Chapter Three #2
“That day we talked, you told me how unhappy you were. How you were afraid to go through with the wedding because Nathan had done terrible things to you.” He holds out the knife, worn and glinting, as though it’s taunting me. “Let it all go.”
I can’t believe I was that open with Rhett. What was I thinking? Why did I tell this stranger how unhappy I was? God, that’s why he took me. He has some sick hero complex.
Hero complex or not, nothing I said was a lie.
Nathan and I had gotten into a horrible fight the night before I had that conversation with Rhett.
It wasn’t the first time he’d been physical, but it was the most intense and I was shaken.
I didn’t tell Rhett exactly what happened, but I was messed up in the head for sure.
“You’re okay,” Rhett says, still holding out the knife. “It’ll help.”
I read this book once about how cathartic it is to destroy things when you’re frustrated.
Actually, maybe it wasn’t a book. Maybe it was an advertisement for one of those rage rooms where you go inside, suit up, and smash everything with a baseball bat.
The point is, he’s not wrong. It can be therapeutic to destroy things, and it would be liberating to abolish this dress.
This dress I didn’t want.
This dress that never suited me.
This dress Nathan insisted I wear.
I take the heavy handle in my hands, noticing Rhett’s initials engraved in the wood above the head of a bird.
My dad always carries a similar blade, an heirloom his father passed to him when he died.
Dad’s doesn’t have initials carved into it, but it’s special to him none the less, and he takes it everywhere he goes.
Heck, he had to board a flight to Dallas once, and he forgot he had the knife in his pocket.
They wanted him to check it, and he wouldn’t.
The man rented a car and drove all the way to Dallas instead.
That’s a thirteen-hour drive, just so he could keep the knife by his side.
“Your dad’s?” I ask, staring down at the worn, wood handle.
“My grandpa’s. My dad died when I was four.
Heart attack. My mom went crazy shortly after that…
so my grandparents took over. It was for the best, though.
My brothers and I got the best raising we could’ve.
Fishing trips, hunting, and Grandma even taught us boys how to make biscuits. The secret’s in the butter.”
Listening to Rhett talk is like stepping into this place I’ve been before. It’s warm and soft, and when I’m around him, my guard drops without me telling it to. It’s like something about him echoes the places where I’ve felt safe, understood, and seen.
He reminds me of home.
“This dress isn’t you,” he continues, glancing toward the smooth satin fabric I argued with Nathan over for days. “It’s what he put on you. It’s how he kept you small. Destroy it. Let out your frustration.”
My throat tightens as I let my body remember all the horrid things Nathan did to me before the wedding, and suddenly, a rage starts bubbling inside of me. A rage I’d been trying to repress for the sake of reality, for the sake of Nathan’s feelings, for the sake of everyone around me.
“The way his eyes would go black,” I say, a near whisper, the knife releasing a harsh hiss from the fabric as it starts its path through the material, a muted crunch resonating as it comes out.
Why does this feel so good?
“The way he shut me out when I had a feeling.” I slash.
“The way he treated my mother like an inconvenience.” I slash.
“The way he shoved me, and shook me, and made me feel like I was the problem.” I slash again, but this time Rhett’s hand is on my arm.
“He did what?”
I glance toward the giant, my mouth hanging open, the room suddenly hot and prickly. I’ve never told anyone that Nathan got physical, mostly because I’m embarrassed that I let someone touch me like that and get away with it. I’m not even sure why I said it now.
“He put his hands on you?” Rhett’s jaw locks and his shoulders tighten before he turns away.
“He’s going to pay for fucking hurting you.
” He paces back and forth before his massive hand lands on my head and pulls me in, holding me in place against his solid chest. His heart is hammering.
“You’re safe now, baby girl. Daddy’s got you. ”
Daddy’s got you.
Okay, I’m hearing it loud and clear. He totally just referred to himself as Daddy.
Why does that make my clit throb?
Why do I want to be his baby girl?
Why do I want him to take care of me?
Why do I want to fall into the safety of his arms and lay there forever?
I lift away from his chest and stare up at him, trying to decide which of us is insane.
Then, my breath catches, and something tightens low in my ribs.
The space between us hums and his eyes lock on mine as the world narrows to this one single point of connection.
The pull is instinctive and primal, like my body recognizes something my mind hasn’t caught up to yet.
I want him to kiss me.
I want to kiss him.
I want him to touch me.
I want to touch him.
I want to end things with Nathan, and I want to see where this thing with the kidnapper goes.
If this were a competition of crazies, I’m pretty sure I’d be winning right now, and I’m okay with that.