Page 16

Chapter sixteen

Ashia

‘The Beauty of the Rain’ – Dar Williams

I see stars. As I reach to the heavens for them, I feel weightless. Like if I were to stop breathing, I'd only have to climb one step to heaven. Pearly gates right at my fingertips. The only thing still present is the grip on my limbs and the weight on my lips, and even that is waiting to fly away. The most mind-blowing sex of my life has my mind in a fog that is only now starting to clear.

The love I crave is gentle, while the sex I desire is gruesome and rough. Can those two things even coexist? What if the love I need just isn’t possible? Am I asking for too much? Expecting too much? But what if I’m not? What if what I need is right beyond those gates, and if I just let go, I could have it?

I'm na?ve to believe that this situation could ever evolve into something good. His touch and his words, his grand gestures and declarations of admiration, are all nothing but a smoke screen. Damien could never love me. He desires me, for now, but that will change with time. When he realizes what everyone else has. That underneath the surface I’m nothing more but damaged goods. He wants to try to melt every piece of me back into a shape that fits whatever hole is in his heart. I wonder how many pieces he'll pick up before he realizes I'm not worth the trouble.

That’s what being swept under the rug is.

He releases the ties. Gently and methodically, and it’s like I'm drug back down to hell just as the shimmering gates open. A tease. A taste. A God damn dream…

He’ll want something from me now. No one spends the kind of money he does without expecting favors. I’ll be indebted to him forever, and that’s what he wants. Complete control. A noose around my throat, and every time he’ll see an action as acting out, he’ll tighten it around my neck to remind me what I owe him. I remember what that feeling was like, and for something as grand as the amount he spent today, I can only imagine how thick this rope will feel.

I lay there, stiff and still. That’s all I can do. I don’t want to look into his hypnotizing gaze. I don’t want him to decode my sadness and spill a bunch of lies that I’ll most likely believe anyway. The sex is earth-shattering, but I can’t allow him to enter my mind any more than he already has.

While I’m not sure if I want this, I’m not sure I want him to go either. I’m so torn between giving him a chance and shoving him away that I don’t know which direction to look in. He could mean every word he says. His intentions could be pure, but then there’s the possibility that I haven’t grown at all, and I’m still just the stupid, gullible girl that I always have been.

The one that believed her parents tried their best, and that as long as I was a good girl and did what I was told, that they wouldn’t hurt or leave me. The one that believed that a man just needed to be loved correctly to know how to love in return. The girl that looked at herself under a microscope and tried to fix everything about herself that they didn’t like to appease them. I can’t do that again…

Is the shattered mess I’ll be when he leaves me worth keeping him for a while? Having some taste of being desired? Wanted? Tolerated? Is giving in to my delusions of a fantasy worth the broken mind I’ll come out on the other side with?

I feel a dip in the bed beside me, bringing me back from the dissociation I was currently participating in. One of his strong, warm arms snakes around my middle as he presses his body against my own, and I try to suppress the flutter that starts in my chest the moment I feel his fingers run through my hair.

“What’s wrong?” He asks softly, his tone concerned. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” I flinch lightly as I feel him bury his face in my hair. Taking a deep breath in, I inflate my guarded walls and steel my spine. Fighting the urge to look at him and lose myself in his beautiful eyes.

“No. You didn’t. Well, not seriously, anyway.” I say back, my voice strained and hoarse. He gently runs his thumb back and forth across my stomach. The touch gentle and loving. Soft enough to make my skin crawl.

“There’s something wrong. You can talk to me.” He implores.

“I don’t want to talk.” I say with conviction, hoping he’ll drop it.

“Don’t do that. Please, don’t do that.” His voice pleas breathlessly as he nuzzles deeper into my hair and inhales. Making me want to melt into him. I blink my pooling tears away, not willing to show weakness.

“Do what?” I ask, trying to sound indifferent.

“Retract your draw bridge.” He replies, almost desperate. “Let me in.” Those words make me shiver. He is either the best actor on the planet, or his pleas are real. I breathe deep and straighten my face as much as possible while I sit upright and stare into his ocean eyes. Almost already losing myself and turning to putty the moment I make contact. How the hell does he do that? How am I so drawn to such a dangerous and unpredictable man?

