Chapter Four
Zarah
I didn’t want to see Gage last night. I didn’t have any plans, but I didn’t want to look into his eyes while he wished me a Happy New Year. What do I have to look forward to? Another year of therapy, another year of drugs. Another year of tests and God knows what because I used to be on track, things used to be going in the right direction for a change, and now I’m slipping, my reality is slipping, and I don’t know what to do.
I roll onto my side and press my cheek into my pillow. Tears drip into the pillowcase.
If I was brave, I would break it off today. Tell him there’s no point in us seeing each other anymore. I have nothing to offer. Maybe I thought I did, before my thoughts started turning into jelly, before I couldn’t remember what I did ten minutes ago.
I’m scared, but I’m too scared to tell him I don’t want to see him anymore. He’s my last remaining grip on what’s real. His love is real, and I see it when I look into his eyes.
What does he see when he looks into mine?
I’m empty, and that’s how I feel, dependent on drugs I don’t want, living in a house that belongs to my brother because I can’t live alone.
Ingrid came in to check on me earlier, to see if I was awake, and I couldn’t remember her name. Lucille, the dogs, names are a jumble of letters like alphabet soup spilled onto the floor.
I don’t know how much longer I can stand it.
Until I turn truly crazy.
Quiet Meadows crazy.
What kind of cage will Zane lock me up in if he can’t take care of me anymore?
Quiet Meadows is gone, but the screaming coming from the rooms still vibrates in my skull. My screams, screams of the other patients.
I try to block them out, bury my head under a blanket, hide in my closet, rocking against the pain of the shrieks piercing my brain, but I can’t get rid of them.
There’s nowhere to hide. They will always be a part of me.
I should let him go. One day I’ll disappear inside my head where I won’t know anyone or anything.
My phone’s laying on my nightstand, and I’m so grateful Stella was able to convince Zane to give it back to me. She stands up to him in a way I’ve never been able to, not even as his sister. Sitting up, I wipe the tears off my cheeks. I don’t need to be a victim. Rolling over and letting life kick me hasn’t been my way or I never would have made it this far.
I text Jerricka. She’s my only hope, my lifeline.
I’m sorry to bother you on New Year’s Day, but you have to help me. I’m losing my memory, and I’m so scared. Please, what can I do? When can I see you?
I shudder, waiting for her response, and it’s only a minute, God bless her, until she texts me back.
Stay calm. This could be the result of any number of things. Are you still taking the pills I prescribed before Thanksgiving?
Yes. My fingers tremble as I type.
You could be having a reaction to the new drug introduced into your system. Skip tonight and see how you feel in the morning. If you feel better, take it tomorrow night, and then every other night. Perhaps the dosage is too strong. I’m resuming appointments next week and I’ll see you at your regular session. Do you have plans today?
She has a solution. Thank God she has a solution. I blow out a sigh of relief. There could be a reason my mind has been blinking out. Jerricka’s going to help me. I have to trust her.
Yes. I’m seeing Gage. We’re going to lunch.
Gage Davenport?
She knows Gage? How? No, wait. I’ve talked about him. Did I mention his last name? Yes, when I told her he was Max’s half-brother.
Yes.
Good. I’m glad you’ll have a pleasant New Year’s Day. Stay safe, Zarah. Don’t be afraid to ask me for help. I care about you.
Thank you, I respond and put my phone to sleep.
I’ve bothered her enough on a holiday.
I’m looking forward to seeing Gage, but apprehension stifles my happiness. I crawl out of bed and shower, setting the water to a cooler temperature. It wakes me up and rinses some of the fog out of my mind. Curiously, I touch myself. I’m aroused and wet, imagining Gage’s hands on me. If Jerricka’s suggestion doesn’t work, if my mind still keeps slipping in the next few days...I want him to make love to me. Slow, lazy love while I can still remember what it will feel like. To be touched by someone who treasures me, like I’m not something a man only wants to break, to destroy.
I’m swollen between my legs, but I don’t make myself come. I want Gage to do that. His love is a promise that will anchor me in the murky minutes and hours of my life.
