16. Chapter 16
Chapter 16
Faith
I reluctantly agree to stay at Derek's house, my heart pounding with anxiety. As we pull into his driveway, I can't shake the feeling that this isn't the kind of sign I asked for from Chelsea. I needed guidance, not this dramatic turn of events. "I don't want Derek to feel responsible if something happens to me, Chels." The thoughts flow through my head continuously, and I hope she is listening.
"Can we please stop by my house just to pick up a couple of things?" I ask as we get out of our cars.
He lets out a heavy sigh, his keys fidgeting in his fingers, then walks over to the passenger side of his truck and holds the door open for me. I felt my body tense for a split second; as he slid his hand across the middle of my back, the feeling sent a wave of heat through me. He leaned in, placed his forearm on the truck, looking me in the eyes with an intense glare, not of anger or irritation but determination with a hint of fear, then slowly looked down to his feet, "Faith, I can't let him take you away, not now. Unless, for some dysfunctional, delusional reason, you want him in your life, I'll back away, and you'll never see me again. But if not, he's messed with you for the last damn time." His voice trembled with a mix of anger and desperation as he slid his hand onto my thick thigh, squeezing firmly.
"No," I whispered, my voice cracking with emotion. "I want nothing to do with Ryan. I want to be free of him." Tears welled up in my eyes as the weight of his touch anchored me, grounding me in the moment. The intensity of his gaze, filled with determination and raw emotion, made my heart race. In that instant, I felt a piece of the old Derek coming back, with his promise to protect me, no matter the cost. Sliding my hand over his and squeezing gently. The tension is palpable, each moment stretching out as if the air itself is thick with anticipation.
Derek drives in complete silence, the weight of the situation pressing down on both of us. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch him check the rearview mirror just as often as I check the side mirror, both of us ensuring we're not being followed. My mind races, fear and uncertainty swirling together.
As terrifying as this whole situation is, I've never been more grateful to be on speaking terms with someone who hires protection for a living. The raw emotion of the moment grips me, and I can't help but feel a mix of relief and anxiety. My heart aches for the comfort of my friend's guidance, wishing for a sign that everything will be alright, even as we navigate this dangerous path together.
When we pulled into my driveway, I swear I left the porch light on before leaving the house. I felt a slightly eerie feeling, but I pushed it aside, putting it down to my rattled nerves from earlier.
"I can go in by myself," I tell him as he unbuckles his seatbelt.
"I know you can," he says. "I'm still going in with you."
As much as I didn't want Derek's predictions that my own home wouldn't be safe to be true, his thoughts came to life when I found my front door kicked in and left open, and the inside was thoroughly trashed the moment I stepped in.
Derek gently pulls me by my arm and reaches for a handgun kept concealed at the small of his back.
"Stay behind me," he orders, and I follow them to a tee as we carefully and silently maneuver through the rooms, each more destroyed than the last. Clothes, shoes, and books scatter the floor and furniture, while the kitchen is wrecked with broken dishes and drawers ripped from their hinges and thrown onto the floor. "He's a damn psychopath Derek; this is insane. No-no-no-no-no, that bastard!" Kneeling to pick up pieces of the last photo I had with Chelsea that, was in a beautiful glitter frame she gave me. Shattered, all over the floor with our heads town off in the photo. Instant tears filled my eyes. It's all I had left of her; he took one thing that meant nothing to anyone else but me.
"All clear," Derek belts out, turning to look at me, securing the weapon in his holster after he does a sweep of my bedroom that looks like a tornado hit it. Steam filled his eyes. Only he would understand the value it held to me. "Ah, shit," he breathes when he clicks on the light in my bathroom.
"What?" I ask, but his massive frame is already blocking my path.
"You don't want to see that," he warns, but I push him aside, my heart pounding. What could be worse than what I've already seen? He lets me past, and I freeze in disbelief at the sight before me: a message scrawled in red lipstick.
I'm not done with you yet bitch.
'I'm going to throw up," I manage to say, feeling my stomach twist into knots.
I barely make it to the toilet in time, and Derek is right there, holding my hair back as I empty the contents of my stomach. The heaving continues long after there's nothing left, my shoulders aching and my eyes throbbing. Finally, I collapse against the cool stone of the bathtub, utterly spent.
"He's not going to hurt you," Derek says, his voice firm but gentle. He slams the toilet lid shut and flushes away the evidence before grabbing a clean washcloth. He runs it under cold water and places it on the back of my neck. I try to focus on a spot on the floor, but everything keeps spinning.
