Never have I thought about someone fighting for me. The frustration I was feeling, the anger that was building from her challenge, changes. New thoughts invade my mind.
Could I fight back, put the evil inside of me at bay?
I would like to hope so, but I know reality is nowhere near as nice as fiction.
I pull my hand from her chin and notice how large my fingers look against her pale skin. These hands have brought pain. These hands have brought death. These hands are tainted with more darkness than anyone could ever understand.
“There’s no help for me. I’m not sure I want it.” I turn away from her and start the jog back to her home. I need to breathe, and I need the exertion. I need to push myself to the limit. I need to get away from her before she really starts to think she can save me.
She falls in step beside me, and then we head back to her house. She stops when I do and doesn’t go any farther. She steps closer to me like I am some kind of armor for her. Then she looks up at me with lost eyes, and I know damn well I have to get her inside at the very least.
I walk in, and she follows behind me. I watch her do some sort of surveillance walk around the house, checking all the windows and doors. She looks over her shoulder at me, seeming to make sure I am there with her.
My stomach twists from knowing how terrified she is and that I am allowing her to think of me as some sort of hero. I’m no one’s hero.
She turns around and looks me in the eye then back down. Her bottom lip is between her teeth, and fuck if I don’t want it between mine. But I can’t.
Missy was crazy, and her fucking issues and mine didn’t mix. This girl is beautiful and fucked up at the same time, and I would just ruin her further. I would destroy the ounce of sanity she still holds, which is dangling from a very thin, invisible string. A string that would be sure to snap if I let anything more happen to her.
I want to fuck her again. I want her eyes on me, watching me, only me.
“I’ll be back later to get your alarm reset. Until then, get some rest.”
The challenge I saw in her eyes earlier is gone. She simply nods her head and lets me leave.
—
“She’s got you fucking twisted,” Brock says from the other side of the pad he is holding to protect him as I beat the hell out of it.
“I’ve got me twisted.” I kick, and even with the padding, he stumbles back two steps. “I’m everything I never wanted to be, but fuck if it’s gonna change.”
My entire body hurts. I shouldn’t be here, not after the head injury I sustained, but I have to fight. I have to feed the need inside of me to fuck shit up. I have to release the aggression that builds day in and day out. It’s fucked up. The Ping-Pong ball in my mind knows it’s all wrong. Everything about me is wrong, but I can’t control it.
I also can’t get those angel blue eyes out of my mind.
I can help you fight back.
If she only knew what really lies inside me, she wouldn’t help me fight it back. She would fight to be free from me. It would be the smartest thing she could ever do for herself.
She needs to get as far away from me as possible. I damn sure am not strong enough to walk away from her.
Funny, I can beat the shit out of men twice my size, but I can’t resist the blond haired, blue-eyed pussycat on Hollow Terrace.
I told her I would fix her alarm, and I will. She is also going to get the fuck out of that house. It can’t be healthy to stay there. Then again, it won’t be healthy to stay with me, either.
I have to fight inside to keep myself away from her. She’s a mess and I’m trouble with a capital T. She has no idea the monster she had in her bed.
Chapter 11
Lo
I watch him walk away. His muscles flex in his clothes. He is strong, so strong, and I can’t help wanting to absorb that energy. I need it for what we—I mean, I have planned. I know I’m a mess, but in order to clean up a mess, sometimes you have to become one.
He gets in the car and sits in his seat, running his hands through his blond hair. He looks up at me and nods, then twists his finger as if to say turn around before he points to the door. He mouths Go, and it’s as if I can hear his rough, deep voice saying the words to me.
His voice, even imagined in my head, wraps around me like a shield of strength and protection. There is no hesitation or thought. I look around the house that built me then crushed me, that terrorizes and consumes me with the borrowed strength of a man who calls himself a monster. I know I can finish what we—I mean, I have started.
I lock all three dead bolts and the doorknob and then lean against the wall and slide down it, coming to a rest on the floor.
He is gone, and I am here…alone. I take comfort in the sun being up and in Jason, the man with a pain of his own, the man whose stature and stare could leave anyone trembling, the man I allowed to keep me safe from her—myself—last night.
Boots and Socks are sunning themselves in the window while I sit here, watching them in their relaxed state, envious of them. My eyes grow heavy, and I allow them to rest, but just for a moment. I know the house is locked and secure, because he made it so.
I jump when I hear a loud knock on the door. I rub the back of my neck as I stretch. It aches from the way I was positioned. I must have fallen asleep.
Socks and Boots jump off my lap.
“I’m sorry I scared you,” I say to them as I crawl to the window next to the door and peek out.
Green eyes meet mine, and I instantly feel ease wash over me.
I unlock and open the door for Jason, who walks in with a toolbox and a bag. He is dressed in gray sweatpants and a black, sleeveless shirt, and he has a black baseball cap on backward. He looks every bit as strong as he did when he left, maybe even more so.
“I’m gonna fix this quickly. It shouldn’t take long, and then I’ll be out of your hair.” I know by the look in his eyes he sees the fear inside of me. “I can’t stay again.”
I nod rapidly. “I know.”
