He Saved Me

by Whitney Barbetti

  He didn’t look at me. I saw the way his back tensed, the muscles bunching and uncoiling. “Don’t you get it, Andra?” He dropped his head. “I’m not asking you. This isn’t a favor. This is you, listening to me, because it’s in your best interest.” He delivered the last word with his fist rapping on the countertop. Six rarely lost his cool; I knew something was wrong.

  “What is it?” Mira looked sideways to Six whose head had turned to look at her.

  He hung his head for a moment before turning around, piercing me with his green eyes. “There’s a new documentary coming out. That’s why you saw your face in the magazine.” He looked at Mira again.

  “They’re trying to increase interest in missing women, young women. They’re featuring ten missing girls and you’re one of them,” Mira finished. She set the apple on the counter and jumped down. “People are digging. Your uncle was interviewed. Your case seems to be the most compelling, thanks to your mom’s death and your history of allegations lodged against your uncle.”

  “They weren’t allegations,” I said, feeling the slither of something slimy and sinister across my skin just in thinking of my uncle.

  “I know,” Six said. “But that’s the verbiage used in the documentary.”

  I nodded. “So I guess I’m on lockdown?” As if I hadn’t been on lockdown already.

  Six looked to Mira. I’d never seen a couple look at each other so often, as if they borrowed words and thoughts from the same mind. “You’re going to be here,” he confirmed. His eyes moved towards the staircase. “With Julian. Stay inside. Be good.”

  It was funny, only because at this very moment I wanted to run. To breathe in the sea salt air. The air so different from home. I wanted to taste the water, to open my lungs and inhale my surroundings. Instead, I’d be held in this home like a prisoner.

  My hand came up to my heart and I rubbed the tattoo underneath my shirt. Free. This was the furthest from freedom I’d ever been.

  “When do you leave?” I asked.

  “Tomorrow night.”

  “Okay,” I said before walking out and into the living room.

  I sat on the flowered sofa, sinking into the cushions. Julian was locked away writing. I couldn’t figure out how to feel, apart from angry.

  Mira came in through the hallway and leaned against the doorway. “Hey,” she said. I looked up at her. She crossed her arm over her chest, the sounds of the bangles jingling. “What’s up?”

  I looked up at her dubiously. Mira didn’t care. Why would she waste her time asking me?

  “I thought you said you didn’t have time for me.”

  Mira smirked and leaned off the doorway, coming further into the room. “I have a nap scheduled in about twenty minutes, so I think I can spare a second or two for you.”

  “Are you hoping that me talking bores you to sleep?” I asked sarcastically.

  She nodded and sat next to me. “Something like that.”

  I rolled my eyes and leaned back against the couch, sinking further into the cushions.

  “Come on,” she said. “Talk to me.”

  I crossed my arms and looked sideways at her. “That’s the thing. I don’t know what to say, how to feel.”

  Mira leaned back on the couch so we were side by side. “Listen,” she said, running her fingers over the flowers on her pants. “I know you want to go. But you can’t. There’s no way around it.” She turned her head to me. “Six feels guilty, you know. Crippling, consuming guilt.”

  “For what?” This was news to me.

  “He loved your mom. He talks about her from time to time.”

  “Doesn’t that bother you?”

  Mira shook her head. “I know what we have. Different people bring out different feelings, different beasts in one another. With Lydia, your mom, Six was a softer man. He was still sharp around the edges, but your mom brought peace, calm, to him.” She crossed her legs carefully. “What Six and I have is much different. It’s a hundred different things, but not one of them is calm.”

  “But you seem to bring out a calmer side of him,” I argued.

  “I don’t calm him, Andra. I remind him to breathe.” She turned so she was facing me. “And if breathing calms him, so be it. But I don’t calm him; I rile him up.” She leaned her head on the couch, and something shifted between us then. Things changed, we became friendlier. “Six loved Lydia. Loves her still. But the love he has for me is different. You can’t love two different people the same way. So it doesn’t bother me that Six loved her the way he did. He loves me differently, and it works for us. Most of the time,” she grinned, and her eyes looked lost in a memory for a minute.