I step out of the bathroom wrapped in my robe and Ingrid’s waiting, pills in hand. I’ll have another appointment with Dr. Reagan soon, but I doubt he’ll lower my dosage again. My episode at Gage’s freaked everyone out, and he and Zane are going to be more cautious. I try not to be bitter as I swallow the pills, Ingrid watching me. She knows all the tricks, and she’s told me about patients who tuck them under their tongues to spit them out later. I would never have the courage to do that. I’m too scared of the consequences.
I go through my usual beauty routine—hair, makeup, choose my clothes. It’s too cold for anything but jeans and a fuzzy sweater, and I’ll wear a pair of black, knee-high boots. We won’t do a fancy lunch. Burger joints and bars are more Gage’s style. He fit in at the Sweet Apple, but we don’t have to go there. There are a million restaurants in the city, and I’ll ask him to show me his favorite place.
I’m ready too early, and I walk down the hallway to Zane and Stella’s suite to wish them a Happy New Year and to tell them goodbye. I’m still trying to function like a normal adult and do things without asking permission, but Zane knows Douglas is driving me into the city and knows Gage and I are having lunch. I want to spend time with him, and my wants override my brother’s objections. He thinks Gage is rushing me, pushing me into a physical relationship. I’ve tried to explain that it’s me, that I crave touch, need someone to love me, and I want Gage to kiss me, to hold me. That I’m willing to trade a piece of unstable security to feel wanted . It’s not a trade Zane approves of, and he probably has a point, but how can I explain Gage’s kisses do more for me than a million hours of therapy? Stella understands. My brother’s touch put her to together at the same time it ripped her apart.
I raise my hand to knock on their door, but I hear a moan.
The bed creaks.
My brother and Stella are making love, and my cheeks heat. I don’t want to be a voyeur, but I stand for a moment, someone’s jagged panting carrying through the door.
Stella cries out, Zane’s name a sob on her breath, and his reply is muffled. I picture him hiding his face in the graceful curve of her neck, holding her as she comes, her legs wrapped around his waist.
Two people can’t be closer.
Connected in love.
I want that with Gage.
If I can be glad about one thing, it’s that the drugs suppress a lot of what Ash’s jobs did to me. The pain and the feelings are still there, dregs of nightmares I can’t shake because what they did to me was real, but I can be thankful that every minute, every second, is buried under a chemical haze. There is still one man I can’t remember, but due to the drugs and the dark bedroom, it’s impossible for me to picture his face. All I can hope is that he’s in prison on a different charge and not free to do those things to other women.
The bed creaks again, and I hurry down the hall. I don’t want Zane to catch me spying. I’m so grateful he has Stella. I’m grateful she found it in her heart to forgive him for all he’s done.
Lucille asks if I want a late breakfast, but I decline. I’m a mess of jumbled nerves, the drugs and water sloshing queasily around in my stomach. I shouldn’t take them without food, but nothing sounds appetizing, not even a piece of toast.
I’m nervous about spending the day with Gage. My mind is clear, right now, this minute, but what will happen later is anyone’s guess. He’ll be more prepared if I go off the rails again, but I think I’m getting better at hiding when my brain blanks out. Ingrid had no idea I couldn’t remember her name, didn’t know I was scared of her. When her name came back, like a rubber band snapping into place, it was like nothing happened, as if her name had been in my mind all along.
I should be a master at pretending everything is fine, waiting out the blackness until it recedes and I’m back to normal. What normal I can have. It’s how I’ve lived since Zane brought me home.
Douglas is waiting, the car idling in front of the house. The sky is a crisp, cloudless blue, and the sun is blinding, glittering off the snow. I haven’t been in the woods for a few days, and I’d like to go out. After spending time in the city, I’ll need to recharge. Letting the dogs run in the forest is my favorite way to do that, but I’ll need to stay close or I could get turned around and not find my way back. In these temperatures, it would be easy to die of hypothermia. I shouldn’t go alone.
I’m so tired of my life.
We don’t listen to an audiobook on the way to King’s Crossing like we used to. I can’t follow a book’s plot anymore. The narrator’s words are a tangle of syllables, characters’ names and the things they do lost in the holes of my memory.
He seems content to drive in silence, and I watch the country as it bleeds into the city, the skyline sparkling in the sun, Maddox Industries one of the tallest buildings of them all.
