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Chapter Twenty-Eight
Thefacestaringbackat me isn’t mine anymore, even when I look past the eye that’s practically swollen shut, the stitches on my cheek from the punches, the bruises that mark my collar bone. Saoirse Murphy is gone.
I feel nothing.
It’s been like this for a week now. My house is in shambles. Frog is missing. Everything is broken, and if I think about it for too long, I’ll break too. So I don’t. I shove it all away, and I pretend I’m fine. Pretending means shutting it off. Feelingnothing.
When Scotty climbs into bed beside me, and tucks my back into his stomach, when he presses kisses to my neck that should stir all the ways he makes me go crazy, I don’t let it in. When Haley comes by and hugs me before she examines me, when she shows me her already growing stomach, and tells me she’s picked out baby names, my chest doesn’t swell with excitement. When Sean does his usual batshit stuff to annoy me, I don’t react.
I never look in the mirror. I don’t want to see the damage, I don’t need to be reminded of what was done to me when the pain radiates through me with every breath I take.
Everything inside of me is coming undone, unraveling with a slight tug of a loose thread. I know that if I pull hard enough, it’ll spill out of me. That’s why I don’t.
But staring at myself, really looking past the layers, I want to scream at what I’ve allowed them to turn me into. So I do. I let out a shrill scream, glaring down at myself through the mirror. My lungs inflate with each breath, and my chest feels lighter. Still, the dark cloud that looms over me isn’t gone with just a few loud cries.
Tears spill, and I begin rummaging through the drawers of Scotty’s bathroom. I grab a pair of beard trimming scissors, and angrily fist at my hair. The hair that held me in place while I was beaten. The hair that was gripped so hard, my scalp burned with agony while Vladimir spat nasty things at me.
I twirl it in my hand, and hack at it, salty water blurring my vision.
“Saoirse, open up.” Scotty twists the locked door.
I reach over, twisting the lock, then get back to hacking my hair off. He slides in behind me, already wearing the black guard uniform for the day. He dresses for the day every morning, sets me up on the couch with my Kindle, a blanket, snacks, and tea. Then he walks to the door, pretends he’s going to leave, but stops. He always turns back and says he’s got a headache. That he thinks he’ll stay home today.
We’ve been going through the motions, pretending I’m okay when I’m not.
Scotty stands behind me. He slides off the black suit jacket, undoes his tie, and rolls up the sleeves of his white dress shirt. Then, he grabs the scissors, taking them from me. The silver of his dress watch reflects against the mirror while he cuts.
We stay like this, without speaking, while inches of my hair drop to the floor. When he’s finished, my waves stop just below my chin. It’s a pretty even, straight cut, and doesn’t look that bad considering the circumstances.
Scotty grabs my shoulders, a light touch in comparison to the rough ones of my kidnapping experience. “Beautiful,” he says against my ear.
The warmth of his breath sends a shiver through me, and I start to allow myself to feel. He pulls me into him, spinning me so that my head is buried in his chest.
The emotions of the last week pour out through tears, his shirt becoming soaked, and Scotty holds me until the well runs dry. Until my eyes are puffy and burning with the salty tears. He strokes my hair, whispering and shushing me. Most importantly, he helps me unravel so that we can put the pieces back together.
I pull my head from his chest, my hands clutching the thin fabric of his shirt. A small laugh escapes. “I should clean this up,” I say, eyeing the mess we’ve made. Red strands of hair are all over the sink and floor.
“I’ll get it later.”
I glance up at him, his brown eyes peering into mine, holding me captive. The belly flips start to come back while I savor that familiar scent of his. He didn’t shave this morning because I’ve been holed up in here. I brush my fingers across the rough stubble, stroking his jaw.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He flinches, almost as if he’s bracing himself for a blowback. As if I’ll say something to hurt him. I tilt my head to the side, trying to read him. His jaw clenches beneath my touch.
He’s waiting for my bite.
This is usually the part where I remind him of the broken heart he gave me. Except, there’s no need for that anymore. He’s more than made up for the past.
“I love you.”
His grin deepens, and he dips his head to press a kiss to my mouth. “I fucking love you, too.”
I wrap my arms around his neck. “We both need to get back to work.”
He cups my face in his hands, watching me, looking for any signs I’m not ready. He’s satisfied with what he sees, because he dips his head in a slight nod.
“We do. But not today. I have something else in mind.”
