31. Gemma
Chapter thirty-one
Gemma
Rule #30: Please, no strangers in the house.
I swam in and out of consciousness, grappling with my own mind for control. The first time I came to, I was still in the bathroom, slumped on the floor and watching the handle jiggle as Dain mumbled something on the other side. I faded back to nothing, but my fear managed to take control again. I snapped back to awareness, and this time, Dain had gotten the door open, and he had his arms around me, struggling to lift my dead weight.
He puffed in my ear, and his sweat-slick skin slid against mine. "I wish you'd finished your beer," he grunted, pulling at me. Dimly, I thanked all the cheese I'd been eating lately for making my ass too big for him to heft around. "I didn't want to poison you, so I put just enough in there." He seemed to be talking to himself at that point.
I sank back into the darkness, hoping that Dain didn't have what it took to heft a body around, but then when I blearily opened my eyes again, to my dismay, I found myself laid out on his couch with his sweating, mottled face over mine. "Gemma," he crooned. With a shaking finger, he caressed my face. "It's okay. You're okay. You won't remember this part. We'll be friends. Lovers. We don't have to be alone anymore."
Fuck , I thought, fighting the effects of whatever date rape drug he had slipped me. I couldn't talk, and my eyes were barely open. I pushed at him, but he easily pressed my arm back down into the couch.
Fumbling fingers worked at my high-waisted jeans, struggling to undo the buttons until he finally had all four undone and tugged at them. This was where I rather hoped I would lose consciousness again. I knew what he planned to do. I did not want to be cognizant of it. Please, God, I begged. Let me forget. Don't make me remember this. Don't make me live through this.
Dain managed to get my pants down with a lot of huffing and a persistent cough that told me he was likely a smoker. And then I was lying on his couch in my underwear, exposed and unable to move, my heart beating sluggishly and my soul screaming for help. I'd texted Knox, but I had no idea if he would even get the text. And if he did, would he know to come? I'd told him I needed space. Maybe he would think I was just extending an olive branch and letting him know where I was staying because he'd asked.
Dain fumbled for my baby blue sweater, and a tear leaked out of the corner of my eye. Even if Knox magically decided to come to this location, it would take him hours. This was happening whether I wanted it to or not. My worst nightmare, the greatest fear of every woman, was happening to me now. It was always in the back of our minds as women, that for the audacity of daring to exist, there was the chance that we would be overpowered by and taken advantage of by a man. It had always been a lurking demon in the recesses of my mind, but to have it happen now… it was too horrifying to allow myself to fully feel.
I closed my eyes again and tried to release myself to that darkness. I didn't want to be here for this.
Dain managed to get my shirt off, but then he left me, and through a fog of drug-induced confusion, I heard him mumble something about needing a smoke. The sound of a lighter clicking preceded the strong odor of a cigarette. He was smoking and just watching me . I lay there on the couch in my bra and underwear, completely exposed to him, and he was smoking a cigarette, probably prepping himself for the thing he'd been wanting for some time. And I couldn't release myself into unconsciousness or even move. Or wait… could I?
I wiggled my fingers. I couldn't pass out again because I was waking up. Whatever Dain had given me, like he'd said, it wasn't much. While he smoked, I tested the strength of my limbs. I was coming back. I could do this. I could escape. I just had to make Dain think I was unconscious.
I relaxed my body and sharpened my mind, imagining my escape route from the couch, through the wide entranceway, to the foyer, and out the front door. All I had to do was scream bloody murder and one of the neighbors were bound to hear me. But first, to even make it to the door, I had to stall Dain. The only possibility that lodged in my brain wasn't a great one. It had the potential to be fucking painful, but I didn't know of a better way to overpower him.
Like he was in on my own plan, Dain approached me, his footsteps measured and the drag of his cigarette hissing through the air. "Baby, you are so beautiful," he crooned.
