by Michelle Lee
Uneasiness creeps into my skin and worms its way into my bones. I take tentative steps toward the door—another pound. My body jerks in surprise; my heart leaps into my throat, my pulse thrushes in my veins and swooshes in my ears. Vision of someone—Val, Tracy, Hank—hurt, the police informing me. Another pound. Although it’s lighter, the sound bounces and vibrates lightly against my chest. A flash of Blake pounding on the door from a time in the past falters my steps. It’s not him. He’s gone. Before I know it, my steps halt at the door, and with a shaky hand I unlock the dead bolt as I peer out the peep hole. Dash. Relief washes through me, settling in my skin, my bones. I swing the door open. My heart pounds for other reasons as I stare at the sight before me. Dash’s hair is in a sexy disarray as I watch his fingers slip through it, making it even sexier. How is that possible? His muscular bicep bulges against the sleeve of his blue T-shirt as it rests against the door jamb. My heart stutters for a brief moment. My eyes travel the extent of his arm and eventually find his eyes. They sparkle with mischief, but there’s an underlining tiredness to them. I can imagine he’s not getting much sleep, let alone rest with rehearsals for the tour and spending time in the studio. And considering it’s four am, I know he’s been at the studio all night and probably just finished up. Val had mentioned to me that she has spent a long night into the wee hours of the morning working with Roland and the guys. Apparently all concept of time ceases to exist in the confines of the recording studio. Dash’s lips are quirked into that sexy grin that drives me crazy and turns my insides to goo. I feel my stomach flutter. Stubble graces his jawline, making him look beyond edible, lickable, and sexy. My eyes drink him in while my pulse races and my brain realizes that nothing appears to be wrong like I expected. I mean, usually when someone shows up at your door at four am, something must be wrong. But taking Dash in, nothing is wrong, but something is up. My Dash-induced fogged brain finally triggers my mouth to move and speak. “Dash?”
His smile broadens and he shifts his stance. His arm comes off the jamb, reaches out, circling around my waist effectively pulling me against his hard body. His free hand slinks up my arm, leaving goose bumps in its wake before cupping my cheek. Dash leans in and brushes his lips against mine. I can’t help the shiver that runs through my body or the slutty moan that escapes my lips. The man has an effect on me that is beyond anything I’ve ever experienced. Dash deepens the kiss. My body feels like it will either combust into flames or float away—he does that to me with just a simple kiss. His tongue sweeps against my bottom lip before joining mine, eliciting another moan from me in the process. The grip on my waist tightens, pulling even closer. I feel his hard length against me, and I can’t help but grind against it, seeking any relief from the ache that is building in my sex. I want him. I want Dash Ford like I’ve never wanted a man before. I am powerless to fight against this. My body doesn’t listen to my brain that keeps saying this won’t work, it can’t work. Once he finds out how truly broken I am…
Dash pulls away only for his lips to find that sweet spot on my neck. “Stop thinking, Sunshine, just feel.” His voice rumbles against my skin, causing another shudder to ripple through me.
“Dash…” My voice is just a whisper in the early morning air.
“Mmmm…” His lips tease my skin.
“Why… why are you here?” I’m surprised my brain is able to string together a complete thought, let alone a question with what he’s doing to me. Dash Ford makes it very hard for me to concentrate on anything else other than what his lips are doing to me—very delicious things, I might add.
Dash grunts and then pulls away. The hand on my waist releases me only to find it cupping my other cheek. With my face in his hands, I have no choice but to stare at him. I wouldn’t look away even if I could. I find myself getting lost in his blue eyes, and I never want to be found. He closes his eyes, resting his forehead against mine. It is such an innocent gesture, but yet it feels so intimate. His breath fans out against my skin, sending more shivers through me. Moments pass in complete silence. Several scenarios pass through my mind as to why Dash would be here now, but none seem to fit. He pulls away and stares right into my eyes, holding me captive like he did the first moment I saw him at the concert.
