Chapter 6
Woodrow—present day
Ishot up in the bed, sheets pooling around my legs.
The cotton covers stuck to my thighs. Thanks a lot, sweat.
I was choking on air, my fingers clawing at the pain each painful gulp caused.
My heavy breathing hurt my throat and my prodding didn’t help, either.
My heavy-handedness softened, and I massaged away the pain with shaky fingers.
I looked over to the woman at my side. The diamond ring on her dainty finger told me she was a wife now.
She was frozen in position, through shame and embarrassment, her lips still open from her mumbling to herself while I slept. She faced nothing but fresh air, and she listened to the vacant presence as if it could respond.
“It’s nice. . . I love it, Woodrow. You always know how to make me feel better. I love that about you.”
Her eyes were red, her cheeks highlighted by tearstains. The light glow given by her new e-reader—with its light blaring up, as it rested on her stomach, screen facing the ceiling—showed me every detail of her face.
She was dressed in a white t-shirt that was definitely mine. As I fingered the material, she twisted her head to mine, hearing my internal questioning of her garment.
“I didn’t think you’d mind.” Her hands moved to the Kindle, her attention following behind. Her face didn’t hide the annoyance she felt, reminding me how she didn’t like her daydreams interrupted.
“I don’t. What are you reading?” I turned to her, facing her completely.
“I don’t remember the name. Something about a woman abducted while on holiday with her boyfriend.
” She knew the title. She just had no interest in talking further with me.
The tiredness creeping over her body hadn’t allowed her to notice that I’d woken up as someone else. . . as the person she’d asked for.
Too bad, because I wanted to talk. I needed it. I needed my mind off the nightmare that had ripped me from my peaceful sleep.
“How far into it are you?” I asked, my aching muscles twitching. I slowly blinked, once, twice, three times, four. . . and when I opened my eyes, I was a different person. . . again.
Woody
“Is it a good story or a scary one?” my high-pitched voice caused me pain.
“I’m over halfway. It’s not scary, but it’s. . . it’s something.” She lifted the e-reader back to her face. . . dismissing me and the conversation.
“I’m hurting, Jolie.” I was so hurt. Hurt, from my throat and the pain it continued to cause, and hurt from her lack of compassion for me.
Her eyes scanned the distance between us. I saw that as an invitation to move closer. My fingers touched her, embracing a loose hug as I lay back down, heart still racing, breaths still struggling to climb past the blockage in my throat.
I expected her to care. She always did before.
“Are you mad at me?” I whispered, trying to ignite a little sympathy. “I still don’t know what I did to make you hate me so much.”
My eyes looked up through long dark lashes, my head angled lower than hers. An offer of respect.
“I don’t know what you want from me. Why bring me here? We hate each other. Why force a marriage on me?”
“We can’t be married, silly! And I don’t hate you, I love you. You’re my favorite person ever! If I was going to marry anyone, I would want it to be you!” All my innocence came out in that very true statement, hand in hand, with all the love I genuinely felt.
I found my eyes glancing at my arm that was snuggly wrapped around her. My fingers lifted from her body, spreading in the air. The band of white gold on my ring finger suddenly felt heavier as I stared at its new place of residency.
I twirled my hand, eyes locked on the jewelry, with no memory of it being slid onto my finger.
“Are we really married?”
Her eyes squinted, taking in my words and expression. “Yes, Hell. You insisted.”
“I’m not him. I’m Woody. Don’t you remember me?” My voice heightened, words slipping through my lips in a squeak. “Is that why you don’t care?”
Struggling to see her in the dark, I focused on the arch of her raised eyebrows.
“The boys behind bars were mean to Woodrow. To us. They called us pretty boy. They put their fingers in dirty places. I told the guard, and he protected us. He let us sleep in a different cell. We were safe.”
“We?”
“Woodrow, Hell,” I whispered that name, fearing he’d hear it and float to the surface to suffocate me, so he could take my place.
I continued, “...and me. After the guard helped us, we went to a new place. There was a nice lady there. I miss her. She was really nice to me. She gave Woodrow pills and told him they’d help us all.
They sent me to sleep. I didn’t feel the pain anymore, and I didn’t hear Woodrow getting upset anymore.
” I looked up at Jolie with a smile. “I think he’s stopped taking them.
. . but I don’t know why.” My arm moved back to her waist, and I pulled us together, and she let me.
But she winced, crouching her body to the place of her pain.
I leaned over her, careful not to cause her more pain, more discomfort, and I turned on the bedside lamp.
That was when I saw it.