Gage’s building is a welcome sight, and Douglas lets me out of the town car, fingers to the brim of his hat. “Do you need me to stay, Miss Maddox?”
“No, thank you. You can go. I’ll ask Gage to drive me home later. He won’t mind.”
“Very well. Happy New Year, Zarah.” Douglas lets warmth creep into his eyes, and he turns into my father figure rather than my driver.
I give him a tight hug. “Thanks, Douglas. You, too. You should celebrate the holiday.”
“I’ll ask if Mr. Maddox needs me, and if not, I think I will. Be safe.”
He sits behind the wheel, but he won’t leave until he knows I’m inside and Gage has me in his possession. I try to brush away the idea I’m like a baton in a relay race. Always being handed off to the next person because I can’t be trusted to take care of myself.
I should be grateful there are people in my life, so many people, who want to keep me safe. I don’t think I’d be alive right now, standing in Gage’s dark and freezing stairwell, if those people didn’t love me.
Ash would have had his way a long time ago.
I knock, and I hear Baby’s nails scratching against the floor as she trots across Gage’s kitchen. He answers the door, and God, he looks good. Jeans and a black sweater, his sleeves pushed up to his elbows revealing his ink. His black hair gleams, still a bit damp from a recent shower, and he hasn’t shaved, his scruff growing out into a short beard.
He’s delicious, and he’s mine.
“Hi.”
“Hey yourself,” he says, standing aside and letting me in. His apartment smells like coffee.
I kick the snow off my boots and step inside. “Happy New Year.”
He hauls me into his arms and presses his lips to mine, not giving me a second to take my jacket off. “Happy New Year, Zarah.”
Heat gathers in my belly, tight and blazing hot, and I wrap my arms around his neck.
It’s embarrassing how much I need this man.
Gage doesn’t let me go, and we stand this way, not speaking. Well, he’s standing there. My feet are dangling a foot above the floor and I’m hanging on for dear life. This is my sanity, right here in this room, this is my safety, in his arms.
That thought clogs my throat with tears, and I sniffle into his sweater. I’m so dumb.
“Ah,” he says, nuzzling his nose against my cheek. “It’s going to be okay.”
I’d like to believe him, but I can’t. How can I when I don’t know what my brain will be like day to day, hour to hour.
“I hope so.”
He sets me onto the floor, and I wiggle out of my jacket and unzip my boots.
“I’ll pour you a cup of coffee. Text Douglas and tell him you’re inside and okay.”
Happy to see Gage, I forgot about Douglas, and I grab my phone out of my purse. I shoot off a quick text that Gage is here and I’m fine. He sends me a thumbs up, and I tuck my phone away and shuffle into the kitchen, Baby sniffing at my jeans.
Gage hands me a mug fixed how I like it, and I sit at his table. The day stretches ahead of us. We planned on lunch. We could go shopping. I could show him the penthouse, though that probably wouldn’t interest him and it would feel like I’m bragging. Is it wrong to admit I want to stay here, in his apartment, and do nothing all day but be with him?
He catches on to my mood, and he sets his mug down and holds out his hand. “Come here.” He leads me to the bedroom. The bed’s made, and we lie on his comforter, him on his side, looking into my face. “What’s wrong?”
Tears run down my temples. “I’m so messed up. Gage, I feel like I’m going crazy.”
Blowing out a breath, he wipes the tears off my face. “I know, baby.”
“I’m so scared.” I burrow into his chest, and he cuddles me to him, kissing my cheek. I press his hand to my side under my sweater. I need the skin-to-skin contact. I need his warmth.
Turning my head, I press my lips to his, snuggling against his body, trying to get as close as I can. I think of Zane and Stella, able to enjoy a simple act of intimacy, and I want that too. I’m ready for that. Gage has never given me any reason not to trust him. He’s never pushed my boundaries, never taken more than I could give. In fact, it’s always been the other way around. I would have given more, given him all that I could, but he never took it, knowing I wasn’t ready.
His hand runs up my ribs and covers my breast, and I resist letting out a sigh of relief. He’s not going to push me away. He’s not going to tell me to slow down.
I yank up his sweater and glide my fingertips along his abs. His skin is hot and smooth, and his chest is sprinkled with coarse hair that tickles my skin. I’ll never get tired of exploring his body, of discovering every muscle, every curve of every bone, every crevasse, over and over again.