He just broke into my apartment, tied me up while I slept, fucked me senseless, not necessarily with my consent, and what? Because of a few touches and praises, I’m swooning for him? How desperate can I be?

“What was your business today?” I ask sternly as I watch the longing sweeps across his gaze. He can tell what I'm doing. He knows I’m trying to keep a distance and he actually looks affected by it.

“A few different things.” He dodges my question.

“Like paying off my medical bills?” I ask, the tone coming out more harshly than I intended.

“Yes.” He answers punctually and confidently. His tone plucks at one of my nerves, and I feel as my anxiety begins to charge deep within my chest. My hands and fingers starting to tingle.

“Why did you do that?” The same anger as before rises as I recall seeing the notification in that hospital room today.

“Why wouldn’t I? You’re mine, Ashia, and I take care of what’s mine.” He says with such determination that it’s almost believable.

“So, you just happen to pay the hospital bills of every woman you sleep with?” His expression hardens, his lips closing to a straight line.

“You’re not just any woman, and I’m not sleeping with anyone but you.” He says sternly as his eyes gleam with truth, causing a shiver to run down my spine.

“I’m not falling for your bullshit. I don’t owe you anything.” I hiss.

“I never said you did.” He voice deepens, spilling the words as he sits up, towering over me and causing me to scoot away. Damien’s size is so hot yet intimidating. I can feel myself getting smaller as I look up at him.

“You didn’t have to. I don’t need anything from you. I don’t need you to buy me curtains or pay my bills.” I thrust my hands in the direction of my newly covered window. “I don’t need you to do things for me!” The volume of my voice grows.

“I know you don’t!” His voice grows as loud as mine.

“Then why did you do it!?”

“Because you’ve paid enough!” I freeze at his words. A shock hits my heart, knowing that he isn’t talking about the bill. “You’ve paid enough.” He says as more of a whisper. His face softens again, and he stares back at me. Sadness, and what looks to be something along the lines of grief, deepens the blue in his eyes.

“I don’t need your pity.” I declare, the choked words coming out in a whisper. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look away or show any signs that he thinks any less of me, and we stay silent for a moment. Staring into each other’s eyes as if it’ll solve all of our problems. The silence only causes my anxiety to creep along. So, I break it. “What else did you do today? Any other surprises I should watch out for?” He shakes his head.

“Nope. Just handled business.” His soft tone is still present.

“What kind of business?” And just like that, his face hardens again. A darkness creeps over his features, as if a cloud formed over his figure.

“That kind that touched what didn’t belong to him.” He says slowly. Menacingly. A cold chill runs its way through my body, and I find myself cowering into the bed. My body turning to ice.

“What?” I whisper. “The asshole from the bar, that was your business today?” The louder I speak, the more quakes that show in my voice.

“Part of it.” I feel the wave of fear washing over me again. Hell and high-water strikes…I know the question I want to ask, but should I? What if then I'll know too much? What if he doesn’t like me snooping…I'm extremely vulnerable right now. Feeling raw and exposed, but I can’t help the word vomit coming up my throat.

“You killed him?” I don’t mean to say so shakily, but at this point, every piece of me is shaking. My palms are sweating, and even though my hands are in my lap to conceal the tremors from my anxiety, it’s not working.

Cooper was one thing. He tried to kill me, and almost succeeded. But the asshole from the bar? He didn’t really do anything. So, what if he grabbed me up like a whore, I’ve dealt with worse, and it’s not like I would ever see him again.

“You’re fucking right I did.” He declares. The look in his eyes sharpening with the words. “I told you; no one will hurt you again. You’ll come to learn very soon that I always mean every word I say.” Just from the look in his eyes alone, I can tell this man has extremely complex emotions. How can someone look so sinister, yet so endearing? His eyes are pinning me against the bed, but with a softness I can’t describe. He did something terrible but justifies it by doing it for me. Someone grabbed ‘what was his’ and he died for it…

“Oh my God…what is wrong with you?” The way his body stiffens doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Excuse me?” I stand up and start pacing the room, making sure to make my way a little closer to the door.

“You killed him because he touched me? Why would you do that? To prove how unhinged you are? You've kind of already proven that!” I'm treading on very thin ice here, but I feel my anger and desperation course through my bloodstream. That’s now two victims connected to me, could be more for all I know, and he did it in my honor. How am I supposed to live with that? Knowing that two lives ended short because they were connected to me?

