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“A lion?” he asks, his eyes perking up.
“Yeah. It was on his arm. Peeking out from one of his sleeves.” I remember the way he had looked at me. Like I was fresh meat. His to devour and I shiver.
Kaleb stands up and without thinking I grab his hand. He flinches and I drop it like I’ve been burned.
“What about the journal?” I say looking up at him.
But he’s not looking at me. He’s staring at the ground, hand flexing. “A deal is a deal. Your protection in exchange for the journal.” His eyes singe mine and it's my turn to flinch.
“A deal is a deal.” I continue, swallowing. His eyes follow the gesture, lingering on my throat and I would give anything to know his thoughts. What this dark-winged criminal saw when he looked at me.
“Not tonight, Rose,” he replies instead, gripping the side of my bedroom door,
“Get some sleep.” And I watch, jaw open, as the combat boot-clad monster closes my door and slips out of my room.
Chapter 13
Kaleb
Sleeping on a feather down mattress with black satin sheets and a one hundred sheet thread count: 10/10 recommend.
Sleeping on a third generation couch that probably had mysterious stains hidden under the cushions and the back support of ready mix pancakes: -100000/10 recommend.
Man, I was fucked.
And the worst part about it was that I didn't even see it coming. Could not have seen it coming if it had walked right up to me, stolen my purse, and assaulted me like a vulnerable elderly woman crossing the street.
That's how much this whole situation had blindsided me.
And now here I was, waking up with enough permanent back damage to set your chiropractor up for life, a raging hard-on, and a pounding monsoon of a headache. I needed a blowjob and quick dissolve liquid Advil.
Preferably in that order.
I couldn't believe I’d even bothered to stay. It must have been the whiskey mixed with Grey Goose vodka. Not a good combination if my liquid insides had anything to say about it. And yet for some reason, I couldn't leave her. Not after seeing that bruise. The mere sight of the disastrous purple mark staining her porcelain skin was enough to make me boil. The monster had burst at my skin, barely contained, as I watched her struggle to control her breathing. In enough pain to kill me three times over and still she was too stubborn to let me see how hurt she truly was.
Big mistake on Blondie's part.
I didn't do secrets. And seeing that bruise on her skin was almost enough to make me want to tear her apart and Elmers glue her back together until she had no choice but to reveal every part of herself that she was hiding from me.
I still couldn't believe she had let me touch her. The sight of her, wet and willingly for me was almost enough to make me lose what was left of my sanity. The noises she had made were embedded in my brain and on a current loop in my mind like a rerun of Friends on TMC. The way her hips bucked against my tongue in raw need and I knew without a doubt that I was the only one who could bring this side out of my little Rose. The girl was kinky, pervertedly so, and for some fucked up reason beyond my therapist's pay grade, I was relieved.
Seeing her, parted and wet for me, I couldn't help but fantasize about her tits. Were they small and perky? Round and aching for me? Were her nipples brown or pink like the juicy insides of her thighs? In my haste to taste her I hadn't bothered to remove her shirt and the not knowing drove me crazy. Almost as crazy as I would have been driven if I didn't plunge my tongue into her folds that very moment.
Luckily I wasn't left daydreaming about Blondie’s nipples for long and when I found her in that tub, slipping under the water and gasping for breath two things had occurred to me clear as day: One: I was going to hang her assaulters by their toes and watch them slowly bleed to death.
Two: I was going to fuck Blondie doggie-style against the mirror in that bathroom until her tits bounced (her nipples were pink btw) and she creamed herself all over my cock.
And fuck me there was also the matter of my journal. Running my hands through my hair I tug ruthlessly on the ends. I needed it back. I was like an addict going through withdrawals without the damn thing and the urge to write down my dirty sins until they could be purged was almost too much to bear. Toss that in with the crushing weight of guilt threatening to steal the oxygen on rent in my lungs and you had a regular PTSD special.
The stupid nagging feelings and voices in my head playing angel and devil on my shoulder, telling me that Rose's assault was my doing. How her bruises were my fault for refusing her deal and leaving her to fend for herself. She had come to me for protection and money and foolishly I thought the chick was bluffing.
Desperate.
Just trying to get a rise out of me in a vain attempt to get something out of returning the journal to me.
I wish I could have taken my thoughts and burned them. A load of crap they did for me. The worst part of it all was not how angry I had been (and trust me when I say the only color I knew existed was red) but how fucking scared I had been at the sight of her face. At how close I was to the edge. How close I was to falling over the brink of sanity and letting the monster swallow me whole.
So I’d taken her up on her deal. In a vain attempt to tamper my guilt or to lock away my monster in a cage of good deeds I guess we’ll never know.