“You are off for a couple days. It was in your discharge papers from the doctor. Get this fucking place on the market. You need to move on,” he says as he walks by, setting the bag by the door where the alarm wires were cut.
I watch as he works quickly, as if he has done this a hundred times before, and maybe he has. He is a mystery to me, a beautiful, strong conundrum of anger, attitude, and angst. I want to know more about him, but I know he doesn’t want me to. I can’t blame him. I am tainted and tormented by one horrible day. April 20, the day hell erupted from the depths and was no longer just a frightening story to scare a child into behaving. It became a reality, one I face every day.
I start to feel my body on the verge of shaking and trembling. I can’t let this happen. Not in front of him. Not when I want him to stay.
Anxiety drowns rationality, and I scurry into the kitchen where I feed the cats first then quickly start to make two sandwiches, just to keep him here for a little while longer.
“I’m all set,” he says from behind me.
I turn around and hold up the plate. “It’s a thank-you.”
He closes his eyes, and I immediately feel let down, rejected.
“Can I get it to go?” he asks with a forced, airless tone.
“Of course.” I turn around and open the cupboard with parchment paper and cling film. I lay it out and wrap it in the paper, folding it into an envelope like I did when I was younger and worked at the sandwich shop on weekends.
I liked having my own money. Heidi had Ryan, and they spent all of their free time together. He showered her with gifts and affection. I didn’t have time for boys. I wanted to work to buy the things I wanted, the things Ryan gave her that my parents thought were extravagant indulgences. Things a middle-class family couldn’t afford.
At work, I met friends. I loved talking with the customers and got to know the regulars and what they would order. I also met a boy. The first night I agreed to meet Stephen after work w
as the night I was late.
Emotions creep up in my throat, but I force them back as I wrap the cling film around the turkey and provolone sandwich on rye bread.
When I turn around, I force a smile, and he looks back and forth between my eyes and forces his own smile. I’m pretty sure it’s the first time he has smiled at me. His teeth are perfect, straight and white. They don’t match the rest of his rough exterior.
“You got a bag?” he asks.
“Of course.” I know there is too much excitement in the response, because his shoulders automatically slouch in some sort of defeat.
I open the cupboard and push up on my toes to reach the brown paper bags I haven’t ever used but know are in here.
I feel his body heat behind me as he leans close and reaches up to grab them.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He takes in a deep breath, and I look over my shoulder at his eyes looking down at me.
His voice is thick and gruff when he replies, “No problem.”
He doesn’t move. I am sure that him staring at my lips means he is going to kiss me. I close my eyes, waiting, wanting, expecting…
I feel his hot breath come closer and closer, and my body becomes tingly as heat rises from my toes up to my belly, intensifying the sensation.
A knock at the door causes me to jump. In doing so, my head hits his jaw. He groans.
“I’m so sorry.” I turn quickly. He doesn’t move, and I feel his erection against my stomach.
I quickly look up at him, and he takes a step back, rubbing his hand back and forth over his hat, before he walks to the door.
“Wait, don’t open it!” I panic as I peek around the doorway to see if he listens.
He doesn’t stop. He unlocks the door and opens it without even looking.
“What’s up?’ he asks in a somewhat cocky tone as he shoves his hands down the front of his waistband and adjusts himself.
“Good afternoon.” I hear the familiar voice of Ryan Bennett and freeze on the spot. “I’d like to speak to Lorraine.”
“About what?” Jason asks, not moving.
“A personal matter,” Ryan clips back.
“She’s busy,” Jason hisses.
“If that’s true, I’d like to hear it from her.” I see Ryan push past him, and Jason grabs the back of his collar.
“Did I invite you in?” he snarls.
“Jason,” I gasp as I walk toward them.
“You know this dickhead?” he asks as Ryan pulls away from him and stomps toward me.
I nod and swallow hard. “He was my sister’s boyfriend.”
“Christ, Lorraine.” Ryan looks around and points to the stairway. “What the hell is this? Where is all your furniture, your photos, a sign of life?”
“Why don’t you back the hell off, son?” Jason asks, walking toward me.
“Who the hell is this joker?” Ryan points at Jason.
“This is my…friend Jason,” I answer.
“Friend?” Ryan asks, seeming unconvinced.
I look at Jason, hoping I haven’t offended him. He seems to be questioning my answer as well.
“I certainly hope so,” I whisper.
Jason’s eyes widen just a bit before looking away from me to Ryan. “What can we do for you?”
“I heard through the grapevine she allowed someone to enter into her home,” Ryan says, looking around, “if that’s what the hell this is.” He looks back at me. “This needs to stop, Lorraine. You need to move on, have a life. If you can’t do it here, you can come back home. You smiled there, lived.” He walks around, waving his hand about, and then stops and looks at me. “We miss you. Come home.”
“This the doctor’s kid?” Jason asks.
I nod and look down.
“Well, Ryan,” Jason starts, “Lo has decided she’s gonna put this house of hell on the market and get herself a new place. She is working things out.”
“For two years, she’s been working things out. If she’s telling you that, she’s lying to you and herself.” I can tell by his tone that Ryan is angry at me.
I shake my head. “I’m not lying to anyone.”
