Chapter 39
JOHN
When I finally make it into her room in the ER, I stand in the doorway, staring at her small form curled up on the bed. When I knock lightly on the doorframe, she shifts slightly, her gaze meeting mine.
“You’re here,” she rasps, her voice still hoarse.
“The nurse said you were back here. I got here as fast as I could.”
“Took you long enough,” she says, and even though I think she’s being playful, her words land their mark, bruising my ego. “My parents were here earlier, but I sent them home an hour ago, hoping I’d be discharged by now.”
I hold up my bandaged hand. “Turns out my cut needed a few stitches.”
“I’m so sorry.”
Offering her a small smile, I pull up a chair next to her bed. The triage rooms are small, so I feel like I'm bumping into everything as I try to get comfortable.
“I know I’m probably the last person you want to see right now, but I needed to know you were okay.”
She nods slightly, moisture pooling in the corner of her eye. I reach out to swipe at it. When she doesn’t flinch, but instead leans into my touch, I breathe out a sigh of relief.
“I looked for you after the play. I’m sorry I didn’t get there sooner.
Mackenzie told me Jeremy took you to the hospital, and I started driving toward the nearest one I thought he might have taken you to.
I stopped at almost every hospital in Columbus, and Mary called the ones I missed.
If I knew you never left campus, I would’ve found you sooner. ”
“Something told me you’d find me. Since I met you, when something bad has happened to me, you’ve been nearby, ready to swoop in and help. I should be creeped out that I have a stalker, but it was always oddly comforting knowing you were looking out for me.”
“A dom takes care of his sub.” A tear slips down her cheek. “I should’ve found you sooner.” I hope she can hear the desperation in my voice.
“You were worried about me.”
“I was terrified. I didn’t know what he was capable of and how much he’d been doing right under my nose.”
“I had no idea until he laid it all out for me before you showed up.”
“What did he say?”
“I already relayed everything to the police, I don’t have the strength to go through it again.” She leans back into the bed. “Did the nurse say when I’ll get to go home?”
“No one will tell me anything, since I’m not your husband or family. I was lucky to get back here. I think the nurse let me since the cop vouched for me and I complimented her stitches,” I say, holding up my hand again.
“Are the police still out there?”
“No, they left after I gave my statement. I’m pretty sure they had enough proof to lock that fucker up for good.”
Her brow furrows, and she lets out a deep exhale as she sits up, pulling her legs against her chest and my eyes land on the bandage on her inner thigh.
It takes everything in me not to grab her and hold her to me.
When I stand, her eyes flick to mine in concern. “May I?” I ask, reaching for her leg.
“I’m not wearing anything under this. He cut my—”
“I know he did. And I’ve seen all of you before. This isn’t about that. I need to know you’re okay. Can I do that?”
She nods. I gently glide my fingertips up her thigh, gauging her reaction. When I get to the bandage, I trace the edges, applying a little more pressure. When she shivers, I look over and noticed her eyes closed, head dropped. “Pet?”
“You can’t call me that. You can’t just come in here and act like the last week or so never happened. Like you didn’t rip my heart out of my chest twice now.”
I pull my hand back, but she grabs my wrist, keeping it in place, still refusing to open her eyes. “I didn’t say I wanted you to stop.”
My fingers continue stroking along her thighs until I see her visibly relax under my touch.
When she finally looks at me, her pupils are blown wide, and a few tears spill over her lashes as I lean over to swipe them.
“I need answers. I need to understand what’s really happening. It feels like I’m living out some ridiculous Shakespearean play and everyone knows their part but me. What am I missing?”
“What do you want to know? I’ll tell you everything. I’m done hiding from you.”
“Does Mary know you’re here?”
“She does.”
“So she knows about me?”
“She’s the one that encouraged me to pursue you.”
Her brows pinch in confusion. “I don’t understand. Do you have an open marriage? I did meet you at a sex club so you could be into all kinds of kinks I don’t know about.”
“I don’t have an open marriage. What I do have is a legally binding marriage in the eyes of the law with a woman who is a dear friend of mine.” I say, trying to emphasize certain words so she’ll pick up on my meaning.
