Page 15

15

T he last few days are a blur. I spent them in bed sleeping, dreaming, crying. My limbs felt like they were bound in concrete, and my eyes stung from the never-ending flow of tears. I barely ate, and my gaze never landed on Ringo’s when he tried to get me to fill my belly.

I just couldn’t.

The pain of everything hit me like a freight train. It was overwhelming. Suffocating. All-consuming.

I didn’t actually think I’d ever resurface, to be honest, and for a time there, I don’t think I cared.

But then I remembered why I wanted to escape, and now, today, I’ve dragged myself out of Ringo’s bed with a new sense of purpose.

To live.

To survive.

Approaching Ringo where he’s sitting in the sun in the courtyard with Jols and JD, his eyes find mine, and he sits a little taller, a flash of surprise flicking across his expression.

“You’re up.”

I nod, offering him a half smile.

“Can I use your phone, please?” I ask, and his brows furrow as he grips the paper plate on his lap, the remnants of barbequed meat grease staining the surface.

“You want to use the app?” he asks, already figuring me out, so I nod. “You know the deal, Charity.”

Ugh, that stupid name.

“Fine. What do I have to eat?” I ask, glancing over my shoulder at the table packed with an array of salads, barbequed meat, and bread rolls.

To try to get me to come out of my depression coma, Ringo had offered me his phone, telling me he’d downloaded the app that Lexi had been using to contact my little sister. That was the only thing that sparked an interest in me at the time, but then he’d gone and tried to blackmail me into eating something first if I wanted to use it, so I sunk back into my comatosed state preferring the numbness I felt there.

“Let’s get you a plate,” Ringo states, standing from his chair, his towering height dwarfing me as he passes by.

I follow, watching as he puts a sausage, some salad and a bread roll on the plate before holding it out for me.

My stomach roils.

“That’s too much.”

He shakes the plate. “Nope. It’s hardly anything. Just try.”

My eyes meet his, mine pleading, his unwavering.

“You have to eat, Charity. ”

“I’ll eat if you stop calling me that,” I whisper snap, and one corner of his lip twitches.

“Never. Now fucking eat, or no phone.”

I roll my eyes and snatch the plate from his grip. “Anyone ever tell you, you’re an arsehole?”

This time, his smirk shows. “Every fucking day.” He gestures to the chair he was sitting in, so I move to it and take it, ignoring JD staring at me on one side, and Jols on the other.

Did he tell them what he overheard on the phone?

Do they all know now?

Heat flushes my cheeks at the thought. I hate people knowing my business. Mainly because I feel so ashamed. It’s embarrassing. No one understands why a mum would do that to her daughter. Even I don’t understand why either, other than I bring shame on the family.

Balancing my plate on my lap, I start picking at the food. I suck in a deep breath when the nausea hits again, but will it away so I can handle a little sustenance.

“Hey kid. When’s the last time you took a shower?” JD’s question has me snapping my head in his direction, and Jols scoffs.

“Leave her alone, JD. She’s had a tough couple of days. Showering would be the last thing on her mind.”

Shit.

Ringo must have told them.

I have no idea to what extent, but just knowing they know something has my emotions reappearing.

I stand quickly, nearly losing the food on my plate, but Ringo leaps forward and catches it before it’s too late.

“What are you doing?” he asks, his presence looming, yet I don’t look up to meet his eyes.

“Going to shower,” I say quietly.

“Ouch,” JD mutters behind me after a loud slap fills the air. “What the fuck was that for?”

“Just the fact you asked that means you deserved that slap,” Jols snaps, but I don’t hang around to hear anything else, hightailing it back to Ringo’s room.

Hurrying inside, I go to close the door behind me, but Ringo is right there, my plate in hand, following.

“Eat first. You’re withering away. You’ll never get strong and healthy if you don’t give your body what it needs.”

I still at his words, knowing he’s right.

If I’m going to live and survive, then I need to get strong and healthy.

I need to look after myself, because no one else will do that for me.

I’ve wanted that for so long. To be left alone by my family so I can just be me.

Well, here’s my chance. It’s time I started acting like I can actually do this.

“If I eat this and shower, you’ll let me use the Koala-roo app, right?” I ask, finally meeting Ringo’s stormy brown eyes, and he nods.

“If you eat, you can have my phone until dinnertime.”