A small red stain was spreading slowly beneath the white tee.
I pulled back the material and sat up in the bed. I stared down at the injury that had been bathed and covered with some sort of gauze.
“How did you do that?” I asked, my eyes sparkling with the kind of empathy no one but she ever had for me.
She took a moment, breathing in through her nose. Her face becoming a mirror image of mine, harboring the same emotions of fear and anxiety. “Don’t worry, I’m fine. It was an accident.”
A gentle smile appeared on her lips. It felt forced. False. . . but it was all she was offering right now. I clutched it with both hands, and I wrapped myself around her.
“I missed you, Jolie. I missed you, so much.” I squeezed her a little tighter, nowhere near where she was hurting. I wrapped her in love, and prayed to God above that it would heal her.
That he would heal her if I couldn’t.
Her stomach rumbled, telling me that she hadn’t eaten before bed.
“Are you hungry?”
“A little.” She twisted, placing the e-reader on the bedside table before turning back to me. “Are you?”
“Woodrow might have money. . . he’s usually got cash in his pockets. Don’t tell him, but that’s often how I buy sweets.” I laughed.
“Woody?”
“Hm-mm?”
“Woody. . .” she said again. “Not Woodrow. Not Hell.”
“They’re asleep.”
She shook her head, tears dropping down her round cheeks. “Is Woodrow trying to punish me for something? For leaving?”
“No. . . he loves you. You’re his favorite person too!”
“And what about Hell?”
I went rigid around her. “Don’t say his name so loud.”
“Why does he hate me?” Her fingers brushed my skin, a delicate touch drawing circles on my arm.
“He hates everyone. . . except Woodrow.”
“Why does Hell hate me?” this time, Jolie whispered it, too. It brought me comfort knowing she’d rather have me here than him.
“I told you, he hates everyone. He’s very angry.” My small voice whispered the next part. “I’m scared of him, too.”
“Can you shut him down? Keep him out?”
“No. He’s stronger than me. And, sometimes, I need him. He protects us. . . like a daddy, I guess.”
“Daddies aren’t meant to be scary.”
“Mine was,” I told her words she already knew to be true. And then I closed my eyes. The gentle rumble of her hungry stomach singing me to sleep like a lullaby.
“I’m tired. I wasn’t ready to be awake. If you want to take his money for food, I won’t tell him.”
She nodded, her head bobbing slowly frizzed her hair against the pillow. Its thickness—still parted to cover her face—hadn’t moved.
“Why do you hide your pretty face?” I asked as I yawned, sleep welcoming me back.
“Don’t you remember what happened? I’m not pretty anymore.”
“No. . . you’re not.” I smiled, my facial muscles struggling under the strain of tiredness. “You’re beautiful now. Goodnight, Jolie. Promise me you won’t run. He’ll catch you.”
“I won’t run.” Her eyes spoke a different story, but I chose to believe her mouth, praying Hell would do the same.
“Good. I’m not ready to miss you again. I love you.”
“Goodnight, Woody.”
“Can I have a kiss goodnight?” I pulled the blanket back over me, ready to warm myself after the chill of her rejection.
I didn’t think she’d give me a kiss, but I got the greatest surprise, feeling the softness of her full lips touch upon the top of my head.
Her fingers held her hair, keeping it close to her face until she turned off the nightlight and faded into the darkness.
Hell
The sun was lighting up the sky. It felt like only seconds since Vegas closed its eyes to the hustle and bustle that barely slept.
Noise filtered through the thin walls. The sound of happiness beyond the hotel room door drifted into my sleep and put me in a rotten fucking mood before I’d even opened my eyes.
I sat up in bed, wiping the tiredness from my eyes.
The buzzing of an oncoming migraine reminded me of how much I’d drunk at our unofficial wedding reception while I gambled away more money than I should have risked.
Luckily, luck was on my side.
But that was the only thing at my side.
My eyes brushed the room; Jolie was gone. Nowhere in sight. The bathroom door was wide open. A mirror on the wall, placed at a great angle, allowed me to see no one was in the room.
The watch I’d placed on my bedside table told me it was only five-thirty-five. Its second-hand waving at me as it went around and around.
My eyes moved to the door, my legs to the edge of the bed.
I placed my feet against the carpet. My toes enjoying the softness between them as they took my weight.
No wonder I could hear so much of everyone else’s fucking business. The door was open. The escapee still in sight, desperately pressing the elevator button to go down, a million times per minute.
I crept up behind her, walking silently in nothing but my boxer shorts. My unadjusted morning glory peeping over the waistband.