“I want you, Gage. I need to feel you inside me.”
He leans away and stares into my eyes, his hazel irises warm, but serious. I prepare for him to tell me no, to tell me that I don’t know what I want, and I’m on the verge of exploding in anger. I’m tired of people telling me what I want, what I should want, what’s good for me and what’s not. I must have some decision-making capability left. I need to have freedom, some small amount of freedom, to still make my own choices. That includes whomever I give my body to.
“Okay.” He rubs his lips over my jaw. “But we’re going to go slow. I’m going to wear a condom, and if you decide, at any point, you don’t want to, all you have to do is say so, and I won’t be mad. Okay?”
“Yes.” I swallow, the implication of what we just agreed to do setting in. “I don’t know what to do.”
Gage presses my hand to the fly of his jeans. He’s hard, rock solid. “Yes, you do. The first step is not to be scared of me. If you’re scared, you won’t enjoy it. If you’re scared, it could ruin what we have.”
“You won’t hurt me.” That is one of the few things I will always know...that is one of the few things I could never forget.
“I might, but not because I want to. You haven’t had sex in a long time, Zarah. It might be uncomfortable.”
“That’s okay. I can handle it.”
“You don’t have to ‘handle’ anything. If it’s too much, we’ll stop. Simple as that.”
I nod.
“Then come here.”
He cups my butt and pulls me closer as he devours my mouth, our tongues tangling. I throw my leg over his and grind against his cock. Should I call it a cock? Penis is so clinical, but cock sounds raw, dirty.
I don’t feel dirty right now, though. I feel beautiful. Desirable. Gage loves me, wants to show me how much, and there’s nothing dirty about that, nothing shameful.
He nudges me onto my back and lifts my sweater. He brushes sweet, lingering kisses all over my belly, moving upward to tease my nipples through the lace of my bra. His hair is soft under my touch, and I tangle my fingers in it. His whiskers graze my skin, and miracle of miracles, I laugh. I’m about to have sex, and I’m laughing, not scared at all, happy I found someone who accepts me the way that I am, who doesn’t want to punish me because of what my last name is.
“That’s a beautiful sound,” he says, meeting my eyes, and he kisses me, his tongue tracing my lips. “Sit up and let me take your sweater off.”
“You, too.”
He tugs my fuzzy sweater over my head, and I do the same for him. The window’s blinds are closed, and I’m grateful we’re not making love in the sunlight. We’re cocooned in semi-darkness, but I see well enough to memorize every part, every piece, of him.
“Will you take your bra off?”
“Yeah.” I fumble with the hooks, and his breath catches when I finally ease the satin and lace off my body. I love the look in his eyes as he consumes me without touching me, my breasts small, but perky, my nipples puckered in desire.
“Jesus.”
“You’ve seen me before.”
“Yeah, but I’ll never get used to how beautiful you are. Can I kiss you?”
“You have to stop asking me or you’ll ruin the mood. I’m here. That should be enough permission.”
He looks like he wants to argue, but I have a point. Every question, every inquiry of consent, takes away from our intimacy. I’ve already said I want this and he’s already told me I can say no.
That’s enough.
Gage leans over and sucks a nipple into his mouth, and I gasp. I’m not used to how connected my breasts are to my core, how the suction can elicit such a response between my legs. I arch into his embrace. I want more, I need more, and he bites a little, just the tiniest bit of pain sending a roaring rush of fire to every nerve ending in my body.
I whimper. “Yes. Yes.”
He moves his attention to the other side, and he repeats the process, licking at me, nibbling, love nips. My muscles quake. “Gage.”
“Yeah?”
“Please.”
“Finish getting undressed.”
I scramble off the bed and peel my jeggings from my legs. I’m wearing socks today, and they go, too. He catches my eye as I’m standing in the middle of his bedroom in nothing but a swatch of hot pink satin panties.
“Jesus Christ.”
“Is that good?” I can tell it is, by the way his eyes smolder, but I like teasing him. It’s new to me, to use my sexuality as a humorous tool. I’ve never had a reason to enjoy my body. In the past, it was something someone else used to find pleasure in my pain.