Slowly, a smile tugs at my lips.

I’m going to get to chat with Tahli and Lexi today. Just the thought has my mood lifting.

I nod, taking the plate from his grip, and taking a bite of the sausage.

Even though my stomach roils again, I force it back, sucking in deep breaths as the flavour hits my tongue and explodes. I swallow the first bite and then have another, closing my eyes as I try to rush my chews before swallowing.

Holding up the sausage, my lips part as I go to take another bite, but then, my gaze locks onto Ringo as he watches me, his focus not on my eyes or hand, but on my lips.

I frown, and he doesn’t even notice.

Slowly, I close my lips around the sausage and sink my teeth in, watching how his eyes and nostrils flare.

Oh.

My.

God.

Is he…

Heat flushes my cheeks, and the bite of sausage nearly chokes me, a cough bursting from my lips as I try to stop the meat from flying from my mouth.

“Shit,” Ringo hisses, moving to me and patting me on the back, but his nearness just makes my skin flare hotter.

What the hell is happening right now?

“I’m okay,” I snap around the mouthful of food and another cough, shifting quickly away from his touch.

He frowns, and I realise he noticed me shift away like I’m scared of him.

Shit.

I’m not scared of Ringo. If anything, I feel safer with him than anyone I’ve ever met.

What I am scared of is the way my body is reacting to him. It’s not repulsed by him at all. Quite the opposite, and I don’t know what to do with that information.

“I’m going to take a shower,” I rush out, but he holds his hand up to stop me .

“Hold up.” He steps closer, pointing at me. “You’ve been wearing the same damn clothes for days. Please tell me you plan on changing them today.”

My brows crease as my gaze drops to the hoodie swimming on me and the black leggings underneath.

“I guess I could change the bottoms.” I shrug, glancing back up to meet his piercing gaze.

“What about my hoodie? Can I have it back?” he asks, and I frown, even as I clutch the neckline, taking a step back.

“No.”

I can tell he’s biting back a smile. “You’re not going to give me back my hoodie?”

I shake my head. “I’m claiming it as mine now,” I admit, the thought of him taking it sounding more terrifying than the way my body reacted to him only moments ago.

“Fine. You can have it, but can you go a day without it so I can give it to the Doxies to wash?”

What the hell?

“No.” I wrap my arms around myself this time, holding the fabric close. “They aren’t touching it.”

Ringo’s smirk is huge as he chuckles. “Charity, come on now. It’s starting to smell. Surely you can go a day without it—”

“No. No, Ringo. I’m not giving it to them,” I snap, anger contorting my expression as I point a stern finger to the floor.

His brows hitch as his smirk grows and he just stares at me for a few long beats before talking.

“Fine. No Doxies, but what do I have to do to fix this? It smells,” he steps forward and jabs the centre of my chest with his finger, “therefore you smell, and not in a nice way. ”

Horror takes over my expression. I can feel my heated cheeks and the way my mouth parts in disbelief, even though it was clear I smelled a few minutes ago when JD called me out on my lack of showering.

“I don’t have a hoodie like this.”

Oh, my god… am I pouting?

Given the dimple appearing in Ringo’s cheek, I’m going to say yes.

He finds my discomfort really damn funny, doesn’t he?

“You don’t have a sick hoodie like mine?”

I roll my eyes. “Old men don’t speak like that. Don’t try to act cool, Ringo.”

He beams. “I don’t have to try, darlin’.”

Once again, my cheeks are flaring to life, this time at his endearment, which I’m sure he meant nothing of, but holy crap. Hearing it roll off his tongue directed at me has me reeling.

“Perhaps you love the hoodie so much because it smells like me. Well, it used to.” He teases, and shit, he doesn’t realise how close to the truth he speaks.

“Ew. No,” I gasp, curling my lip in disgust.

Hey. Ten points to me for my convincing acting skills.

“Well, Charity,” he approaches, forcing me to lift my gaze to his looming height. “If it’s not for any of those reasons, how about you tell me the truth? Why are you so attached to my hoodie?”

My lashes flutter as my mind races for a reason, a lie, but as I try to conjure something to tell him, his finger hooks under my chin and lifts, drawing my gaze to meet his .

“It makes me feel safe.” The truth tumbles from my lips before I even realise I’ve spoken, and I expect him to look surprised, but he doesn’t.