“I wanted to tell you good night and then good morning before I headed home. I just needed to see you… to feel you… to kiss you. I wanted to end an amazing night at the studio with your taste on my lips and start my day the same way. I just needed you, Sunshine.”
I melt. My insides turn to goo and my mind spirals out of control. I am falling for Dash Ford. Falling fast and falling hard. And even though I am scared beyond belief and even though it excites me just the same, I couldn’t walk away from this man if I tried. And honestly I don’t want to.
Dash left after he kissed me some more, leaving me panting and a hot mess of pent-up sexual need. I have found myself waking up at four am for no other reason than hoping Dash will stop by again, but he hasn’t. It doesn’t matter. What he said to me that morning has stayed with me ever since.
When I can’t make it to the studio or the warehouse, we have late-night phone calls or FaceTiming that lasts into the early morning hours. I live for those times actually. It allows me to let my defenses down and be the real me without getting distracted by his closeness; although I do miss his closeness. The feel of his skin, the smell of him—ocean and something uniquely Dash. I find myself yearning for it, needing it. I’m almost tempted to go and buy his cologne and spray it on my pillow just to have the feeling he is with me.
Dash and I talk about everything and anything. I know his favorite color is green and he once had a pet hamster named Bruno. Dash now knows I love eating anything Italian and have a quirky weird habit that when I’m home alone cooking, I tend to act like I have my own cooking show. Yep, I channel my inner Rachael Ray. He may have laughed at that; although he said he was laughing with me. We’ve really shared the little things, and in all seriousness, it’s the little things we share that mean more to me than anything else. He does ask about how my therapy is going, but he doesn’t push the issue when I give minimal details. I know he’s trying to be understanding and wants to know more. I know at some point I will have to expose my fears to him. It scares me to think what will happen when I do. How will he react when I tell him how broken I really am? Dr. Hoffman has been working on my perception of what happened to me, and for the most part she’s been effective. Yet, there are still times when the darkness returns, and I’m right back there feeling pathetic and worthless. It doesn’t happen as often as it used to, but it’s still there. I can almost feel it hiding deep inside the recesses of me, waiting for the opportunity to make its presence known.
I find myself pushing those thoughts aside less often than usual. Keeping busy certainly has helped. Besides spending every free moment together, I’ve been busy with work, doing a little traveling to Santa Barbara to interview an up and coming chef. Chef Rosas is going to be big one day. Her take on rustic Argentinian food is fresh and will put her in the spotlight. The meal she prepared for us to enjoy while we talked was like nothing I’ve ever had. Between her and Chef Becc, the culinary world is not going to know what hit them. I would like to take Dash to Santa Barbara and eat at Chef Rosas’ restaurant, Sabor, one weekend. But I know now it’s just a fantasy; he leaves soon for a very hectic European tour. I push the thought of not being able to see him out of my mind. If I dwell on it, my sadness and deep ache in my soul will consume me.
Therapy has been extremely helpful. I wish I would have called Dr. Hoffman when the officer had given me her card. But I know I wasn’t ready then. I was too ashamed about what I had allowed to happen to me. Dash has given me the strength and courage I so desperately needed to make the call. I’ve seen her once a week for a while now. I’ve slowly and cautiously opened up to her about Blake more, about that part of my life. It was hard at first, but I keep working through it with her help of course. A shiver rips through me as I remember telli
ng Dr. Hoffman about the very first instance of physical abuse.
“Have a seat, Jules.” Dr. Hoffman motions toward the comfortable gray couch. I’ve come to love that couch, wanting one of my own. She takes a seat on one of the adjoining chairs, a tablet resting on her lap once she’s seated. “How are you doing today?” It’s her standard question before we get started.
“I’ve been good…” Thoughts of Dash bombard my mind, and I can’t help the smile overtaking my lips. “Really good.”
Dr. Hoffman smiles right back, shaking her head. Her eyes quickly scan her notes. “Am I to guess that… Dash has something to with the smile you have at the moment?”
She reads me so easily. We’ve talked about Dash and my relationship with him. Dr. Hoffman has been supportive but cautious. “Yes. He makes me… makes me happy—beyond happy really. He makes me forget sometimes how broken I truly am…”
“Jules, you’re not…” she quickly interrupts me.
