Chapter 23 #3
To his credit, Elliot had kept a rather placid look on his usually expressive face, yet it was now contorted in horror.
A little delayed but appropriate given what I told him. He should’ve been looking at me that way, given what I’d told him. It was what I’d intended, I told myself through the cracking agony piercing my chest cavity.
My middle finger throbbed, the one that had been dislocated that day, my mouth again filling with the taste of iron. I ignored both.
“You think you deserved that ?” Elliot choked out, the words dripping with pain.
I nodded slowly. “There are consequences to actions, Elliot. I am no damsel in distress here. I was colluding with the villains. I was not innocent.”
Elliot felt miles away, standing across the island from me. The cold stone of the counter prevented me from falling into Elliot’s touch which would turn me into the person I was when in his arms. I needed to be the Calliope I was in New York. Strong. Unfeeling.
He’d respected the distance I’d created like he always respected my boundaries—one of the sexiest things about him, though that list was incredibly long.
The crash of the barstool flying into the wall didn’t make me jump. I’d trained my nervous system not to outwardly react to unexpected sounds or actions made by unstable men. The men I dealt with thrived off a flinch, a whimper, a widening of the eyes.
But I was sufficiently shocked to see such an outward, aggressive response from Elliot. He was always so level-headed and calm, not violent.
I felt it, radiating from him. Fury, furniture hurling notwithstanding. His posture was tense, shoulders hunched, chest rising and falling with his heavy breathing, shaking as he stared at the hole in the wall he’d created.
I stared at it too.
A tense few moments of silence reigned.
He’d rendered me speechless. A worthy feat. Though I wasn’t bothered with trying to produce words. I needed them from him. To know what was going on in his brain. To hear how much he hated me.
“I’ll repair that.” He was still facing the wall, so I assumed that he was speaking about that and not the wreckage in my mind.
Stood to reason as he couldn’t know about the wreckage in my mind, a good thing too since it could never be repaired. I’d made my peace with that and had gotten really good at pretending my broken pieces didn’t exist.
“No need,” I cleared my throat. “I know a guy.”
“You do know a guy,” Elliot nodded. “ Your guy. I fix what I break, Calliope. And I apologize for breaking that in the first place. I shouldn’t have…” He didn’t finish the sentence, running his hands through his curls.
I watched his hands travel, clasping the back of his neck for a few seconds before he unfurled, standing at his full height, turning to stare at me.
Then he rounded the counter, stalking toward me with purpose. I mentally braced for his touch, but he fell short, hesitating. Elliot never hesitated.
“Is it okay if I touch you?” he asked softly.
My insides roiled. There it was. I was damaged to him now. The rape victim who had to be treated with care because another man had taken what should’ve only been given.
Fuck, I hated that. How gentle, how thoughtful and kind Elliot was. The kind of man he was. I knew I’d never be able to ignore my broken pieces, not with him. Because he fixed what he broke, and I saw in his eyes that he’d make it his duty to fix what he didn’t break.
“Of course, you can fucking touch me,” I snapped, refusing to sound soft or weak.
Elliot’s mouth twitched, but he didn’t smile, his expression still grim. His hands latched onto my hips, thankfully not gently. The pressure was biting as he lifted me onto the counter, my legs instinctively spreading for him.
His body pressed into mine as he took hold of either side of my neck, eyes blazing with determination.
“Calliope.” He ground out my name like he was pulverizing stone to dust. “I want your attention, your rapt fucking attention when I say this.” He paused, standing in between my legs, grasping on to my neck like it was a wooden door floating in the ocean in the wake of a shipwreck.
As if he didn’t have my rapt attention just by existing.
When he seemed satisfied, his grip loosened somewhat, and his thumbs started gently massaging my skin.
“I heard everything you said,” he murmured.
“Every detail is seared into my memory, every inflection, every word you fucking said. And you’re a capable woman who can tell a story without leaving anything out, without inferring the wrong meaning.
So trust me when I say I understand your actions, what you think led to you deserving…
” His strong baritone faltered, and his hands squeezed slightly.
His eyes closed as he took in a long breath.
“I understand what made you think you deserved to be assaulted,” he said when he opened his eyes.