He just keeps staring at me like my admission is totally fine.

“What about my hoodie makes you feel safe, Angel? The feel of the fabric? The size of it? The smell of it?”

Jesus, he’s really asking me that?

Biting my lower lip, I consider the lies I can muster, yet when I finally answer in another whisper, it’s with the truth again. “Yes. All of those reasons.”

Ringo nods, like he thought as much, completely accepting my reasoning as if it’s not creepy.

“The weather is so stifling. Don’t you get hot wearing it?” he asks, and I shrug.

“I like the heat. I’ve felt cold for so long. I can’t seem to get warm enough, but when I’m wearing it, I feel comfortable.”

A frown flickers across his expression before he hides it.

I’m not sure how my words made him react that way until he speaks.

“My ma once told me that when someone is anxious, their brain is never at peace, so instead of the heart focusing on pumping blood throughout the body, it focuses on pumping most of it to the brain because that’s the part of the body that needs the help.” He shrugs, his eyes going distant for a moment before returning to meet my gaze. “I don’t know how true that is, but it could be what’s happening here.” He gestures to me, and for a moment I can’t speak.

That statement is so profound.

Ringo clears his throat, taking a deep breath .

“Can we swap it out for another?” He points to the hoodie and my brows shoot up.

“Swap it?”

“Yeah.” He finally releases my chin and turns to the wardrobe, finding another hoodie, this one green. “How about you put this one on instead?” He holds it up. “And give me that one so I can wash it.”

“I thought you said the Doxy girls will wash it.” I frown.

“I did, but I can do it if you’d rather?”

Ringo doing washing?

Now there’s an amusing thought.

“Maybe I can help? If you show me where the laundry is, I can wash our stuff.”

Our stuff.

Shit.

Why did I say it like that?

There is no our or we .

I’m a damn guest, or prisoner.

“I mean… you know… if you’d like me to wash your stuff.” I quickly add, waving a dismissive hand, my eyes darting around the space, avoiding his face.

Really smooth, Abbey.

“I’d fucking love it if you washed my things, Angel.”

My eyes dart to his, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“So what do you reckon? Swap this hoodie for that one?” He gestures his head down at my body, and I consider it briefly before nodding and snatching the clean hoodie from his grip before spinning and rushing into the bathroom.

His chuckle floats through the closed door as I shut myself in, pressing my back to the thin timber separating us.

I wait until I hear him open the external door and leave before I strip off and take the much-needed shower. I have to admit, it feels good to have the warm water rushing over my skin, rinsing away the sweat that’s built on my skin from days of keeping myself hidden away.

I peel off the now soaked bandages on my hands to see the cuts are healing well enough that I can probably go without them now, and I take extra time, washing my hair and shaving my legs with the disposable razors Ringo left for me days ago.

By the time I get out and dry myself, I feel more human than I have in days, and manage to nibble on the bread roll when I re-enter the main room, fully dressed in clean underwear, clean red bike shorts, and a white tee underneath Ringo’s green hoodie.

When I step outside the room a few minutes later, my gaze lands on the lady that was sprawled out in front of Ringo on the table in the President’s room the other night. I think her name is Wendy, and as I take her in, I can see her sights are clearly set on Ringo as she stares at him across the courtyard.

That is until she notices me.

Her dark glare shoots my way, which seems to get Ringo’s attention because his eyes find me as I slowly approach, as do a number of other men lazing about on chairs in the sun.

For the first time in days, instead of leaving my hair down or putting it in braids, I’ve tied it up high on my crown, my blonde strands still wet as droplets soak into the green fabric of the hoodie.

Normally I’d hate the attention, but something about the way my mere presence annoys Wendy has me walking taller, my chin high, shoulders rolled back with a level of confidence I haven’t felt in a couple of years.

“Someone looks happy today.” Smitty, the President, chuckles from next to Ringo, nudging him with his elbow as I approach.

Ringo holds his hand out as I near, my eyes falling to it and I hesitate slightly, my gaze darting back up to lock onto Ringo’s.

Oh right. The ruse. I’m playing the part of his girl.

Reaching out, I slide my fingers into his open palm, and he pulls me to him, leading me down onto his lap.

“Hi,” I say sweetly to Smitty, trying to sound as confident as I pretended to be moments ago.