“You should probably hit the road, Ryan,” Jason says firmly.
“Lorraine, you and I need to chat…alone. Please tell this…gentleman that you are fine with me here.”
I nod. “You were leaving anyway. I’m fine, Jason. I truly appreciate everything.” I look up at him, and he appears angry, but he finally nods.
“Take care, Lo.”
I walk him to the door, and when he opens it, I grab his arm. His body tenses, and then he pulls away.
“See ya, Lo.”
I feel an immediate sickness, a sadness, as he leaves without even a glance at me.
“Lock the door,” Ryan says in a quiet calm that is all him.
I shut the door and lock it then turn to him.
He looks at me with hunger and sadness in his eyes. “I have missed you so damn much.”
I don’t know what to say to him, but I don’t have time to say anything before he is in front of me, his arms wrapped around me. I hear a sigh as he kisses my head over and over again.
“Ryan,” I say softly. “Please don’t.”
“I can’t help it. I’m home now for good. I’m starting my residency at Henry Ford next week.” He pulls back and looks at me. “Dad told me about yesterday. He worries about you and wants you to come home. We can handle it. We can. I know it. I just want you to feel safe again.” He pauses, as if he is gathering his thoughts. “Lorraine?”
“Congratulations,” I say, stepping back and away from him.
He nods. “Thank you.” Then he turns and looks around the house. “I’m going to really help you this time. Let’s call the Realtor and start making this place presentable.”
“I can’t live with your family again,” I say quietly.
“That’s fine. We’ll get you a place.” He walks toward my parents’ room. “Somewhere in a building with security. Where the hell do you sleep?” He looks back at me.
“The basement,” I answer.
“Jesus Christ, I can’t have that. I can’t allow you to do that. It’s over. You need to move forward.” He walks toward me and stops. “I’ve changed. I am ready to move forward and really live again. It’s time for you to do the same.”
Chapter 12
Jason
The getup frustrates me. The wig, the makeup, all the black clothing—it all eats at me. Watching her fluff her hair and smack her lipstick-covered lips irritates me more. What the hell is she doing? She climbs into her Impala, and even the car pisses me off. How do the levelheaded eyes of an angel nurse go from one extreme to another?
I need to walk away. I don’t.
No, I keep coming back to her eyes. Every time I close mine, I see hers.
I came here because I’m a fucking glutton for punishment after she sent me away to have a talk with him. I should have left it at that. She made her choice. I would have sent him away. Instead, she had me leave. I shouldn’t care what happened after I left. The dismissal she gave me earlier still stings, but what the hell can I do about it? I should let it all go and let her go. I damn sure shouldn’t be here watching, seeking, and waiting for whatever the hell comes next.
I can’t. For some messed-up reason, I can’t walk away.
Knowing I left her with him, I had to come back and see for myself if he got to stay. What kind of crazy game is she playing? Why does he have this pull over her? Why does his family have such a connection to her? He asked her to come home. His whole family wants her to come home. It’s just nuts.
Home. I mean, really? The girl lived with them for some time obviously, but where did she end up? Back home. She brought herself back to the same nightmare that haunts her to this day. I have heard of people trying to overcome their fears by facing them, but this is so much more fucked up than holding a damn snake to get over your phobia.
This shit…This shit she’s doing
—living in the basement of the house her family was murdered in—is the stuff that is made for TV or something. It blows my mind. There is no way I could live in a place like that, and I had a far from ideal childhood.
My father deserves to die brutally, and still I wouldn’t want to sleep in the same house it happened in, no matter how much I know he earned it. She had a loving family, and to live in the place it all came to an end…I just can’t wrap my head around it.
She backs out of her driveway, bringing my attention back to the urge to follow her. She’s in that car, in the outfit. The outfit that tells me Lorraine isn’t out tonight. No, my angel has tucked herself away. Why? I can’t help questioning.
I shouldn’t care. I should turn around and sort my own life out. Missy keeps calling, I keep ignoring. Missy is no longer my problem. I am my problem.
But every time I close my eyes, I picture her blue ones staring back at me. I picture Lorraine, leaning over my hospital bed like a vision of an angel.
I should take my ass back to the hotel and find a new place to live. I have enough problems of my own. Do I do the responsible, smart, and normal thing, though? Do I leave the woman I barely know to her own troubles?
No. I follow her instead of my instincts. I sit back and try to sort out what she’s doing.
She drives without checking her rearview, and like the sick fuck I am, I follow her.
Our first stop is on Brown Avenue. She parks her car in front of house number 7929 and sits. She doesn’t get out. She doesn’t move. She simply parks, turns the car off, slides down into the driver’s seat, and waits.
What the hell is she waiting for?
When I see the garage door open to the house across the street and the black BMW pull in, there is no doubt in my mind who is driving. Charlotte Whittaker, the most put-together woman in the district. She is a fierce negotiator and will stand toe-to-toe with any man in her perfectly tailored suits and high fucking heels. She’s one of only a few people my father actually respects.
Charlotte enters her home, and still, we wait. I look around, trying to figure out why we are here since there is no other activity in the area. After thirty minutes or so, the taillights flash on Lorraine’s car before she pulls away.
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