“To prove that I keep my promises! It’s not like I kill innocent, child saving, puppy petting, everyday Joe’s! He had countless charges of domestic violence, rape, attempted murder, and what would’ve happened to you if he came after you for rejecting him? I'm not sorry!” Not sorry? For killing a random man from a bar, he’s not sorry? For touching someone he claims?

Is he capable of remorse? Has his line of work hardened him to the point of feeling nothing for anyone not in his immediate circle? He has so many emotions, I find that extremely hard to believe. Or maybe he feels nothing at all and is the greatest liar to ever exist. What the fuck is this?

“Why do you care if someone touches me!? What does it matter if some greasy asshole puts his hands on me? I’m not worth murdering someone over!”

“DON’T SAY THAT!” I shudder at his boisterous voice, trembling even more. He runs his hand through his hair and fists the strands at the base of his neck. Regret grows in his gaze before he looks away from me and takes a calming breath. “Don’t you fucking say that…” He says much calmer than before. “You are worth so much more than you believe. If not to anyone else, then to me.” He pauses, and I allow myself to release a pent-up breath. My chest muscles loosening to weight of his statement. “I wish I could explain why. Explain how these feelings have completely invaded my mind and the weight of them on my chest. I wish I knew! All I know is that you have completely taken over every aspect of my life, and there is not a single thing on this planet that I wouldn’t do for you.” He pauses again, taking a shaky breath. “So don’t say you’re not worth it, because I know these feelings mean something.”

“Holy shit…” What have I gotten myself into? What have we gotten ourselves into? Why does a part of me want to reach out and comfort him? Tell him that he’s not alone, and that I don’t understand this either. A desire to crawl back into his arms and let his grip give me all of the answers arises, and it’s almost too tempting to resist. That makes me just as crazy as he is… “You need to leave…” I choke out the words. A shiver runs down my spine to see his eyes narrow to my demand.

“Excuse me?” His expression hardens as the weight of what I just said sinks in.

“Get the fuck out! Leave me alone! I didn’t ask for any of this!” He stands up and walks up to me menacingly, making it over to me in only a couple of strides before leading me against the wall. I jump at the hard contact of the cold surface. The surprise jolting me like a bolt of electricity.

“No, you didn’t ask for this. But I didn’t give you a fucking choice. I told you; I’ve taken that from you! You can push me away, you can run all you like, but I will burn this world to the ground for you, and I will kill whoever gets in my way. I told you. You're mine.” His stare is possessive, commanding, and lustful. I can’t tell if he wants to kill me or fuck me again.

“I’m yours? What the fuck does that even mean!? What does any of this mean!? You say at some first sight bullshit you were drawn to me! What do you expect me to do, hold your hand as we walk down the street? When someone asks how we met, do I get to tell them that you stalked me, cornered me at a bar, and finger fucked me!” He bends down slightly. Moving his face closer to mine.

“I don’t care what you tell people, Ashia. Just be sure not to leave out the part where you came all over my hand.” He snaps back, and I painfully swallow to that realization. I'm just as guilty in this scenario as he is. “I'm all for affection, but I won’t hold your hand. That’s much too innocent. Much too giving. I don’t believe in innocence just as I don’t believe in love. I’m not innocent. I’m not a good man, and as much as you mean to me, I won’t lie and say that I am.”

How much do I mean to him? Enough to kill people, obviously. My mind is swarming with all of these emotions and the events that have taken place in the past twenty-four hours. His words are toned with truth, but I just can’t wrap my brain around why he feels this way. Why would he be this interested in someone like me?

If he doesn’t believe in love, then what does he want out of this? What is his end game? He says he won’t hurt me, and he’s not out to use me. So, what does he want?

“Jesus Christ, then what is this? Is your vigilante life not exciting enough anymore? Go find another one to scare! Ruin her! Is it because I'm already broken? Am I another challenge for you? Just so you can see how much you can crush me?” My eyes well up with tears and desperation.

