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Shit.
I slathered on the makeup, and no one has noticed thus far. But Punky isn’t no one. I should know that by now.
“That’s none of your concern.” I use his own response as ammo back at him because when I asked the same question, he had no intention of sharing. And neither do I.
Yanking out of his hold, I shove past him, but again, he stops me, and this time, he ensures I’m not going anywhere as he pushes me and pins me to the wall. He places his hands either side of my head, caging me in. I shove against his chest.
He doesn’t speak, but in this case, actions speak a lot louder than words. He examines every inch of me, those blue eyes looking for any clues.
“I’m sure yourdatewill be looking for you,” I sarcastically bite, still unbelieving he is here of his own accord.
But he ignores the jab.
He keeps one hand fixed to the wall, but with the other, he gently runs his thumb over my chin. I flinch as I’m not used to such a tender touch. It surprises me. As do the trail of goose bumps which coat my skin.
No matter how hard I try to stay calm, my labored breathing gives me away. Being this close to Punky is a drug, and like a junkie, I want more…more…more.
A look I can’t quite place overcomes him, and I’m too late to stop him when he pulls down the sleeve of my loose-fitting dress, exposing the purply blue bruise on my shoulder, courtesy of my beating three days ago.
“Who did this to you?” he orders, his voice frighteningly low.
Frantically, I attempt to pull up the sleeve of my dress, but he won’t permit me to cover my shame. “I fell down the stairs,” I whisper angrily, not wanting Darcy or anyone else to hear our exchange.
“Bullshit!” he growls, not caring who hears it seems. “Tell me.”
I fight him, desperate he doesn’t continue disrobing me as I’m afraid of what he’ll see. But the harder I fight, the more evident it becomes I’ve got something to hide. Punky yanks down both sleeves and spins me around so my bare back faces him.
A horrified breath escapes him when he sees the ghastly mess. The fresh welts from this morning’s beating are swirled among the bruising I’ve withstood since coming to this god forsaken country.
I drop my chin to my chest, wishing I could just disappear.
“The fuck? Ya got…whipped?” His surprise is clear because being whipped without the kink is just punishment, a brutal form of torture.
I hold back my tears, and his question remains unanswered. I can’t tell him what happened, no matter how badly I want to.
“Go back to your perfect date and forget this ha-happened,” I assert, but the quiver to my voice betrays my bravado.
I’m clutching onto the front of my dress, the material bunched in my tight fists as I wait for Punky to let me go. He’s seen the ugliness as these scars come with baggage, and what sort of man wants to deal with that.
But what he does next has a single tear trickling down my cheek.
At first, I think my fragile mind has conjured up such an occurrence to deal with the humiliation, the pain, but when I feel the unmistakable glide of flesh upon flesh, I know that this is really happening—Punky is stroking over my wounds. He isn’t repulsed by my humiliation.
“I can’t forget,” he confesses, his fingers gently tracing over the welts on my back. “I don’t want to. And I don’t want perfect…I want real.”
I allow myself this moment of silence because I know it won’t last. It can’t.
“I’m sorry this has happened to ya. I know what it’s like,” he shares with regret. “My aul’ lad, he knocked me out. And then the next night, I got into a fight. That’s what happened to my face. And the brooch…it, it belonged to my mum.”
His confession is laced with so much pain, I feel it all the way to my core. I now know why I gravitated toward him. We both share something life changing which has shaped us into the damaged people we are today.
I don’t need him to explain what happened to her. I can guess. Him speaking about his mother in the past tense says it all, and that breaks my heart because it hits close to home.
“So thanks for giving it back.”
“It’s okay,” I reply softly. “I shouldn’t have taken it in the first place.”
“Who did this to ya, Baby?”
