Twenty One
Whit
W ithout a second thought, I kick the door in. Scarlett’s cries are muffled now, but I follow them through the house until I find them in my father’s office. The scene I run in on will forever be seared into my mind. Scarlett’s face is pale from the tight belt around her neck as the bastard rails her ass.
“Get the fuck off her!” I scream, adrenaline surging through me, raw and untamed. I push Sterling to the ground, the weight of my anger awakening something primal within. The room spins with chaos - the smell of fear thick in the air as I lunge for the iron poker next to the fireplace.
“This is for every sick thing you’ve done. Hell is too good a place for you!” I yell, raising the poker above my head before bringing it down with all my might, straight into the center of his chest.
Blood sprays across the room, a vivid red contrasting against the dim, muted colors of the office. He screams, a sound of pure agony that fuels my actions. I stab him again and again, a primal instinct kicking in; I can’t stop until he stops moving. Finally, his thrashing subsides, and the only sound left is the soft thud of his body against the floor.
I stand there, breathless, blood covering my hands and chest, my arms shaking from the adrenaline coursing through my veins. I turn to Scarlett; her eyes are wide with shock, vast and deep pools of confusion and terror.
“Scarlett...” I murmur, dropping the iron poker and rushing to her. She’s on the floor, barely breathing, shaking and sobbing. Her clothes are torn, her beautiful frame marred with blood and bruises—evidence of the horrors she endured.
“Shh, baby, I’m so sorry, little flame. I should have gotten here sooner,” I whisper, holding her close, but she’s trembling uncontrollably, making it difficult to unbuckle the belt around her neck. Her breathing is so labored.
“You’re safe now. He’ll never hurt you again,” I say, my voice barely a murmur as I finally manage to loosen the strap. I try to pull her into my lap, but she screams out in pain, her body collapsing against herself.
“I called the cops,” I utter, glancing back at the lifeless form of my father, the pool of blood slowly spreading beneath him. Horror grips my heart. “That motherfucking sick fuck. I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry…”
I pull a blanket from the back of the couch, wrapping it gently around her fragile form before carefully lifting her and bringing her to the couch. I settle her down as gently as possible, her body tensing beneath the blanket.
Scarlett looks down at the body, the horror of what just happened crashing over her. She shivers, and I long to hold her, to provide some comfort, but I know she isn’t ready.
“Baby, look at me. I’m right here,” I whisper over the crackling fire. I slide my bloodied hands into her hand, bringing her forehead to meet mine.
A wave of nausea hits, and she begins retching, leaning over the side of the couch and heaving. I rub her back instinctively, but she flinches, pulling away as if she’s just realizing I’m here with her.
“Don’t touch me! Please, just leave me alone!” she sobs, her voice breaking my heart.
“I’m so sorry, little flame. Last night isn’t what it looked like,” I try to explain, but the words feel hollow, inadequate in the face of her pain.
“I would never kiss anyone but you. I love you, little flame. Please…” My voice cracks, desperation clawing at my throat. Holding my hands up as a sign of peace, I push her hair back from her face. “Please, Scarlett. Let me explain. I need you to know that I would never have kissed anyone but you. I love you. Please… Just let me take you home. I can’t stand seeing you like this.”
Before she can respond, the police and paramedics rush in, lights flashing and chaos erupting in the room. They take one look at me—drenched in my father’s blood, my arms marked with bruises—and without hesitation, they arrest me.
"Scarlett!" I scream, my voice raw with desperation as they drag me away. Her pleading eyes pierce through the chaos, but the officers are relentless, pulling me further from her. My heart shatters, knowing I have to be strong for her sake.
Hours pass at the station, questions pouring over me like a relentless storm. Each query is like a gust of wind, tearing at the fragile remnants of my composure, but I refuse to answer until I can be assured that Scarlett is safe. My mind races with worry, the chilling image of her trembling and fragile, her beautiful smile twisted in terror, burns into my memory.
An officer slams a folder down onto the table in front of me, his eyes cold and piercing. "Tell us what happened," he demands. His tone is harsh and unforgiving as the clock ticks ominously on the wall.
"I need to know she's safe first," I say, my voice trembling, but filled with fierce determination.
The officer narrows his eyes, his features hardening. "This isn't a negotiation. You are covered in blood and were found at the scene. We need answers."
I glance at the two-way mirror, knowing there are more eyes on me than just his. "Scarlett… my fiancée. Please. Is she okay?"
A female officer steps in, her presence slightly softer, yet no less determined. "We've checked on her. She's being treated at the hospital. Now, we need to know your side of the story."
I exhale a shaky breath, my heart still racing. The room feels smaller, the air thick with an awful tension. "He… he was attacking her, raping her. I was defending her," I finally manage to say, my voice cracking under the weight of grief and anger. The memory of seeing her being attacked overwhelms me, and I lurch forward, vomiting onto the floor.
They continue to barrage me with questions: "Why did you have bruises? What led to the altercation? Was anyone else involved?" Each question feels like a knife, cutting deeper, forcing me to relive the nightmare over and over. I provide only the barest details, my mind constantly drifting back to Scarlett, praying desperately that she’s safe.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity of hell, they let me go. I bolt to the hospital, every heartbeat pounding in tandem with the dread coursing through my veins. The sterile scent of antiseptic fills the air as I race into the emergency room. Time blurs as I search desperately for her, my heart pounding with each second that passes.
"Scarlett!" I yell, rushing closer, but they won’t let me through yet. I watch helplessly as nurses and doctors work tirelessly around her bed, their voices a faint blur in my ears.
I lean against the window of her room, the glass cold beneath my hands. My entire world lies on the other side, fighting without me. She looks so small, so vulnerable, and regret washes over me like a tidal wave. My breath catches as the weight of guilt presses down hard on my chest. Seeing her this way, used and bloody, ignites an inferno of rage within me. My precious flame was almost snuffed out.
What if I hadn't found her?
Would he have killed her?
My hands itch to either throttle someone or comfort Scar. There is no in between. My emotions are on overdrive, and I just need everything to be alright. I can’t live without her. A world without Scarlett isn’t worth living, and I’d gladly share her grave if it meant us being entwined forever.
In that moment, reality crashes down on me; this is not just about my feelings. It’s about saving her, protecting the love we built in a world filled with shadows. The journey to heal both our wounds is only just beginning, but my resolve is stronger than any darkness. I will fight for her, for us, for the love that lights up even the darkest nights.