper fly up another level.
She did cry the first few times Elliot hurt her. That was before she learned the less emotional distress she expressed, the safer she was. And the sooner Elliot calmed down and forgave her. Sometimes they could go for a few days, or even weeks without any harm befalling her. So she learned how to shut it all away. She buried it in a small chamber of her heart that forbade her from feeling it. She never tried to retrieve it. She was as cold and emotionless as a sociopath and sometimes feared she was turning into one. But now, here with Noah, she could cry. He managed to open something inside her that she thought was long dead. She thought she forgot how to cry. Yet, here she was, after being so touched by his simple words chanted over and over and over. It wasn’t her fault.
She finally turned her head into his chest. He stood still next to her, holding her and encircling her with his arms. His large hand stroked her head, almost petting her like a cat, as he patted her shoulder, and kept his hand clumsily on her hair, stroking it over and over. It was the most affection she received in five years. She often hugged Jessie and Will. But other than that, she never felt true softness, kindness, or affection since she married Elliot Johanson. His idea of affection was holding and grabbing her wherever he wanted. Or putting her head in the position he chose so he could kiss or move her body however he wanted it for sex. Never, not once, did Elliot try to comfort her. Or soothe her. Or just be a man, a human being, holding his mate with kindness and care.
He murmured into her ear using a tone that was both soft and calming, which registered a sense of caring more than the actual words he said. He finally gripped her shoulders and pulled her fully toward him as he put his arms around her in a heartfelt hug. He held her next to his body, and tried to absorb her tears as well as her shaking, shivering, and convulsing with gut-wrenching emotions. He held her and cared for her, protecting her. His body’s warmth served to thaw her frostbitten, numb soul as well as physically warming her. His chest felt her shaking as he gladly provided her with the physical comfort she never knew. Not from her father, nor from Elliot. And they were essentially the only two men who were in her life. Will was her brother-in-law, and although she knew he would always care for her, she couldn’t let him. He had to take care of Jessie. Since Lindsey was to blame for so much of what Jessie suffered, Jessie needed all of Will to make up for that. That left him no room for concern to waste on Lindsey. Besides, she didn’t deserve it. There was never anyone who held her, and cared for her and let her cry while assuring her it wasn’t her fault. Until Noah.
She finally slid off the stool and stood on her trembling legs, before stretching her arms fully up around Noah’s neck. He pulled her body against him and she drew in a sharp breath. It was shocking to be next to a man who wasn’t Elliot. Noah was tall, and lanky, so naturally, his body felt completely different. His long arms encircled her, with his hands resting on her waist as she buried her face into his shirt. Then she clutched his shirt in her hands, fisting them as if he were her lifeline and the only one who could hold all the broken, confused parts of her psyche together.
Finally, after minutes, (or hours?), she had no idea of time anymore; but after what seemed like forever, when she felt like every ounce of moisture had been drained from her body, her choking, blinding tears slowed down and she could finally manage to take in deep, long, cleansing breaths to stop them. She began to calm her racing blood and the incessant ringing in her head.
She kept her head pressed against his chest, feeling suddenly so exhausted with fatigue, she couldn’t muster the strength to even lift it up. She whispered softly, “Why did you come for me? You don’t deserve this.”
He was quiet for a long moment and she felt his lungs inhaling a deep breath. His large, warm, gentle hand came up to cup the side of her head. “No one who had a heart would leave you in that situation. No one with an ounce of humanity would think you deserved this.”
The tears instantly started to fall again. It was if he uncapped the dam in a bottomless lake and she could not find any way to hold back the waterworks any longer.
Lowering his lips to her hair, he whispered, “And also because I might be in love with you.”
She jerked back and her entire body went rigid. No. He could not mean that. He must not say that. He could not love her. He first met her as someone so unlike the decimated rag doll she embodied today, how could he even stand to look at her? Let alone, say he had sincere feelings for her? It must have been sympathy. He was so decent, way too decent; he was mistaking his sympathy and unbridled compassion for something more. Something real. Something important. He could not possibly love her. She had not been loveable for five years. Maybe for her entire life. She cowardly followed the oddly strict regimen of her father and shunned her own sister who was being abused by the very man she utterly revered. She then married a man who was a clone of her father. So why should she deserve the real love of a decent man? Let alone, a man like Noah Clark? He was everything, moral, noble and wonderful. She fondly remembered what he did for Tessa: letting a woman with her six children move into his house simply because he didn’t know another way to help them. He worked diligently at an important, respected profession. He was always polite to women. He was kind to animals. His family was fun to be around and very warm toward her. He had everything going for him. What could he possibly be thinking if he believed his unsolicited sympathy for her could possibly ever be love?
She stared up into his eyes and he stared right back. His gaze was more intense and serious in ways she had never witnessed before. She froze. Everything in her seemed paralyzed. Even her grief. Her heart almost stopped beating. She was sure of it. Even her breath changed and she shook her head, turning her face away.