I swallowed a wave of vomit. As soon as I sensed him leaning over me, and the warm, bitter cloud of cigarette smoke surrounded me, I acted. Whether my body was ready or not, I had to move now. I opened my eyes, and getting the barest glimpse of where his face and cigarette were, I smashed my hand into his face, pressing the lit butt against his cheek. Searing pain sliced through my hand, and I screamed at the same moment he did. But it worked. Dain stumbled back, tripping on the glass coffee table and tumbling over backward like a heavy bowling pin.
I ran for it. My limbs were heavy, like they'd been weighed down with bags of sand, and the ground moved with an odd sort of liquidity like I was trying to make my way across the surface of a bowl of jello. The foyer teetered into focus, and I tripped sideways, my arm slamming into the wall and my shaky legs knocking over an old milk pail that held umbrellas and… canes? Whose house was this? It occurred to me then that this wasn't actually Dain's house, and it sure as hell wasn't Emma's.
Putting aside those questions, I lurched for the door, but a meaty arm hooked around my middle, and then I went flying. My feet left the ground, and my breath squeezed from my lungs as the force of Dain yanking me backward sent me crashing into the stairwell wall. I knocked into a potted plant, and my vision rattled, swirling and jumping and banging around in my head with a cacophony of confusion. Pain exploded along my left arm and back, and I fell heavily to the tiled floor.
A wheezing, seething Dain grabbed me by my hair and yanked me away from the wall so I lay flat on the tile floor. "You bitch ," he snarled. He had a bright red, weeping burn mark on his cheek, and his lip bled freely.
I did the only thing I had left. I was close enough to the door, so maybe someone would hear me. I screamed. I screamed for all I was worth, and unlike the nightmares I'd had in the past, where I tried to scream and nothing came out, I about pierced my own eardrums with the decibels I managed to release. Dain smashed his hand against my mouth, muffling the scream and cutting off my airway. I fought him, scrabbling at his arms and kicking, trying to find purchase, hoping to make contact with some fleshy part of him and force him to let me go.
"No," he grunted, getting hold of my wrists and pinning me to the ground, "you… don't. This isn't fun. This isn't how it's supposed to b—agh!" I reached over and bit the arm that held my wrist up by my head. I bit hard. I bit so deep, I felt blood run between my teeth and over my tongue, and even when he tried to jerk away, I held on, digging in and crunching down on something decidedly not fleshy.
He screamed, shrill and horrified as I scrambled up and leaned into the bite. He beat the side of my head, and I bit harder. He kicked me and I dug in, squelching and cutting through his muscle and tissue, determined to make my teeth meet and rip a bloody chunk from his doughy arm. It was like this one thing, this one gory act of defiance was all I had in me, and my brain had latched onto it just as firmly as my jaw had Dain's arm. He was hurting me. Hitting me. Pulling my hair and slapping my face, and I didn't feel any of it.
Suddenly, the front door burst open. My brain registered that fact, and I released Dain with a gasp of desperation. Someone was here. Someone had heard me. Or someone had heard the racket. Either way, I had a chance. I collapsed back with a weak, "Help me."
Then Dain was gone, and a blur of commotion, followed by a dull smashing sound rocked the small foyer. Blearily, I dragged myself away from Dain and away from whoever had flown through that front door. I wasn't sure I wanted to know. All I knew was that I needed to escape. I wanted Knox. I wanted him so badly, it hurt more than my wounds and my fear. What I wanted in that moment was to be wrapped in his arms, safe in our bed, and comfortable in the knowledge that someone cared for me.
Dain screamed again, this time pleading with a, "No, don't! I'm sorry! I'm so—" But his plea was cut off, and another dull thump followed by a sickening crunch sounded through the eerily quiet space.
Still on my hands and knees, still making my way to the open front door, I looked over my shoulder. To my utter shock, I found Knox kneeling over Dain. Somehow, he'd gotten here fast enough. Time stalled to a halt, wavering with a surreal, dreamlike quality.
Knox was here. He had pinned Dain to the floor on his stomach with the bastard's hands locked behind his back at an unnatural angle, and Knox had a fistful of Dain's thinning brown hair. He was smashing Dain's face against the tile. There was blood. Dain had gone silent.