“And I understand that you made some questionable decisions. Yet I also believe that you are smart enough to know who you were working with. I can’t begin to comprehend the world you were operating in, but I trust that you know that I’m intelligent enough to get that it was some bad shit. ”
When he stopped speaking, it took me a few seconds to deduce that he needed some kind of affirmation that I did indeed absorb everything he said.
Since I was hanging on his every word, bracing for impact, I absolutely did absorb everything he said, if not how it would lead to our inevitable breakup.
Though it stood to reason that he was setting up a soft landing for me, since he was that kind of man. Not that any kind of landing on a surface where Elliot was no longer in my life would be soft.
It was necessary, though, and I could survive difficult, painful things.
I’d cut my feet on the broken glass of a vase in my house after being raped and beaten in order to use the bathroom.
I stitched together my split skin with a dislocated finger.
I could handle a breakup with what might be the nicest man I’d ever encountered.
“Believe me when I say, with all of my heart, that you did not deserve that,” he hissed.
“You are a good person. I know one when I see one. You’re a good person who made bad decisions, and that’s allowed.
” He stroked my face with impossible gentleness.
“You’re allowed to make mistakes, Calliope, and you shouldn’t have to pay in fucking blood when you make them. ”
He rested his forehead against mine as I fought back tears.
There was no point arguing with him. He was very convincing, obviously having convinced himself. And almost me, had I not been bubbling with self-hatred and blame.
“This man … Jasper. ” Leaning back, he spat his name. “He knew about the attack?”
I sucked in a breath that smelled of blood and sweat. “I assume he knew. Maybe not in time to stop it.” I’d often wondered if he had known in plenty of time, if he’d done anything. “But after the fact, he was definitely aware.”
“Yet he didn’t go to you.” Elliot’s nostrils flared, tone clipped. “You were the victim of an unimaginably traumatic assault , and he left you there.”
Elliot was not an angry guy. Nor violent. Up until that moment, I would’ve bet that he was incapable of such emotions. But as we sat there, it coated the air. A violent fury so visceral, it almost changed the shape of his face.
“No, he didn’t,” I agreed.
“And now he’s here, what? Trying to get you back?”
I again calculated what a half-truth might do instead of telling him the full truth. Elliot knew about my involvement with the mob, but he was too distracted with the rape to infer that they might’ve still wanted something from me.
“Yes.” I decided it was best that I make it seem romantic, rather than the entire truth. The truth being the Russian Mob wasn’t done with me. It was better Elliot thought Jasper just wanted his girlfriend back.
“He’s not getting you.” Elliot’s grip on me tightened with his vow. “No way in fuck.”
“No one gets me.” I smiled against the possession in his tone. “I’m not a toy.”
“No, Calliope, you’re not a toy.” Elliot’s eyes cleared. “You’re a fucking treasure.”
His words hit me harder than that punch in the face did, but I schooled my expression, my body sagging under the crash of adrenaline from the night, from telling Elliot all I’d ever tell him.
Elliot noted this, being as physically close as he was. “Go get ready for bed.” he kissed my head. “I’ll tidy up here. Meet you there.”
“You still want me in your bed?” I blinked at him. “After everything I told you.”
His lips quirked. “Calliope, I will always want you in my bed. You can’t scare me away with parts of your life you think I can’t handle. I’ll handle it all. Now go to fucking bed.”
Again, I didn’t argue with him. I was too tired. Too greedy for the scant amount of nights I had left with him. I nodded then walked down the hallway to his bedroom.
I memorized every step, every frame on the wall, the contours of the wood beneath my feet. Soon, memories would be all I had left.
ELLIOT
I wasn’t surprised to see the man skulking in the shadows when I took the trash out as Calliope got ready for bed.
I wasn’t surprised because at the restaurant, I’d immediately clocked his intense, possessive gaze on Calliope.
I knew then that his seemingly easy retreat was not going to be that simple.
Before I’d known the truth of how despicable the man was, I’d realized that he was going to be a thorn in my side.
That somehow, he had caused pain to Calliope, and that he intended on causing more because of the want I saw blazing in his eyes.
I also wasn’t surprised because I’d installed security cameras after the shooting, when Calliope started spending every night at my house, even staying on the nights I was out on the boat. Her safety was my top priority.