He again put his knuckle to her chin and gently lifted her face to his, causing shivers on her sensitive skin. Tenderness. To be touched with such gentle, softness and kindness got her knees trembling again. He felt her body shifting off balance and tightened his grip under her arm to hold her up. She shook her head. No. He must be mistaken. She was his biggest mistake of all. Her entire life and personality were turning out to be a mistake. She kept shaking her head.
Meanwhile, he simply kept nodding yes, and his lips curved into a slow, small smile.
Then her heart flipped over in her chest as her stomach churned. He really seemed to think he loved her?
“You don’t have to say anything. It isn’t the right time for this. I know that, Lindsey. I don’t expect anything from you. It’s just… you asked me why I came. I don’t feel like evading you. I don’t feel like lying to you. You might be in shock and injured, or in need of something I can’t give you, but I will not withhold the truth from you anymore.”
The truth. Elliot often said such statements to her. That was how he explained his actions after hitting, kicking, pushing, pinning, and having rough sex with her; that he simply had to show her the truth. She was wrong and he was right: learning the truth was
her punishment.
But she knew Elliot’s idea of truth was not the same as Noah’s. She nearly giggled with relief at the realization perhaps she was not as screwed up and broken as she previously assumed, since she could still discriminate between the vast difference in Elliot’s definition of truth and Noah’s. Quite simply, Noah was genuinely honest and his integrity practically oozed from him. He could speak the real truth. Elliot, on the other hand, called the truth whatever lies he could tell to justify his continuous torture. She knew the difference between lies and truth; and she knew lying was wrong. She did realize that. What she found hardest to swallow was that she was not in some way to blame. Having put herself there, she gave herself to Elliot, and made her body physically available for him to use and abuse. There were all kinds of reasons, as the statistics attested, why she and others stayed, but no excuse could justify it. Nor ever change it.
Until now. Until Noah came. She stared up at him, feeling captivated by his beautiful eyes.
She slowly slid her hand from his shirt, up to his collar, and the side of his face. Her fingertips touched his skin. It felt warm. His eyes fluttered and he seemed weary. His throat moved as he visibly swallowed and tried to calm his nerves. The grip on her waist tightened slightly as he sighed and leaned his face toward her touch. She closed her eyes at the intense feelings rising in her chest. Warmth. Ease. Joy. Something was filling her. Something good and so different from the usual distress, fear and loathing that dictated her life. She never let her heart speak to her, because she feared what it would say.
She opened her eyes and kept them fastened on his. He watched her as one might a wild tiger, feeling apprehensive about what she might do next.
She rose on her tiptoes, sliding her hand up to his neck before pulling his face to hers. She could feel his hesitance right before their lips touched. It was so different. So far from anything Elliot ever did with her. His kiss was soft and his lips were damp and moist. They rested on hers with soft pressure. She could feel his neck muscles flexing under her fingertips, and holding his head back. He was trying not to kiss her too much or too hard, and her heart nearly dropped to her feet. God! He didn’t want to hurt her and seemed unsure if he should have been doing that. Instead of reacting, he barely touched her and gave her a feather-soft, smooch-like kiss.
The sweetness of his resistance, tender care, and overall decency started the tears, yet again, rolling down her cheeks. He instantly pulled his face from hers, using the pads of his thumbs to wipe them away. He stared into her eyes as she encircled his wrist with her hand. “I haven’t felt anything for years. Nothing good. Nothing bad. I was virtually numb. And grateful to be so. I might as well have been dead. I want to feel again, Noah. I want to feel something, something good, something that’s never felt good to me before.”
His eyes clouded over as his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Taking a deep breath, she lifted his hand and turned towards the hallway. He resisted and tried to pull his hand from hers.
“What? No. No. That’s not… no. That’s not what I meant. You can’t… I mean, we can’t. It’s wrong; or at least… I don’t know what it is. But it’s not okay. It’s not the right thing to do. It’s too soon. Everything is too soon. So, no. No way.”
He ran his hands nervously through his hair and rested them on top of his head. His agitation was very real and he started to pace.
“Noah.”
He refused to look at her. So she repeated his name. Still, he refused to answer or stop pacing and was nearly tearing his hair out.
“Noah!”
He stopped finally and glanced at her with surprise. She never showed an ounce of conviction or emotion in all the time he’d known her.
“You get what happened to me. You have probably also guessed that sex was one of Elliot’s weapons. Consequently, sex wasn’t anything that I considered a good part of my life. So maybe, well, maybe I want to decide if it really is. Maybe I want to decide if it might be good when and how and who I do it with. Maybe, I just want to control something over which I’ve never had any control before. I can’t make everything all go away. I can’t change the fact that I’m hiding. I have no job. I have to go to counseling. I know what I’m up against. I helped Jessie get through it. I know I will either go back to Elliot or do something about it. But Noah, right now, right at this moment, I want to feel something. I want to control something. I want to decide something. Maybe I want to decide this.”
