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“Nessa if you don’t want to tell us you don't have to, but it won’t stop.” My wife tells her in a caring scared voice. I look up and note Florence has tears coming down her face and that is when it hits me.
“Nessa, are you being abused?” She starts to whimper, shaking her head no but I hear what she is not saying. “Do you feel safe at home?” Her eyes flick to Florence who is now holding her hand. I see her squeeze it slightly, nodding her head. Neesa looks back at me and shakes her head no.
“Alright. Would you like our help?” She nods slowly, biting her lip in nervousness and doubt. “Very well. We are going to keep you in the office for a bit while we secure you a safehouse. We will have lunch brought to you and something to drink. Do you need anything else?”
“No. Thank you.”
“I will have the other nurse redo your cast and give you some pain meds off the books. I know that everything can be traced.”
I am barely hanging onto the potent rage flowing through me. I don’t understand the world we live in where women are not protected. I mean what the hell. I thought I was being pushed to the limit, but now, with another one in my office, I am not only angry for her, but I am angry because my wife is also sad for her and I don't want Florence reliving this.
We walk into my office and everything spills out. “Fuck.” I shout hitting the wall once more. Same hand as before. I will be surprised if I can use my hand tomorrow. “Son of a bitch.” I shout. My hearing is obliterated until I hear something akin to whimpering behind me. Turning, I see my wife crouched on the floor, rocking back and forth, chanting she is sorry over and over. Immediately remorse and reprimand yells in my head. Of course an outburst like that would hit her hard.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Slowly I touch her face and lift her chin so she is staring at me.
“Red, I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you, baby. I am just so angry on behalf of you and Nessa. I would never hurt you, love. Never.” I pull her into my arms and whisper in her ear how brave she is and how safe she is. I kiss her tears and her mouth chastely but enough for her to remember who I am. In my mind, I am wondering if she has ever been treated for PTSD. Finally after twenty minutes or so she has stopped shaking and rocking. Her head is buried in my neck and I don’t move her, letting her choose when she is ready.
“I’m sorry for freaking out,” she whispers into my skin. Her warm sweet breath gives me chills and I mentally castigate myself for getting turned on right now.
“You have nothing to apologize for, baby. I have to remember to control my temper and be more careful with you.” Lifting her head I kiss her once more, this time like I mean it, possessive and hard like she likes it. Her slick tongue slides into my mouth and she begins to whimper. Her hands grip my jacket and she pulls me closer to her. I pull back, not wanting to take advantage of the situation. Her lips are swollen, red and well loved.
“I needed that,” she says, licking the lips I want wrapped around my cock.
“I know. All you have to do is ask, baby. Tell me you understand that I would never hurt you and will do whatever I can to make you happy and smile everyday.” She smiles a little and nods her head.
“I do know that Fletch. I swear I do, but certain things just take me back there.”
“Would you consider going to a therapist?”
“I want to.”
“I will call and inquire about it. Come on. Let’s go see our other patients so we can get out of here.” Standing, I hold my hand out and when she takes it with no hesitation, I feel like a fucking king. This woman is going to own me. Ha. Who am I kidding?
She already does.
ChapterSeven
Florence
I couldn’t help it, I went right back to Gary’s tiny apartment. Between seeing Nessa so scared and Fletcher so angry, it was inevitable.
The memory plays so clearly in my head, I really think I’m there. That night was going to be special, and I guess in a way it was. I remember pulling dinner out of the oven. I was proud of how good it looked. I was excited to show Gary that I’d made his favorite meal. Baked ziti. I got the recipe from his mom. I didn’t have the opportunity to cook for him often, due to my schedule, something he reminded me of every chance he got. But tonight, everything was just perfect. I got a nice bottle of wine from Vino Emporium and I had already decided that I was going to sleep with him. It was going to be the magical night I dreamed of. Besides, the pressure he put on me to have sex was starting to get to me.
As soon as he came in the door, I knew something was wrong. He worked in finance. He threw his heavy leather briefcase across the room. It hit the wall, knocking pictures down and leaving a good sized hole in the wall. I stood there, completely shocked. I must have made a noise or something because the next thing I knew, he was on me. His fists hit me first, but soon his pointy-toed dress shoes joined in the fun. Even now, I can still feel the blows he landed on my body. Afterwards, he set me in a dining room chair and cleaned me up. I prayed my daddy or brother would show up, but they didn’t know anything was wrong. I never thought he’d do something like this. Sure, he was mentally and verbally but I thought I could handle myself. I was wrong. I watched as he held his head in his hands, looking sad. I wish I knew then that it was all an act to keep me under his thumb.
“I’m sorry, babe. I was stressed. I cost one of my clients half a million dollars today. It’ll never happen again.”
I just stared at him, well, as best as I could with one eye swollen shut. My dad worked in the same office as Gary, that’s how I met him in the first place. He’d had bad days before, lost money too, but he never, ever took a hand to my mother or us kids. Never. I should have gotten up and walked away, but I didn’t. I let him manipulate me for another two years before I wised up. He was not my forever. The man whose arms I’m in now, is.
My body is shaking uncontrollably, but Fletcher holds me patiently. He’s murmuring in my ear about how brave I am, how strong, how safe. How did he know? I haven’t told him a thing about my past, but maybe it’s better this way. I’m not ready to tell him about how weak I was.
He’s kissing my hair and using his thumbs to wipe away my tears. I didn’t even know I was crying.
“I’m sorry for freaking out,” I whisper against his neck. His scent, not unlike cinnamon, washes over me and soothes me.
“You have nothing to apologize for, baby. I have to remember to control my temper and be more careful with you.” He lifts my chin so that I am looking him in the eyes. He lowers his head and kisses me possessively. He’s telling me something with this kiss, I just don’t know what it is yet.
“I needed that,” I say, licking my lips. He tasted like coffee and like he was mine.