"I don't know what I did to make him..." My voice trails off, and I shake my head, desperately searching my mind. What could I have possibly done to make him think I wanted him back? The sheer insanity of the situation makes it hard to breathe, and my thoughts are a tangled mess of fear and disbelief.
"You didn't do anything," Derek insists, lifting my chin so our eyes meet. His face was blurry at first from the tears, but I didn't notice until he wiped them from my cheeks. "And he's not getting close enough to hurt you. I won't let him."
"If he can get inside my house, he can get to me anywhere," I sniffle as my head starts to throb. "He could follow us to your house and try the same thing."
"And if he breaks into my house, I can shoot him and call it self-defense," he replies with a come-and-get-me grin. "But until then, we need to get you out of here and back to my place where I can keep you safe."
He helps bring me to my feet, but they don't move beyond that. He looks back, and with cautious eyes, he takes my hand.
"Faith?"
"I'm scared," I whisper, so quietly as if Ryan could potentially hear me and find joy in the panic he caused.
"I know, but you don't have to be," Derek says. "Let's get what you need and get out of here. I'll call the cops in the morning, and they'll start looking for Ryan."
It didn't fix anything but having something of a plan made me move my legs again, but this time in a hurry. As I grab the duffle bag from under my bed, my hands tremble as I pack clothes, toiletries, and anything else I need before tightening it. Before I can pick it up, Derek walks up behind me and grabs it himself, slinging it over his shoulder like it's weightless. With his free hand, he takes mine, his grip solid and reassuring. We make our way to his truck, his eyes scanning our surroundings with every step. The connection between us feels palpable, an unspoken promise of safety and solidarity. Once we buckle in, he glances at me, his eyes filled with determination and concern. As we drive back to his house, the silence between us speaks volumes, filled with a mixture of fear and hope.
The motion lights greet us the second we walk up the path to his front door. When we get to the door, he punches a code into the security system, which temporarily turns off long enough for us to get inside and lock the door behind us. The moment the door shuts, the system is armed again, adding another blanket of security over my shoulders that currently almost touches my ears.
"There are motion lights behind the house, too," he says, pointing to the back door. I'm staring into pitch-black darkness until a stray pigeon flies in and turns them on.
"So, no one should want to get closer once the lights tag them," I say as I notice white blocks on each of the windows, censors I assume that go off when someone tries opening them.
"If they're smart," Derek chuckles. "Then they'll have a blaring alarm system, an armed homeowner, and two retired special forces neighbors on each side of them."
"What kind of neighborhood do you live in?" I ask, wondering how Derek ended up between two highly trained killers.
"The kind where we look out for each other and odd cars don't go unspotted," he says as he turns the kitchen lights on and digs through a drawer until he finds a takeout menu. I know I mentioned pizza earlier, but if you're craving something else…"
"Pizza's good."
Dinner is eaten in awkward silence as we watch a movie I'm sure neither of us is really paying attention to. I push my food around my plate as I try casually observing Derek out of the corner of my eye. Every once in a while, he'll catch me stealing a glance at him, but it's only a short time before I see him doing the same. What he's looking for, I'm still determining. To be fair, though, I'm not entirely sure what I'm looking for in him.
It's just strange for the two of us to be in the same room and not go at each other's throats. For years, it's been nothing but cruel words and avoidance, but now, I don't think either of us is entirely sure how to act around each other. So we sit in silence, pretend to watch a movie until the credits roll and wait for one of us to break the ice.
Without saying a word, Derek sets his empty plate on top of the pizza box and disappears somewhere in the back of the house. Because he's taking so long, I wonder if he's gone to bed without saying a word, but soon he comes back.
"I'll take the couch," he says as he returns to the living room, blankets draped over his arm.
"No, I'll take it," I insist. "I don't want to intrude."
"You're not, trust me," he says. "Take the bedroom."
"I really would rather sleep out here," I reply. The idea of sleeping in a bedroom makes me feel uneasy. It almost feels like I'd be cornering myself for Ryan to come in and hurt me in the middle of the night. At least out here in the living room, I have space to run away.
"You're not going to win this," he says as he plops back down on the couch.
"Fine, I'll take the bedroom, but I need to ask for one thing."
"Okay, and what would that be?"
I hesitate when I look into his eyes, and I can see he notices. His brows pinch together for a moment until I force the words out, which makes my cheeks flush.
"This sounds stupid, but… will you hang out with me until I fall asleep?" I ask, feeling like a pathetic child. "Please?"
He doesn't answer right away. Instead, he looks at me, not with judgment, but with a quiet gentleness. If I'm not mistaken, a slight grin flashes over his lips before he wipes it away.
"There's nothing silly about that," he says, getting to his feet and waving me to follow him. "Come on. Let's get you to bed."