“Any better, and I’ll have a seizure.”
He kicks off his jeans and briefs, and his cock springs free, the thick, wide head grazing his abs. Gage watches me for any hesitation, but I feel none. My body was made to do this, and he won’t hurt me.
Kneeling at my feet, he hooks his fingers around the waistband of my panties and slides them down my legs. I lift my feet to step out of them, and he says, “Is this—”
“Gage.”
“Yeah.”
I didn’t think we’d be doing this today and I could have paid a little more attention to my bikini line in the shower this morning, but I still trimmed and I widen my legs just a little to show him my private area. I don’t know what to call that either. I don’t want to say pussy, but that’s what it is. Genitals sound gross, and God, either it’s going to sound too cold or too dirty. I’m not going to win.
He pushes my folds apart, exposing my clit. Tentatively, he licks, and I moan. I’ll come right here if he doesn’t stop, and I steady myself, gripping his shoulder.
“I love the way you taste. Like musk and honey, love and promises, and my future all rolled into one. I love you, Zarah.”
“Show me.”
He eases a finger inside me, sucking on my folds with languid strokes of his tongue. I want to be on the bed, under the covers, but I understand he’s priming me. The more excited I am, the hotter I am, the wetter I am, the easier it will be for him to enter me. I know, scientifically, how this works, but I need to have the patience to let him have control. I need to stop reciting the step-by-step and enjoy what he’s doing.
Lowering himself even farther between my legs, he pulls out his finger and laps at my sex, rimming the sides with the tip of his tongue. My legs tremble. “I can’t stand like this anymore.”
Gage kisses the inside of my thigh, and his scruff scratches at my skin. I tamp back another laugh. “Lie down then.”
He pushes the comforter to the middle of the bed, and I slip between his sheets. His body is scorching hot when he climbs in next to me, and immediately he cuddles me to him, his cock between us, thick and heavy, ready. “Will you touch me?” he asks, guiding my hand to his cock. The skin is smooth, and the tip is already wet, the veins pulsing. I stroke him from base to tip, over and over, and he kisses me, our teeth gnashing together until he adjusts the tilt of his head. He takes over completely, widening my legs, opening me to slide two fingers inside me.
“Relax, baby. I’m not gonna hurt you.”
I didn’t realize my thighs had tensed up, and I loosen them, letting my legs fall open. I feel exposed, even under the sheet, but I have to lie this way so he can fit. He presses his thumb against my clit and sucks one of my nipples into his mouth.
“I’m going to come,” I gasp, rocking against his hand.
“Yeah, I want you to come first. Let go, Zarah. I’ll be here to catch you.”
I wrap my hand around him and pump, but he yanks his hips away. “I said I want you to come, not me.”
“Oh,” I say, embarrassed. I hate doing the wrong thing.
“If you want me to make love to you, you have to stop or I’ll come and I won’t be hard anymore.”
“Yes, please.”
He doesn’t say anything else, and I lose myself in the strokes of his fingers inside me and his thumb circling my clit. When he licks at my nipples, my blood fizzes, and I press his head against my breast. “Bite me, just a little.”
I rock, looking for release against his hand. Forcefully, but not too hard, he glides his fingers in and out, grazing a spot inside me that electrifies every inch of my skin. He bites my nipple again, and I come, pleasure traveling through my entire body. My muscles quiver as he teases out the last of my orgasm and I finally quiet, letting the mattress absorb my full weight in satisfaction.
I open my eyes, and he’s staring at me, his fingers still inside me. “You like that?”
Huffing out a laugh, I scrub the whiskers along his jaw. “You know I did.”
“Do you still want more?”
I don’t blink. “Yes.”
Capturing my lips, he kisses me, slow and soft. The mood has changed a little since I came. He’s gentle, quiet, though maybe that’s not the right word. Carefully, he pulls his fingers out of me, and they’re sticky and wet with my cum.
He dries his hand on the sheet and grabs a condom out of his nightstand. Tearing the little foil packet open, he says, “Watch me put it on. I want you to see I’m protecting you.” On his knees, he sheathes himself, rolling the condom down his cock. He holds my hand and runs my fingers over the latex. “You’re really wet right now and the friction won’t hurt, but if you’re uncomfortable, you have to tell me.”