“Stop saying that shit! You are not broken. You are not some beaten down dog! You continue to feel broken because you haven’t been shown anything different! You’re drawn to much more than you realize.” He takes another deep, shaky breath. His body trembling almost as violently as mine. “You’ve heard of the things I’ve done! The moment I killed Cooper, you've known who I was! It’s okay to shoot a man in the face right in front of you, but nnnooooo killing a man from afar is too much for you?” He grabs my chin and pulls me close, our lips only an inch apart.

“You think that’s scary? Next time another man touches you I’ll bathe you in his blood before I fuck you. You like what I do as Devil’s Hands? You haven’t seen anything yet.” He’s right. I’ve always admired Devil’s Hands, and the work they do. I find their actions justifiable. I just don’t find his actions the same way. Why would he do these things for me? I haven’t done anything to deserve being wanted. To be protected and admired like this.

I always felt I was meant to be shoved to the side. One day either jumping from the balcony or being found dead in an alley way. I never meant much else to someone. It’s just a game to him, or a fucked-up obsession it has to be. Which really sucks, because a sick part of me enjoys this, is drawn to it, but I’ve been alone for years now. I can shove the urges down. The urge to explore him. I’ll come back from this…

“It’s all too much! Just get out! Get the fuck out! I don’t want you here!” My voice strains as I yell, the pain from last night still ever present. Reminding me of the potential danger that Damien could be to my life.

Suddenly, I feel his strong hands grab my upper arms and grip tightly as he pushes me onto the bed. Landing on top of me. Arms thrashing and nails clawing, I try to push him off me, but to no avail. My arms slip, allowing me to move slightly to keep him off of my lungs, and I slightly withdraw to the realization that even though his grip is strong enough to keep me down, he’s not hurting me. His strong hands dig into my arms, but his grip on my thighs this morning was stronger than this. He's controlling his anger at this moment, and that is more surprising to me than anything else.

“What’s really the problem, Ashia?! I told you, you don’t get a fucking choice. You get every other choice but that one! The only way you're escaping me is if someone pries you from my cold dead hands!” His hands will be warm with blood when he tosses my body in the trash. Stalker situations only end one of two ways. Dead, or wishing I was. He’ll either kill me, or I’ll fall in love with his crazy ass. If I were to feel for him, and then not have him, I wouldn’t survive it. I know my heart and soul couldn’t take it.

“You have me! You hear me!? You have all of me! You may be mine, but I'm also yours! Until our last breath! You may not have come to terms with that yet, but you will! Because whether you want to admit it or not, you feel something for me to! This pull, this compulsion to be with you, is not one sided!”

I stop struggling with his words. He doesn’t mean them. I was with Cooper for three years. He knew everything about me and still loathed me. Damien just said he doesn’t believe in love, so what is he wanting? He doesn’t mean this. He couldn’t. A part of me wants him to mean it, but he couldn’t. Right?

Is someone capable of such violence really able to feel this way? Am I so desperate to believe that he could? Why me? There’s much better than me out there…and he’ll find it one day when I least expect it. I should be terrified at his words, claiming the only way I'll escape is by us dying, but dying doesn't scare me. Continuing to live with the crushing loneliness I got to know so well does.

And I do feel something for him. While I know it’s irrational, and every box on the crazy list is checked off, it doesn’t make this pull go away. The moment I saw him that first day, something pulled me to him. I was looking for him the next morning like a little schoolgirl for fucks sake. I take a deep breath, pleading with myself not to speak. Not to let the dam break, and show this man worthy of Hades how broken I am, but I’m a runaway train right now.

“You'll get tired of me…” I say shakily as the tears start to flow from my eyes. Feeling the weight of shame crash into me with my confession. “When you're done with this game, I'll either be dead or wish I was…when you really know me, you won’t want me…this is just some fucked up game that my mind and soul won’t survive playing…” I watch as my sobs bounce off the bed, shaking him…so I squeeze my eyes shut, burying myself in the despair I feel…

“Ashia. How could you possibly think so low of yourself? You are everything to me. I may not have asked you about your life yet, or the things you like, or your favorite color. But I know. I know that you love Star Wars, and not just the movies. You love the books and non-cannon literature, even though your mind races too much to finish reading them. You cling to that whole franchise because it outlines betrayal, and you feel that pain every day.” Another sob makes its way through.