  “Why are you being nice to me?”

  “Am I?”

  I leaned my head back on the couch. “Nicer than usual, I guess I should say.”

  “Because you’re a lost little girl. An orphan.”

  “So you feel bad for me.”

  Mira lifted her head off the couch. “It’s not a bad thing, Andra.”

  “I don’t want to be pitied.”

  “I don’t pity you. You’re confused. You’re an orphan. You’re not the only girl I know who has been an orphan.”

  I thought about that for a minute. I watched as Mira placed a hand on the small mound that rounded her stomach. “Are you still sick?”

  “All the time,” Mira said, closing her eyes and laying her head back again. She breathed out through her nose as she gently rubbed her stomach.

  I felt a connection then, to Mira, to the baby. She was carrying a piece of Six inside of her. That seemed profound and cause for kindness. “Can I get you anything?”

  “A cold washcloth,” she said, her voice barely louder than a whisper.

  I grabbed the washcloth and when I returned to the living room, Six had Mira’s head in his lap on the couch. I watched as he brushed the hair from her face, tenderly. One hand was clasped with hers, and he whispered something while he looked down at her. I hesitated in the doorway a moment, unsure if I should intrude, before Six looked up and saw me. He reached a hand out, so I handed him the washcloth and went upstairs.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “Here,” Julian said, tossing an olive into my mouth.

  I caught it with the lift of my chin and turned my head back to the book I was reading. His book.

  “Want another?”

  I looked up again. “Is that even a question?”

  Julian laughed and I lost myself for a minute in the way his smile transformed his entire face. His dark eyes crinkled at the edges and his full lips stretched to his cheeks. He was so fucking beautiful that I couldn’t help but toss aside the book and climb into his lap. His arms came around me, anchoring me to his body.

  “Kiss me,” I demanded¸ straddling him.

  He looked up at me and smiled, his secret smile. He lifted up an olive and motioned for me to open my lips. I did and he popped another olive in. I chewed it slowly, wondering what he was doing. The second after I swallowed his lips were on mine.

  He kissed me slowly at first, not budging my lips open at all. His hands were around my back, his fingertips running over my skin and I trembled slightly in his arms.

  He opened my lips with his own and I fell under the magic that was Julian’s mouth. His teeth nipped my lips and I sighed into the kiss, my heart beating erratically in my chest.

  Julian pulled back and slid his hands up to cup my jaw. “Andra.”

  I opened my eyes slowly. “Julian.”

  His eyes traced my face and his hands pushed my hair away. “My North Star.”

  I started to ask him what he meant but he pulled me to him again and kissed me until I had to pull away to catch my breath. I laid my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes. His arms tightened around me.

  Safe. That was the word that I thought whenever I was in Julian’s arms. I was an independent woman, I knew that. But it was nice to have someone as dedicated to myself as I was.

  I pressed a kiss to his neck, reve
ling in this feeling of contentment. Outside of the bubble that was us, my mind was in a hundred places. Frustrated with sitting still in this house, feeling like a prisoner. But being in Julian’s arms wasn’t a prison. It was a home.

  “When all of this is over, where do you want to go?”

  I thought about his question for a minute. “Colorado.”

  “Then we’ll go.”

  That was it – it was us. I knew I wouldn’t go to Colorado without Julian, nor would he go without me. And while that was comforting, a blanket of contentment, I still felt a tug. I couldn’t name the emotion that tugged me, but it was there. A nagging in the back of my mind. Reminding me that things could change in an instant.

  Later that night, Mira pulled me out of the house to walk with her on the beach.

  “No matter what happens when Six and I go to Michigan, remember what you want,” she started, wrapping the throw tighter around her shoulders as we walked down the shoreline.

  I looked over at her, my eyes still adjusting to the dark. There were circles under her eyes, which I knew were from the lack of sleep that accompanied pregnancy. And she chewed her lip. I was becoming accustomed to Mira’s quirks, but nerves didn’t seem to be one of them. And something was making her nervous.