“Hey there, pretty girl. You feeling better today?” Smitty asks, and when I tense a little, Ringo links his fingers with mine, giving my hand a gentle squeeze.

“Yes. Sorry, I haven’t been a very pleasant guest.” I smile. “I haven’t been feeling well, but feel much better today.”

“Better not have been Rona.” Wendy, the cow, snipes as she comes to stand next to Smitty, draping herself over him like she’s about to start dry humping his thigh.

“If it was the virus, I can assure you Charity wouldn’t be out here spreading it around.” Ringo snaps at Wendy, as he absentmindedly pulls me closer on his lap.

“Charity is an interesting name.” Darla comes up behind Wendy, propping her hand on her hip as she gives me the once over. “Why’d your parents call you that? Because you’re a charity case?”

“The fuck!” Ringo bolts up, nearly sending me flying as he lunges for Darla, and it’s Smitty who blocks his path .

“Back the fuck down, Ringo.” Smitty sneers as he holds him back, but Ringo ignores him, stabbing a finger in Darla’s direction. “Fucking apologise. Now!”

His boom is loud, and regret washes over Darla’s expression as she nods. “I-I’m sorry.”

Ringo shoves Smitty back. “Don’t fucking apologise to me!” he snarls, turning to glance at me a few feet away as I wrap my arms around my middle.

Reaching out to me, Ringo’s stare is firm and commanding as he waits, and even though I eye Darla and Smitty, my hand finds Ringo’s before I let him tug me to his side.

Turning to face Darla again, Ringo glares at her. “Apologise to my woman.”

Oh.

Oh.

His woman.

Darla visibly gulps, but I don’t care much for her discomfort.

“I’m sorry, Charity. That was so rude of me. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“I fucking do,” Ringo mutters quietly before his gaze shifts to Wendy, who looks nothing but smug right now.

Did she put Darla up to this?

The last thing I need is a bunch of high school bitchiness from grown women who should know better.

“It’s okay,” I say to Darla despite how I feel. “I actually joke about being a charity case myself. I don’t know what my name givers were thinking when they named me that. I’ve been considering changing it.”

When Ringo glances at me, I can tell he’s biting back a smirk at the way I so easily go along with the lie.

“Name givers? Is that what you call your parents?” Wendy sneers, like she’s about to cause trouble, but I simply shrug.

“The people who gave me life aren’t worthy of being called parents,” I declare before glancing up at Ringo, offering him a smile. “I might change my name to Angel, since that’s what you like calling me.”

Oh damn.

Who am I right now?

Even though Ringo grins, his tone oozes seriousness.

“I thought I told you that name was just for me.”

I shrug innocently, but then let loose my devious expression, feeling playful. “I thought you liked calling me your sex goddess. At least that’s all you managed to mutter last night when I—”

“Don’t fucking say it,” Ringo snaps, his lips tugging at the corners at my sudden, mischievous playfulness as he leans closer so only I can hear. “You’re playing with fire, Angel.”

I know I’m only acting a part, but I’m pretty sure I’m playing it a little too well right now. I’m almost convincing myself.

Smitty and a few of the other men are chuckling, while Darla is smiling, and Wendy is scowling.

“Ahhh, Beatle, weren’t you going to show me where the laundry is?” I ask, since I’m already playing with fire, I may as well toss fuel on the flames.

“Oh, he told you how he got his nickname, did he?” Smitty chuckles as Ringo glares at me. “Who would have thought this fucker was in a band back in the day?”

So that’s where the nickname Ringo comes from.

I nod like I have a clue when really I’m just making up crap as I go. “I know, right? It’s hard to believe he has a musical bone in his body with his inability to dance. ”

Smitty loses it then, clutching at his chest as Murf approaches us wearing a huge grin, while Ringo shoots daggers in every direction of laughter.

“Well, if you’ll excuse us,” he states so everyone can hear. “She wants to see the laundry room, and not for the purpose of washing our clothes.”

I frown, unsure of his meaning before he reaches down and grabs a handful of my arse, giving it a squeeze until a squeak flies from my lips, shock widening my eyes.

“What did you say earlier, Angel? You want me balls deep inside you as you sit on the washer during the spin cycle?”

Roars of laughter fill the air, as well as hoots as Ringo scoops me up in his arms cradling me to his chest, and with purpose in his strides, heads straight for the laundry room across the courtyard.