“I know your favorite color is red. But not red like a normal rose or a stop light. The kind of red just on the verge of being black, the red that changes from blue as it leaves our veins. The same red as the flowers I leave for you. That’s your favorite color shirt to wear to work because you feel beautiful in it, and I can tell because of the way you carry yourself when you wear it. And you're right, you're so fucking beautiful in that color.” I open my eyes again and blink the tears away to stare back at him, deeply. So I can try to read him at a fraction of the amount he’s read me.

“I know that the movies you watch at night depend on the day you had. When you had too many assholes in your chair, you watch horror movies to remind you that they don’t have to scare you, because you've been through worse. Sometimes even watching the survivor take their anger out on the villain because you can’t. When you had a boring day, when men didn’t want to talk as you cut their hair, you watch comedies, and your favorite is ‘Accepted’ with Justin Long. You never get tired of it.” He lets out a small huff. “You feel music so intensely and you dance when you’re alone because you don’t want anyone’s judgment to take that feeling from you…”

“STOP!….” I yell through my sobs and tightly close my eyes again, to the point of pain. He can’t know all of this. He couldn’t possibly care enough to notice…there’s no way he does… “Please just stop.” I quietly force through my sobs as he relaxes his grip and moves a hand to my cheek.

“Look at me.” I force my eyes open again and stare into his baby blues, and either my eyes are broken from my tears, or his eyes are watery as well… “I'm not going to stop. I may be crazy. I may be a murderer, and a stalker, but I'm not a liar. I told you I wanted to spend the rest of my life finding out everything about you, and I fucking meant it! So, I'm not going to stop! I am going to teach you to love yourself again and I promise that too!” I don’t know if I believe him or not…but I want to. I want to so God damn badly, and in this moment, I don’t care why I want to.

When I first saw him that day, it was like something inside me clicked into place. A piece of me resurfaced that I thought was long gone. Making me wonder if ‘at first sight’ connections were possible. But I let my fears take hold of me that day. I didn’t ask Carter about him, and I made sure not to look in his direction again that evening. The thoughts of a relationship brewed in my mind, but then flew away again almost instantly. Like a flock of birds was afraid of what was in my head, but I can’t keep myself guarded like this forever. The birds will circle my brain until there’s nothing left to pick at.

“You can’t promise to put me back together and then break me again…I won’t survive it. So please, if you have any mercy, don’t do that to me…”

“I’ll break you in a thousand ways, little wolf…” I swallow what tears I have left, feeling whatever force was pressing against my chest lift and disappear. He kisses my forehead before nudging his head against mine. “But not like that. Never like that.” He lets go of me fully, but then scoops me into his arms. One wraps under my shoulders and the other reaching around and over my body as he presses me against him. Holding me so damn tight. The tingling on my skin is telling me to push myself off of him and run like hell, but the warmth in my chest and body tells me to lay here in his arms.

I gently place the palm of my hand on his chest to feel his heart racing, and I use the momentum of his beats to calm myself down. I’ve never felt something so comforting. I'm already dreading the cold next to me once he leaves tonight. It’s going to make me miss this, and that might be scarier than anything else that’s happened in the past two weeks.

To my surprise, he pulls back the covers, moves me to the top of the bed, and curls up next to me before pulling the blanket over top of us. I turn away from him, so his hypnotizing features don’t cloud my judgement anymore. The soft feeling of his fingers caresses my scalp as he runs through my hair a few times. Just before gently grazing his knuckle down my cheek.

“You are so beautiful…inside and out. Everything is going to be okay.” I suck in a small bit of air in a short gasp.

I know he doesn’t mean that. My hair is messed up, I'm a crying mess, and I know he can still see the bruises under my eye and on my neck. Not to mention that I am so fucked up that even if things between us evolved, I’m not sure I could ever be what he needed.

Will everything be okay? I don’t see any of this turning into a happily ever after, or any of the things that fairytales teach us when we’re young. All I see at the end of this is my grave.

He runs his thumb over my jaw before wrapping his arm around my stomach and pulling me close to him again, resting his head on mine, and gently inhaling the scent from my hair. I'm not used to these soft, comforting touches. It feels like bugs are under my skin. Yet, I want more of it. I feel my eyes fall heavy as the comforting touch calms my racing heart, and it’s not long before I let his soothing gestures lull me to sleep.