"No," I croaked. My fear for Knox suddenly cut through my adrenaline-fueled survival instincts. "Knox, no!" I screamed. If he killed him, no matter what his reasoning, Knox's life would be over.
Knox stopped, his back heaving, his nose flaring as he pushed furious breaths in and out at a steady pace. He glared down at Dain, still kneeling on his back. The rage on Knox's face was something I would never forget. Here was the merciless, stone-faced angel of dark fury I had imagined Knox was when I'd first met him. There was no pity, no forgiveness, no humanity to be found in any of the hard lines on Knox's face. He shoved Dain's head away, standing swiftly and backing away from the man. "He's alive," Knox spit. "He'll live, not that he deserves to."
"Jesus," I choked out.
Like he'd snapped out of a trance, Knox turned to me, and his entire demeanor changed in an instant. He was wearing a black winter coat, and miraculously, none of Dain's blood had marred his athletic pants or coat. His face melted, crumpling into gentle worry and grief so profound, I felt it in my own heart. He reached for me, slowly, tentatively, moving with gentle care before crouching down. "Gem," he whispered harshly.
A sob tore from my throat, and I reached back for him. The second I did that, he had me in his arms, on his knees with me cradled against his body and his lips on my forehead. "Gem, oh my God," he choked out. "Baby, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."
I curled up like a pill bug, tucking my body into his and practically trying to burrow inside of him to escape the reality of what I'd just been through. "You came," I cried softly, pressing my face into his shoulder.
"Of course, I did," he replied roughly. "And I always will."
"I was so scared," I squeezed out. Tears warmed my cheeks, and although the air from the open door was beginning to freeze my skin, I didn't care. Knox had me. I was safe. Somehow, against all the odds, I was safe.
"And you were brave as fuck," he whispered swiftly. "So brave, Gem. You had him beat to shit by the time I got here. I'm proud of you; I want you to know that. But let's get you out of here. Okay?"
"Yes, please."
Knox lifted me with shocking ease, and the idea that he could have overpowered me at any time in our relationship, could have broken my fragile bones like a stalk of celery, only made me realize how precious safety was. How precious he had been, protecting me and shielding me with his kindness. The stark difference between a man who wanted to hurt me and a man who would do anything to keep me safe hit me like a tsunami.
Knox carried me out of the house and to his car where the engine was still running, and the door had been left open. Clearly, he'd been in a hurry, and it only occurred to me in that moment that he was here . Way sooner than he should have been. "How…?" I started to ask.
Knox opened the passenger side door and slid me into the seat. Gingerly, he took my face in his hands, and I flinched as pain blossomed from his touch. His lips tightened. "I'm going to go back and kill him."
I latched onto his wrist. "Don't." My mouth buzzed, full of blood and halfway numb so my words came out slurred. "S'not worth it."
The darkness that swirled in his eyes unnerved me, and I tightened my hold, willing him to stay with me. Finally, his shoulders dropped, and tightly he said, "I have to scrub us from that house. While he's out, I'll grab whatever you left and make sure your blood is cleaned up."
I stared at him, open-mouthed. "Why?"
"What's in the house?" he asked, his voice hard.
I swallowed a mouthful of blood. God, was it mine or Dain's? "Phone. Bathroom."
He nodded once and then shut the door, jogging back into the house. I didn't want to think about what he was doing in there or why, but I was certain he would explain it eventually. I let my head fall back, and that blackness that had evaded me before reached up with elongated fingers, grasping at my consciousness to claim me.
I started back to awareness when Knox's door opened, and he climbed into the driver's seat, his features composed and my beer bottle in his hand. He set it in the empty cup holder, and then he pulled my phone out of his pocket. "This won't happen to you ever again," he said so softly, I barely missed it. "I promise that."
I swallowed, and my throat protested the movement. "What d'you mean?"
Knox shifted the car into reverse. "Later. Let's get you home."
I didn't have the strength to question him more or protest. I slipped back under the black spots and wavering consciousness that had been held together with thready adrenaline and desperation, and I slept.