“I know… I know… I’m not broken by your standards, but by…”
“By yours, you are,” she finishes for me, her eyes holding concern, the smile faltering from her lips as she jots something down on her tablet. Dr. Hoffman has tried to instill in me that I am not broken; she says it will take time, but eventually a bigger part of me will believe than not. I want to believe her with everything that I have, to embrace those words and hold onto them with all my might. But I can’t come to terms with not being broken, and her words roll off and float away. Actually it feels as though the dark tendrils reach out and grab and shred them to pieces the moment they come out of her mouth.
“I don’t think all those years with him and having it drilled into me is going to go away so easily after a few sessions with you or even if Dash is a part of my life. He can’t save me. I can’t let that burden fall on him. I won’t let it.” I have this feeling deep down inside that at times Dash wants to be my savior, that he has to be. Something tells me that a part of Dash is broken too, but I don’t know what part or why, or if it’s even true. But broken me feels it deep within her bones. It’s like my broken pieces hone in on his broken pieces. I could be just hoping he’s slightly broken—not so perfect—just so I won’t feel so… so unworthy of him. I’ve voiced these feelings to Dr. Hoffman and she assures me that what I think and feel is normal after everything I’ve been through. It’s understandable I don’t find myself worthy of Dash. Blake made me feel and believe that way for years. Again, it’s not going to fade away into nothingness with just a few sessions under my belt. It’s going to take time. And I guess time is something I have even though I find myself extremely impatient at times. I want to feel normal. I want to be a whole and complete woman. I want that for me, and I want to be that for Dash. Doesn’t he deserve someone not so damaged? Doesn’t he deserve a complete woman? Doesn’t he deserve everything I’m not?
Dr. Hoffman’s voice pushes my thoughts aside and has my focus again. “Jules, I don’t want you to have to rely on someone else to ‘fix you.’ You’re right. It’s not fair to them, and it’s not fair to you. You need to get better on your own and for yourself. Having Dash by your side, as well as your friends, is wonderful. Having a group of people that are extremely supportive is what I want every patient to have. You’ve surrounded yourself with people who truly care about you and want what’s best for you and from you. But ultimately it rests upon you to become ‘free’ as you put it. You are the one with the tools that can work through your issues and heal. Remember when we discussed the stages of abuse?”
I nod.
“Well, just like there are stages of abuse, there are stages of healing, of recovering. Understand?”
“I do.” And I truly do understand her. It’s just hard sometimes to move forward when your past keeps finding a way to work its way into your present.
“Don’t worry. We will continue to work on it, and I promise you will get stronger and stronger.” Her words hold conviction and truth, but I don’t know if I can accept them yet.
Dr. Hoffman shakes her head; it’s something she does often during our sessions. “I know you don’t believe me, but trust me, you’ll get there. Okay, I’m going to ask you to talk about something that will be extremely difficult. Just remember you are safe and nothing can hurt you anymore. If you feel yourself getting panicked, just remember your exercises—your tools. I want to know about the first time Blake was physically abusive.” Her voice goes from having amusement in its tone to a seriousness that cuts right to the bone.
Her words are like lead fists punching me in the chest, knocking all the air out of my lungs. I struggle to breathe but then remember I am safe, memories don’t hold power over me—I hold power over them.
“Jules, just breathe through it. You’re doing fine, you will be fine. Remember I’m with you and nothing can hurt you. You have control—complete and utter control. Take a few deep, cleansing breaths, and if you need to, close your eyes or focus on something in the room. Begin when you’re ready.”