  “Why do you say that? What’s up?”

  Mira shrugged. “Six wants to call it off all of a sudden. But I won’t let him.”

  “I’ll go,” I said immediately. “I’ve told him I’d go. You’ve trained me.”

  Mira stopped walking and turned to me. “I didn’t train you so you would go to Michigan.”

  I stopped walking as well and looked at her questioningly. “Why’d you train me? I’m stuck in this house.”

  “You won’t always be.” She looked at me with eyes that were keen, and there was no humor on her face.

  “You’re being very vague.”

  Mira looked around, as if she was worried about anyone overhearing us. Which was so unlike Mira that fear crawled up my spine and I looked around as well. There was no one near. Six was in the house, packing. Julian was working on his book in the bedroom. The beach was completely deserted. The only noise came from the water that rolled onto the shore. “Listen,” she said. “Hawthorne is getting desperate.”

  “Elaborate please,” I said. My jaw trembled, but I wasn’t cold. At least not on the outside.

  “This documentary-it’s making him desperate to find you. He’s chasing any and all leads. Which is why Six is so concerned about you going out into the public. And someone recognizing you. And Hawthorne following the trail.”

  “But wouldn’t someone report it to the police first? If they thought they found me?”

  “Hawthorne has issued a reward.” Mira’s voice lowered and she shook her head and looked at me like she was already regretting telling me. “A reward for information.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah,” Mira said. “Oh.” She looked back at the house and turned to me again. “And he has a private investigator on the case too.”

  “Why now? It’s been so many years. Doesn’t it seem oddly timed that he would throw himself into finding me now?”

  “From what I read in an article, he’s using the weight the documentary has as his platform for this. He’s saying that he’s always been dedicated to finding you, but thanks to the documentary, he can get more attention for it.”

  I thought about it. I knew I couldn’t out myself, not now, after so many years. It would surely land Six in jail for kidnapping. And besides that, I didn’t want to redeem Hawthorne to the masses who were so suspicious of him. I wanted him to suffer. I wanted to prove him as a murderer.

  “So then why are you training me?”

  “Because,” she said, putting a hand on my arm. “I asked you what you wanted. Think about that. No matter what happens, think about what you want.” She continued walking so I fell into step beside her. “Watch out for glass,” she said.

  I looked at her, waiting for her to continue. Mira was frustratingly ambiguous when she was being serious.

  “The path you choose to follow, to gain what you want?” she asked, an eyebrow raised. “Watch for glass. You might cut yourself. Make sure it’s worth it.”

  Her answer, while vague, held an underlying suggestion. I knew she didn’t want to come out and say what I should do. She wanted me to do what I wanted, in the end. And though I wasn’t sure exactly how to achieve it, I knew what I wanted.

  To be free. Completely.

  After speaking with Mira, I ran a handful of miles on the treadmill, but jumped off when I realized I wasn't working out the restless energy that occupied every single cell in my body.

  I burst into the bedroom, catching Julian off guard. He was propped up on the bed, the laptop in his lap, his hair sticking up all over the place, likely from running his hands through it in frustration. And if that wasn't sexy enough, he was wearing his fuck-me glasses, perched on the tip of his nose. He lifted an eyebrow as he looked at me over his glasses, taking in my appearance.

  "Hi," I said, breathlessly, as I tugged off my shoes and socks.

  Julian cocked his head slightly to the side, causing his hair to flop over his eyes. "Hi," he replied, almost warily.

  His eyebrows were pulled together, creating a perfect little wrinkle in his brow. Even that wrinkle was sexy. I felt the familiar tingle in my limbs, the tingle that was present whenever I looked at Julian. With his fucked up hair and forehead wrinkle, I was totally a goner. His appeal was in those imperfections.

  I walked closer to the bed, keeping my eyes on his face. I was aware that I was covered in sweat, but something about Julian pulled me to him, inherently.

