Chapter 5
Chapter Five
PAISLEY
One week later.
I heave a sigh, delighted when my lungs expand to their fullest extent on a deep breath. The lack of any overt pain streaking through my ribcage tells me I’m getting better. After the week I have had, the lack of discomfort is a blessing. I gingerly roll over in bed, my contused body sinking into the memory foam topper on my pillowtop mattress.
It’s like sleeping on a cloud but with lumbar support, and I’ve never been more thankful for splurging on it than I’ve been during the last week. Turquoise -blue walls surround me, soothing me with the cool tones they reflect while a dark-oak bedroom suite complements them and pulls the room together.
Merry fluffin’ Christmas to me… a groan escapes my throat as I force myself to get out of bed, flipping my dark-purple duvet cover back as I swing my legs over the side of the bed only to smile at the image of a fierce purple dragon looking back at me from the curtains hanging in the window beside my bed.
The curtains were a special order, but something that I didn’t mind spending my money on. Purple and turquoise are my favorite colors, and dragons are my favorite animals, so being able to have a massive, intimidating dragon watching over me while I slumber is outstanding.
Sleeping beneath its watchful gaze each night gives me a sense of comfort, even though I’m not sure why. It’s just an image. Dragons , if they ever existed, are nowhere to be found today.
The jingle jangle of tags announces the waking of Merry and Pippin , my two Pembroke corgis. Both of them sleep in the bed with me and are the only bed partners I’ve had for many years. Their comfort is worth the pain in the ass of keeping up with all the dog hair.
“ Well , good morning, sleepy heads. Are y’all ready for some supper? Give me just a second, and Mommy will let you outside to go potty,” I coo.
A quick glance at the clock on my nightstand shows three thirty p.m. I’m determined to make it to the cemetery today. I’ve barely been able to get out of bed the last seven days, let alone go to the cemetery for my scheduled visits with Patrick . Not being able to go and visit the last resting place of my twin has been weighing heavily on me. I know he isn’t there, but some part of me feels closer to him at that peaceful sight than anywhere else.
Merry and Pippin dance around me, eager to go outside. My boys have been by my side all week. Corgis are an active breed, but most humans underestimate the empathy that some animals possess. My boys haven’t wanted to do much but lie in bed beside me while I’ve been recovering. I couldn’t ask for a better pair of dogs than the two I’ve got.
The trip across the house to the back door is tiring but necessary. I’ve lain around for a week, letting myself heal, but now I need to get back into the swing of things. The first step of which is to make sure I get back into my routine. Merry and Pippin thrive under a routine, and the last week has shot that to absolute shit.
“ Merry , Pippin . Wait ,” I command as I open the back door with a squeak. Stepping to the side, I look down into their precious faces as they wait for me to release them to go into the out.
“ Free !”
Their exuberance as they bolt out the door makes me smile. Never a dull moment with those two. There’s a reason I named them after the two most precocious hobbits from the Lord of the Rings by J . R . R . Tolkien . I mean, Tolkien is my favorite author, so I use his characters for lots of names for my animals. Peeking around the corner of my house, I make sure my boys are taking care of their business before I retreat back inside.
Turning , I make my way back across my old ranch house, through my bedroom, and into my bathroom. Flicking the light switch on as I shuffle through the door, I mentally prepare myself for the sight that’ll meet me in the mirror. I take a slow, deep breath and allow my eyes to focus on my face for the first time since it happened. I’ve deliberately avoided the mirror after cleaning myself up that first night.
Tears well in my eyes and drip down my face as I think about what happened last Friday , the evidence still clear on my face. A black eye not quite swollen all the way shut and a busted lip greet me in the mirror, along with shallow cuts along my brow and cheeks. Moving gingerly, I remove the oversized t-shirt I’d started sleeping in to assess the rest of my body. Bruises in various stages of healing litter my body. I’m literally bruised from head to toe.
The men Bradley hired to punish me for refusing his “proposal” have thoroughly worked me over. Bradley is truly demented for thinking I would ever contemplate marrying him after what he did to my brother. The months after Patrick died have made me complacent, I guess. Apparently , Bradley is being kind, or that’s the word he used as he watched his thugs work me over, and allowed me a whole six months to grieve my twin.
Turning from the mirror, I brace myself with one hand on the wall as I ease myself onto the toilet.
My bladder is on the verge of desperation to void.
Sweet relief.
Clinching my teeth, I gradually stand, flushing the toilet and closing the lid as I go. That chore taken care of, I reach for the shower curtain and pull it back. A hot shower should relax some of the tension from my body so I can make the drive over to the cemetery.
Stepping into the shower, the heat of the water washes over me as I lean against the tile wall for support.
The lack of harassment from Bradley had lulled me into a false sense of security that came crashing down at the end of last week. They were waiting for me in the alley behind my jewelry shop and grabbed me as I locked the back door. Bradley asked me if I had given any more thought about his proposal, and the expression that came over his face at my scoff made fear skitter down my spine. It hadn’t crossed my mind that he would stoop quite so low, but I should have known better.
The consequential beating I suffered isn’t as bad as it could have been. It pains me to admit that. He could have let them rape me, but he didn’t. I hadn’t even bothered going to the ER after they left, and I’d taken stock of my body. I didn’t have any broken bones that I could tell, and the local police wouldn’t take any action. They were all either friends with his family or on the Thomases ’ payroll.
Bradley’s parting words chilled me to the bone. His big body hunkered down next to my abused form as I lay on the pavement, gasping for breath.
“ You have two weeks to change your no to a yes, Paisley . If you continue to refuse me, your next punishment won’t be so light. Just remember… If I can’t have you, no one else will. Why do you think I killed your brother?”
What I thought was a drunken, negligent accident… is actually murder.
The heat from the shower does nothing to touch the chill emanating deep from within my fractured soul.