“That’s not answering my question,” she says, growing agitated.
I blow out a breath, moving her legs so I can sit on the edge of the bed as I lower my voice.
“I used to do a lot of missionary work for the university. A little over six years ago, I went on a trip to Yemen. And one day this woman walked into my line at the soup kitchen, and I could see the desperation on her face, hear the sadness in her voice. There wasn’t a romantic attraction, but something was pulling me to her.
Once I finished serving, I sat at her table.
It didn’t take much to get her to talk, and I was surprised at how eager she was to share with me. ”
“What did she say?” she asks carefully.
My shoulders relax, relieved that she’s willing to hear me out.
“Her husband was threatening to report her to the authorities, and she needed a way to get out of the country.”
“Maryam was already married?”
“She was divorced by the time we met. Where she’s from, people like her can be put to death, and that’s why she wanted to leave her homeland.”
Her brow furrows in confusion as she shifts on the bed. “People like her? Women?”
“Women who love other women.”
She looks at me unblinking, her brows raised. “She’s gay?”
I nod. “When we met that day, she told me all about how she fell in love with her best friend Samira. Mary had felt pressured by her parents to marry a man and she obeyed, but she was never truly happy, and the man she married was not a kind one. He suspected something was going on and divorced her, threatening to go to the authorities if she didn’t leave quietly.
But she’s lived in fear of him ever since.
The day we met, he’d just threatened her again.
She was confident that nothing would come of it since he didn’t have any proof, but I could tell she was terrified. ”
“What would’ve happened if the authorities found out?”
“She could’ve been thrown in prison or stoned to death.”
Silence stretches between us for several minutes. The clock’s ticking growing louder with each second that passes as she processes my words.
I hesitate to say more, knowing I haven’t shared these details with anyone but Mary. It’s important that she hears my truth, so I take a deep breath and pull her legs onto my lap as I work up the courage to continue. “There’s a reason why I felt called to help her.”
“Why?”
“Because I couldn’t save him.”
“Couldn’t save who?”
“My brother Michael. I knew how much he was struggling. My brother Robert may not have known what was going on with him, but I did. Michael told me he was gay. He was going to come out to our parents. I told him it was a bad idea. That there was no way our mom and dad would handle it well. I was too much of a coward, and I hid in my room while he did it. And I knew he was being bullied at school, and I didn’t do anything.
He was a year behind me, and he was weird and different, and I was a stupid middle school boy that just wanted to blend in, and being around him at school forced us to stand out.
So I ignored him. I didn’t stand up for him when I knew he was being picked on. ”
“Oh, John,” she says, placing a hand on my shoulder. When she squeezes it, I feel instantly grounded.
“I have seen firsthand the power of hateful words in the mouths of bigoted people. I know what that hate is capable of, and I’d be damned if I ever stood by and watched that happen again, not when I could do something about it.
Not with Maryam, and not when I felt like I had a second chance to help. ”
I take a breath and continue. “I was the one who found him.” The admission feels like a lead weight in my chest. “When I didn’t see him at the parent pick-up line, I went looking for him, knowing how mad our mom would get when we were late.
He wasn’t at his locker, and I ran through the school, searching every place I could think of when I saw a group of kids huddled in the back of the gym in this alcove behind the bleachers next to a door that led to the football field.
The way I burst through the door must have scared them, and they took off. ”
It’s a struggle to speak as emotion clogs my throat at the memory still as vivid in my mind as the day it happened.
“I almost didn’t see him. He was lying so still.
Too still. At first, I thought the guys that ran off had left behind a pile of clothes.
Something told me I needed to go over there.
And when I got closer, I recogni— I rec— it was his shirt.
His stupid One Direction shirt that he wore practically every day.
I’d know that shirt anywhere. But it was covered in his blood. They’d—”
Swallowing, I summon the courage to continue as her hand strokes along my arm. “They’d beaten him to death. I didn’t even recognize his face,” I say through tears, willing the rising emotions to abate. “But I knew it was him.”
“Because of the shirt?”