  Julian closed the laptop and set it on its side, next to the bed. He turned to look at me, only a couple feet from him, and took off his glasses.

  My heart pounded in my chest as I watched him pull them from his face and fold the temples. He set them on the table and I walked closer. I placed a hand on his chest and he lifted his hand up to capture it.

  "Men in glasses are my kryptonite," I whispered, stepping closer, into his space. His hand squeezed mine.

  "Good thing I'm the only man here," he replied, a smile tugging his lips. I loved his lips. I lifted up my other hand and brushed my thumb over his lips, tugging just slightly on his bottom lip as I let my hand drift down and off of his face.

  "I should have said 'Julian in glasses is my kryptonite.'" I brought my hand to his hair, pushed it away from his forehead. "Julian with longer hair is my kryptonite," I said, dragging my nails down the side of his scalp.

  His other hand grabbed my wandering one and he pulled it to his lips, placing the softest kiss on my knuckles. "Andra," he said, his voice strained.

  I knew what he meant in saying only my name. The air around us had become thick with sexual tension, but there was a romantic element to it all. Sex with Julian wasn't just the meeting of two bodies-it was the meeting of the sum of all our parts: our minds and souls and hearts. It was the most beautiful equation.

  He kissed my knuckles again and I felt it from my fingertips to my chest, that fizzle of desire that rippled through my veins. He was sitting on the bed, facing me, while I stood in between his legs. I felt a drop of sweat slide down my spine and I shivered, the coolness of it a shock to my warming skin.

  Julian let go of my hands to hold my hips. He squeezed and pulled me closer, and my hands found his shoulders. I felt his thumb graze my skin and I shivered again. His fingertips held magic; that was the only way I could explain how the slightest touch ignited my skin to flaming.

  His hands slid up the sides of my body until they hooked under the front of the sports bra and he tugged, pulling me forward.

  My hands tightened on his shoulders and I itched to rip off his clothing and attack him. “Julian.”

  His mouth was on my skin, my stomach, kissing the path of my stomach up to my chest. “Hmm?” he murmured against my ribcage, sending vibrations to my core.


  I closed my eyes, feeling my body turning inside out in a slow burn as he kissed my entire stomach. I knew I trembled under his lips, but I was completely unembarrassed by it. Julian knew the power he had over my body. My skin, my bones-they bent at his will.

  Julian stood up and I backed up quickly, my back to the wall behind me as he slowly sauntered towards me. The power had shifted. He was now towering over me, his body only partially illuminated by the table lamp in the dark room.

  He lifted up the bottom hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head, giving me the most delicious view of skin and muscle. I licked my lips, longing to run my hands and my lips over all the planes of his body. And then I lifted my eyes, met his, and felt the entire world fall away.

  He looked at me like a man who knew exactly what he wanted. His gaze was sure, his intentions were so perfectly clear. I knew he loved me, but this look? It was something else. It was a man looking at me as if he saw his future, like he hadn’t just followed the path to his destiny-he’d run a marathon to it. And he wasn’t tired. Not yet. Not even close.

  My palms found the wall behind me. It was thrilling, and terrifying. The top of a rollercoaster right before it pitched forward and fell into a steep drop.

  “Julian,” I said again.

  “Andra,” he replied, walking closer to me. He sensed the fear in my voice, but he made no move to stop.

  “I…” I started. What the hell? I loved Julian. There was no doubt in my mind about that. But until this moment, I hadn’t understood what that love meant. Where that love would take us. There wasn’t a destination. This wasn’t a journey. Julian looked at me as if it was endless. And I knew I felt the same way. And that was what scared the shit out of me.

  He was against me a second later, our hips touching. His lips came to my cheek. “Andra,” he breathed against my skin. I felt the flutters in my stomach fly apart. His lips moved up my cheekbone and he brushed his face against mine. The harsh graze of his stubble along my skin ignited the match that was my desire for him. I was on fire in an instant, my hands reaching around him and scratching his skin, anything to calm the burn that I felt.