Chapter Twenty
Noah didn’t know what to do. Lindsey was staring at him, waiting for an answer. What was he supposed to say? Sure, beaten up, abused, traumatized Lindsey, let’s have sex? Let’s go have a fun afternoon. Why not? Jesus. Christ. Fuck. He was not about to have sex with a woman who had been beaten and hospitalized only a few weeks before. She didn’t know what she was doing. She couldn’t begin to know what she wanted. She slept for practically all of last week. She didn’t know what she was saying. Or who she was. She could not mean that.
But her eyes were bright and imploring, and her voice sounded stronger right at that moment than he’d ever heard it before.
She clasped her hands together in front of her. “Noah, please. Let me be an adult. Let me decide what I want. I haven’t had the pleasure of deciding my fate for five long years.”
He stepped towards her. Did he dare? “It’s a bad idea. It’s too soon. Years too soon, maybe.”
“Or maybe it’s what I want to do.”
“Lindsey, you’re barely out of a comatose stupor. I can’t. I can’t do this. It’s wrong.”
She dropped her hands and fisted them at her sides. “God damn it! Don’t I know what is wrong? And this, you and me, we are not wrong. I know about wrong, Noah. I’ve lived it for years. Too many years of wrong. Maybe I want to feel what it’s like when things are right, and feel good. Maybe I want to be touched like a desirable woman, a human being, who is worth touching. Maybe all the talking in the world won’t give me the one thing I need most right now. Maybe it isn’t for you to decide what is proper for me in this case, today, at this moment. Maybe I want to decide. And maybe you should freaking respect what I think I want.”
He closed his eyes and rubbed his hand on his neck. The stress made it tighten up in painful spasms. “I can’t stand the thought of hurting you.”
His eyes snapped open when her fingers touched his hand. “Yes, and the thing is, I know that. I know that about you. It makes you the only man alive that I want. I want to feel something with you.”
He didn’t know what to do. Was that okay? Didn’t she need counseling first? Therapy? Maybe medicine? He didn’t know. He wished Gretchen were there. This would never have come up if Gretchen were there. None of it. He only meant to feed her a sandwich. He never intended to even really talk about anything with her. But she started in with how it was her fault. What kind of evil creature would he be just to stand there and let her spew such shit and nonsense? He could not and would not. He never foresaw he would end up holding her. Or stupidly, mistakenly, and totally inappropriately, telling her he might be in love with her.
He was horrified at his own actions, but thought it would be much worse if they actually pursued what Lindsey was suggesting.
“Noah, please. Believe me! I’m an adult, and fully capable of knowing what I want.”
“You just, you can’t know what you want. You’ve been through so much.”
“I have. I’ve been through a lot. I might be an emotional wreck. I probably am an emotional wreck, but I would know if I didn’t want to do this. I would know. Trust me on that. Please, just trust me.”
Yeah, sure; just trust her. Her eyes were wide with pleading. She was begging him for so much more than just sex. She was about so much more than whatever she portrayed on the surface. This was about needing love, affection, and trust. This was about thumbing her nose at everything Elliot ever did to her. But was it the right thing for him to do?
He took another step and she turned on her bare foot, l
eading him to the bedroom she just emerged from. His stomach rolled and pitched. Maybe he was getting sick. Maybe this nausea he felt was the beginning of the flu. He’d been to a lot of public places during the last week, and could have picked up a bug.
She shut the door and he stood against it. The room was gloomy. The shades were shut so the sunlight barely shone through it. The bed looked tousled. Stopping beside it, she turned to him. He leaned more weight against the door.
“It’s not like we’re in the heat of a moment and this just happened. I know it’s happening. I started it.”
“I think we should finish it now.” He frowned, that didn’t sound right, and he shook his head. “No. I mean, not finish it. We should not finish it. We should not do this. We should go watch some TV or something. Maybe call your sister. Yes, let’s call Jessie.”
Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead as he thought Jessie would know what to do and say. She would also kick his ass if she realized what he was being asked to do with her sister. And now, of all times.
She sat on the end of the bed. “I don’t want to talk to my sister now.”
“Why? Why won’t you talk to her? She, more than anyone, would understand.”
“No. Her father did it to her. Her father, whom she was dependent on, and therefore, could not leave. I voluntarily stayed with my husband. I just don’t want to talk to her yet.”
He put his hand on the doorknob, thinking he really had to leave, and right now.
She turned her head away. “I’ve spent the last five years ashamed and in the dark. And because of this, I felt all alone. This week, with you, even though I didn’t talk to you, you can’t know what your presence here meant to me. At night, you were there for me. I don’t often sleep well, but I could hear you breathing. Did you know you shuffle around in your sleep? And I knew you would never cross that hotel room and try to touch me. And if anyone else even tried, I knew you’d stop it with your last breath. I just don’t want to feel alone or ashamed anymore.”
The Good Sister (Sister Series, #2) Page 24