AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“I’m sorry you did this.”
With my free hand, I reach for her chin, curling a knuckle to tilt her face up to mine. I wait until she looks up, but she doesn’t. Her gaze still focused on my torn skin.
“Sweetheart.” I wait for her to look up at me, and when she doesn’t, I say it again. “Sweetheart, look at me when I tell you this.”
After a few seconds, she looks up, her bottom lip trembling as she barely holds herself together.
My eyes dart back and forth between hers, wanting to say this right so she understands. “I did exactly what I wanted to, and I would do it a thousand times over if it meant keeping you safe. You have nothing to be sorry for, you didn’t bring this upon yourself. You know that, right?”
“I … I pissed him off. I pushed him.” A single tear falls, and she furiously swipes it away, taking a step back from me. “He was awful, Ryan. He was hovering over Suzie, in her face, trying togropeher. I don’t know what came over me. I saw red, so I ran into the room, yelling, and it spurred him on. He laughed, even when he came after me when he first had his hands at my throat—” Her words die off as I pull her to my chest again. “He had this look in his eye I’ve never seen, like he thought it was funny.”
Her breaths rise and fall as she releases choking sobs, and I bite the inside of my cheek to quell the anger.
“I need to get out of here,” she says abruptly, taking a step back and trying to zip up her jacket, but her trembling hands fumble over the zipper. “I fucking smell like him. I need a shower. I need to burn these clothes, I need to … I need to …”
My hands cover hers to still the movements. I clasp one hand in mine and reach the other up over her head to open the door. Leading us both back into the darkened hallway, we pass Dr. Hendrick’s office, a half bath, making our way to the on-call suite.
On-call or night shift doctors often use the small, one-room bedroom to catch a few hours of sleep in between cases. I lead her into the room, across the motel-style brown carpet, past the lumpy queen-sized bed, and to the small bathroom.
My bag of toiletries rests on the sink, my pile of torn scrubs still in a ball on the floor where I left it last. I pull her into the small space, pulling her chest to chest so I can shut the door behind us. With a click of the lock and a flip of the dim light, she releases her first real breath.
I reach over and turn the shower on full steam, knowing it needs a few minutes to get anywhere warm enough for her liking. Then, with steady hands, I slowly undress her. Her fleece jacket hits the floor, and I curl my hands under the hem of her scrub top and long-sleeve tee she wears under, taking both up and over her head, discarding them behind us.
I must have winced at the scrapes and bruises that mar her beautiful upper body, my reaction causing her to turn and look at herself in the mirror, doing a double take as she does. She first leans in to inspect the cut on her bottom lip, running her tongue over it to feel the depth.
She then takes a step back, turning her head side to side, recoiling as she does from either the pain or what she uncovers. All the while I stand strong behind her, ready to catch her if she falls.
When her inspection is complete, she stares at her gaunt reflection in the mirror, and I see the first signs of a true breakdown on the horizon.
“You’re a hell of a fighter, Peterson.”
Her head falls, and she nods, sniffling.
My hands work to untie her scrub pants, pulling both her pants and underwear to the floor. She steps out of them, bending to kick off her socks in the process.
She wraps her arms around her core, and I pull her back to me, wanting to fuse myself to her. She had told me that night, standing on the frozen sidewalk, that she was broken. And tonight, in the aftermath of the second attack she’s lived through, with the image of her bruises and scars fresh in her mind, I’m sure she’s feeling that same way.
But to me, she’s anything but broken. She’s the most wholly real person I have ever met. She’s endured things most people cannot even fathom, and she’s lived not only to tell her story but to be a beacon to others who have suffered. Someone tried to crush her, and instead of breaking, she came out a diamond.
If I could, I would break myself for her. Crack a chisel through my chest and pull out shards of various sizes, handing them over to her so she can piece herself together one by one. I’d cut myself limb to limb if it meant she’d feel whole.
Guiding her towards the shower, I reach a hand through the stream, adjusting the temperature a bit before moving her under the warm spray. She begins to relax a bit as the water trickles through her hair and down her back. Her arms slowly release from her waist, reaching up to rinse her hair when she hisses. She twists her shoulders side to side, one hand coming up to squeeze the opposite arm, working it slowly under her palm. I’m sure she’s sore in places she didn’t know she had muscles. Relying solely on survival instinct will do crazy things to a person’s strength.
“Let me,” I whisper, ushering her arms back down to rest at her side. I reach over to my toiletry bag and pull out my shampoo, squeezing a hearty amount into my palm. “I hope you’re okay with Old Spice.”
The faintest huff of a laugh and a shoulder bob is my response, but it’ll do. I work the shampoo into a lather before bringing my hands to her head to massage her scalp. My fingers work through her silky long hair, wanting to wash off everypossible speck of that asshole's sweat and spit from her beautiful body.
“Lean back a little, baby.” She complies, taking a shaky step to tilt her head back, letting the stream wash the suds down her back. The bubbles slide smoothly down her spine, over the curve of her perfect ass, and down her legs. Little by little, I feel her release the tension, and her eyes remain shut. I’m sure she’s exhausted after everything that’s happened, and I can’t blame her for being on the verge of falling asleep.
Squeezing a healthy amount of my body wash on a washcloth, I rub the ends together in another lather before taking her delicate arms, one by one, and cleansing her skin. I swipe her wet hair over a shoulder, taking in the discoloration forming on her back.
I send up a silent prayer, thankful she can’t see my face right now. The bruises adorning her back paint the picture of the struggle that was going on in that room before I got there. In the effort to make the rooms more “home-like” in the newest expansion, the hospital put wooden entertainment centers in the rooms to hold the television. I’m guessing at one point Lainey was held captive against the splintering wood cabinets.
I wash her skin as gently as possible, not wanting to cause any more pain than she’s already endured when her head suddenly hangs forward. Her entire frame vibrates with a faint tremble, and I know she is about to lose control. She’s so fucking strong, never one to want to lose control in front of others, always keeping it on lock until she’s alone.
But this time, she can fall. She can fall as hard as she needs to because I’ll be there to catch her.
“You don’t have to pretend to hold it together anymore,” I whisper above the hum of the water. “You’re safe now.”