We take turns using his master bathroom to change into pajamas, with me in an oversized T-shirt and shorts and him in boxers and a tank top. This reveals hard, sculpted muscles that have been hidden under sweaters and coats. It's only now that I realize just how broad his chest and shoulders are, but how did I not notice it when I was stitching him up at the hospital?
I slide in under the covers that he has already turned down for me while he lies on top of them on the other side of the bed.
"Aren't you going to be cold?" I ask when he doesn't even lay a blanket over himself.
"I don't usually get cold," he says.
"I guess having a lot of muscle will do that," I say before I can even stop the words from falling out of my mouth, but Derek just chuckles at my observation.
"That probably has something to do with it," he says. "Now try and get some sleep."
"Easier said than done," I scoff. "Even without a stalker watching me, I already have insomnia."
"Really? You just can't get your brain to slow down, or what?" he asks, turning on his side to face me.
"Pretty much. I'm always thinking about what I needed to do today but didn't, what I need to do tomorrow, the day after, and sometimes the next week or month. My brain always needs to know what's coming next, or I feel like I'm in trouble."
"You know there's only so much you can plan for or control, right?"
"You can say that again." I stare him down. He signs and nods his head "Tuche."
"But like you said, I'm sure having Ryan back in the picture doesn't help," he sighs. "It's no wonder women are so hesitant to date these days."
"You never know what kind of crazy you're getting yourself into," I add.
"Yeah, but I'm sure other boyfriends you've had wouldn't even dream of doing what Ryan did," he says, and I can't help but silently nod along. But leave it to Derek to know when something's up.
"What?" he asks. "Have other boyfriends tried what Ryan has?"
"No, not exactly."
"What does not exactly mean?"
It means exposing just how pathetic my love life is to a guy who, up until now, has hated my guts, and I'm not sure how I feel about that.
"You can't laugh at me."
"Why would I laugh?"
"Because it's kind of embarrassing for someone twenty-seven years old to admit something like what I'm about to say."
"Scout's honor, I won't laugh," he assures me.
"Ryan is the only guy I've ever been with," I confess, and the words alone make me cringe.
"Wait, do you mean the only guy you've ever dated or the only guy you've ever been with?" he asks.
"Both," I reply, and instead of laughing, his face is painted in utter shock.
"How is that possible?" he asks. "I mean, not to sound weird or out of line, but you're a beautiful girl. You could have any guy you want."
"Well, when your first and only boyfriend beats you, it makes trusting another guy very hard to do," I explain. "I thought he was absolutely perfect in every way until he started swinging at me. I've met guys through friends from work who seemed perfect and sweet, but in the back of my mind, I remember that I thought that once about someone before, and it almost got me killed."
"Ah, shit, I didn't even think of it like that," he sighs. "I'm sorry, Faith, I just–"
"It's okay," I say quickly. "It's not your fault."
"It's not yours either," he says, and it takes me by surprise. "I know you still blame yourself for the shit he put you through."
"How do you know that?"
"Call it a hunch," he says. "It's not uncommon for abusers to twist the narrative to make those they abuse feel like the ones at fault."
You make me like this, Ryan's voice echoes through my head.
"You're not wrong," I reply. "But that doesn't mean I don't want a romantic or safe relationship with someone."
"You're not the only one," he admits, scooting closer to me. I've tried dating, but it never goes anywhere."
"I miss that feeling of being held and feeling so calm that I just fall asleep, and it doesn't even matter what time of day it is. But that lasted only so long with Ryan."
"I still miss the little things, like being close to another person and how right it feels when you hold their hand or hold them in your arms."
"Show me," I say, the bold words coming out of nowhere. But to my surprise, Derek grins, takes one arm, and pulls me into him until I'm snuggled against his chest, feeling the warmth radiating off his body.
At first, it's like I forgot what to do with my own hands, but eventually, it comes back to me, and I lay my hand over the right side of his chest while my head lays over his heart, listening to the steady beats.
"I could get used to this," I whisper. His hand slips up and under my shirt, his fingertips tracing lazy circles over my bare skin.
"I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel the same way," he whispers.
This time, when I look up and meet his gaze, it's not full of concern or worry. Instead, his eyes are smokey with a desire that makes my heart flutter. His hand reaches up and tucks a piece of hair behind my ear before he caresses my cheek, his eyes shifting from my gaze to my lips and back again, a silent request that I approve when I reach up and press my lips to his.
It should feel wrong; I should feel horrible for kissing him, but no. Once I've had just a little, all I want is more. And judging by how tightly he holds onto me, he's inclined to do the same. As our hot breaths interlock, there's nothing but sparks between us.