I do as instructed and focus on the fountain outside the window. Over the weeks, it’s become a refuge of sorts when we talk about my past. I don’t know if it’s the mesmerizing spin of the water as it shoots up or the steady plunk plunk of the water splashing down that I find calming and soothing. I just know I’m thankful that her office faces that fountain. Deep breath in, deep breath out. Deep breath in, deep breath out. I swallow the lump invading my throat, willing the words to come out. “It… it started not long after I moved in with him.” Deep breath in, deep breath out. Focus on the water. Focus on the sound of it. “We… we hadn’t been dating that long, but he said I was his everything and he couldn’t live without seeing me all the time. I felt the same especially after he told me about what his stepdad did to him. I figured he wanted and needed that security and comfort only I could provide. That I willingly gave to him…”
Deep breath in, deep breath out. Plunk. Plunk. Plunk.
“Blake had been out, and I was home alone trying to get some studying done. It was late, and he hadn’t called. When I tried to call him, it went straight to voicemail. I was beyond worried when he finally came home…”
The images of that night begin to swirl and come into focus with such clarity it’s as if I’m right there again, experiencing it all like it was just happening.
“Blake, where have you been? I’ve been so worried…” My words falter as the emotion finally consumes me. I didn’t know where he was, if he was okay, if he was hurt or dead… I just didn’t know…
“What the fuck, Jules? I don’t have to answer to you. What gives you the fucking right to question my whereabouts? You just need to be thankful that I came back at all, you stupid bitch!” His words slap me in the face. I don’t know where all this anger is coming from. Something must have happened.
I approach him, wanting to feel him against me to know he is truly okay. With each step I take, I feel as though he’s going to explode. I try to keep my fear from showing, but I know he senses it. His eyes feel as though they could burn holes right through me. On shaky legs, I come face to face with Blake. His eyes are dark and menacing. The faint smell of alcohol and sweet perfume permeates from him. Fear ripples through me. Something isn’t right—he isn’t right. Something is terribly wrong. “Bla—” His hand wraps around my throat, squeezing as he shoves me against the wall. My head bangs against the drywall, sending a fierce, throbbing pain in my skull. I am stunned. My eyes blink rapidly as I attempt to breathe in. His grip tightens, slowly cutting off my windpipe. Franticly my hands claw at his wrapped around my throat. But they have no effect on him. If anything, his grip tightens. Panic begins to settle in, and my eyes dart around me, desperate to find something to help. There’s nothing. There’s just Blake. There’s just the wall. There’s just his powerful grip with his crippling ability to end my life.
Tears spring forth and stain my cheeks. My head feels dizzy. Blackness surrounds the outskirts of my vision. How is this happening? Why is this happening? I
try to beg with my eyes, to get Blake to see what he’s doing and stop. When I look into his usually brown eyes, they are the deepest black. His pupils are huge, the whites tinged with red cracks. His nostrils are flaring, and his chest moves rapidly under his shirt. What I’m looking at isn’t the person I feel in love with. What I’m looking at is a complete stranger. What I’m looking at is a monster. Blake leans in, his hot breath fanning across my face, his mouth twisted with rage.
“Remember you are nothing. I don’t have to answer to you. I don’t have to tell you where I’m going or where I’ve been. You are nothing. You are just the fucking cunt I decide to fuck and live with. You are so fucking lucky I don’t snap your neck right now and end your pathetic life. Who will miss insignificant you? Nobody. You better remember next time, because there will be next time, that you are nothing and I don’t fucking answer to you. Ever. Do you understand?”
Blake’s grip holds me firm against the wall. “Answer me!” He slams my head against the wall. Stabbing pain consumes me, radiating from the back of my skull. My vision blurs; my body numbs. But somehow I manage to nod. “Good.” Blake releases me, and I slump to the floor, my lungs burning, my body wracked with pain. Copious amounts of air try to fill my lungs too rapidly, causing me to cough and sputter. Blake kneels down next to me. “If you ever try to leave me, Julia…” His fingers clasp tightly onto my chin, raising it until my eyes meet his. “I promise I will kill you.”
He lets go with a shove, and I crumble in a ball on the floor. Footsteps move away and fade down the hall. The lights go out, and I am left alone in the dark. I curl into a ball, wrapping my arms around my knees. Sobs break free as I continue to try to breathe air into my aching lungs. My throat feels raw and on fire. My head throbs as if sledgehammers are pounding into it. I don’t move—I can’t move…