He tears the covers off me and presses himself against my body, our clothes the only barrier. The heat between us is undeniable, an electric current sparking a desperate urgency. In mere seconds, we're tearing at the fabric, the need to feel skin against skin consuming us. My fingers are the first to reach for Derek's shirt. I yank it over his head and toss it aside, revealing his chiseled muscles and hard abs, each ridge and contour inviting my touch. His body is a work of art, every muscle defined and rippling beneath his golden skin. The faint scent of his cologne, a mix of cedarwood and musk, drives me wild. His skin is warm and smooth under my fingers, his muscles tense with desire, and I can feel the raw strength coiled between us.
His warm hand slides under my shirt, sending goosebumps across every nerve he touches until his hands play with my hardened nipples while little whimpers escape from me. It's only when his lips leave a trail of kisses down my neck that my moans fill the air, and my body keeps craving more of him. He pulls my shift off me, and the moment of skin-to-skin contact sets my body on fire, especially when he dips his hand down between my thighs and slips under my panties, where his fingers circle my throbbing clit.
"Oh, fuck… right there," I gasp when he hits the exact right spot.
"You're so fucking wet," he says when he slips his fingers inside me and curls them, slowly at first, then quicker when my hips grind into his touch.
Neck kisses turn into bites when I slide my hand down and rub against his bulge, growing tight against his boxers. My nails dig into his back as I feel myself getting closer and closer, but he slides his fingers out, denying me the pleasure I was so close to.
"I was so close…"
"I know," he grins as he grips my panties and slides them down my thighs, disposing them with the rest of our clothes on the floor. "But I want you to cum on my tongue instead."
He kisses me and leaves a trail down my body, but not before sucking and teasing my nipples on his way down to my pussy that's begging him to give me what I want. He keeps teasing me by lightly brushing his lips against my inner thighs, shaking at his touch. His breath hovers just over my clit, I'm already gripping the sheets, fueled by arousal and anticipation.
“Please… please…” I beg, and apparently, I said the magic words he's been waiting for because the second I do, his mouth devours me.
My back arches at the sensations I haven't felt in so long, ones I thought I'd forgotten. He rests his hands on my hips, keeping me in place while the rest of my body writhes at the pure pleasure that runs through my body. My hips grind into his tongue, which only spurs him on more until I'm teetering over the edge.
"Cum for me, pretty girl," he moans as his tongue flicks and sucks relentlessly until my body gives in. He doesn't stop until he hears me moaning in ecstasy as my orgasm rips through me so hard that the world goes blurry for a second until I feel myself come back down to earth.
Somewhere in the darkness of his room, I can feel him reach for something in his nightstand drawer before his body shifts around me. It's when I hear the condom wrapper open that I wait until he has it on before pushing him onto his back.
He grins as he rests his hands over my hips as I guide him inside me, but it takes me longer to adjust to him than I anticipated. Slowly, my body takes in every thick, throbbing inch of him, all while he watches me.
"Now it's my turn to make you cum," I whisper as I start rocking my hips back and forth, slowly at first, only moving faster when his hands demand it, moving my hips at a pace he desires.
When I feel him getting closer, he sits up and wraps his arms around my body, his hands digging deep into my back as I feather kisses down his neck, all while his moans mix with mine, filling the darkness of the room with our ignited passion.
"Fuck, you're going to make me…" He gasps, but before he can say it, I feel his release as he holds onto me, moaning as the moment takes him until my mouth crashes into his again.
We fight to catch our breaths, but neither of us dares to break our kiss, which we cling onto as if it's better for us than oxygen. Somehow, we break for air, but our lips don't stray far as our foreheads still touch, all while our hands gently explore each other. I close my eyes as his hands trace up and down my spine, and my thumb gently grazes over his cheek, holding his face in my hands.
He pulls us back down to the pillows, pulling the covers up to my shoulders, and my head rests against his heart again. His hand gently plays with my hair as my fingers trace lazy circles over his chest, each soothing the other until we drift off to sleep, wrapped in each other's arms.
For the first time, time seems to stand still. There's no panic about the future, no haunting echoes of the past—just the raw, palpable connection between us. Our breaths intertwine in the darkness of the room, each exhale a testament to the intimacy we share. The world outside ceases to exist as I feel the solid, reassuring presence of Derek beside me. The warmth of his body against mine is a promise of safety, a refuge from all my fears. In this fleeting moment, I allow myself to sink into the comfort of his embrace, savoring the fragile peace we've found. I clutch this moment tightly. It feels so wrong, yet it feels so right.