Chapter 29 #2
I scooped her up, straining my shoulder as I lifted her into my arms. Fresh blood dotted my fingers as I held her. Her weight-loss meant I could easily lift her now, but I missed the way she looked before.
“You came back for me. I knew you would.”
She wrapped her arms around my neck and her good leg around my waist, the other hanging down awkwardly. Her pretty hair was dank with tears and dry blood; it tickled my ear, but I didn't laugh.
“Always. I'll always come for you.”
Her naked stomach rumbled against me, the round curve pushing into my ribs.
Quietly, I pulled out a chair, and I was about to set her down when she held on tighter.
I kept her with me, understanding that she wasn’t ready for even a small separation. I carried her over to the sink so I could wash my hands and make her something to eat before I got her out of here.
“Woodrow?” My name was called down the stairs, making my stomach drop.
The top step floorboard creaked, as my father's ugly feet threatened to descend.
Jolie reeled back in my arms. The deep breaths she was taking sucked the air from the room and from my lungs.
She was panicking, and panicking brought unnecessary noise.
I placed a finger on her lips, and cringed as her nose crinkled under the smell.
My lips pouted, as if I was going to “shh” her, but I didn't. Just in case the monster upstairs had super hearing.
“It's just me,” I spoke loudly but didn't shout. I couldn't. My throat was still in agony. Even talking hurt. “I'm getting a snack. I’ll be right up.”
“Dinner time was hours ago. Your food went to waste. You should have thought about your hunger then.”
“I didn't think I'd be welcome.” More pain came, and Jolie’s fingers beat mine in the race to deliver the massage I needed.
My father laughed, like what I said wasn't completely true. “Be quick. I have something to show you, but I'm getting tired.”
“I'll be up in a few minutes.”
It was a few long seconds where I didn't breathe. And then my father's feet shifted back through the noisy upstairs hallway.
I slowly blinked in relief, slumping back against the refrigerator.
Jolie's broken nails scratched at my skin as her grip on my shoulder became a vice. “Woodrow. . .” for a second, I thought she was in pain, and then she said, “Stay with me. Don’t leave me again.”
I understood now, she mistook the slow blinking for a switch.
“I'm here.” I kept my voice low, as had she.
I held her closer for a second before I continued darting around the kitchen. I told her to hold on while I washed my hands, and she did, remaining wrapped to me as I dried them and moved back to the refrigerator, quickly whipping up something for her to eat.
I put a plated-up sandwich on the table, a glass of chocolate milk at the side.
I lowered Jolie to her feet, testing if she could hold her weight. It was a painful struggle. I clamped my hand over her mouth, silencing her when her agony threatened to launch a scream into the air.
Her toes spread on the cold floor. Her unpainted nails looked nothing like I was used to seeing.
“Sit here.” I helped her into a chair, careful with her strained body.
She settled on the wood, with a look of pain twisting her pretty features.
“What if he comes down? What if—?” Her jaw lowered as I cut her off.
“He won't. I won't let him.” I lifted her chin with two fingers. “Trust me, he’ll never touch you again.”
She nodded, her eyes staying on mine for a second less than I wanted.
“I'll get you some clothes.”
“Can I just wear this?” Her hand closed, tugging the hem of my baggy t-shirt.
“I can get you a clean shirt. Some sweats.”
I wanted her to wear something clean, but she didn't want to be naked for a second longer. Her lip trembled, and I wasn't sure if it was from the cold she felt or some deep embedded fear.
With her hand still scrunching up the material, she said, “It smells like you. Like freedom. Can I please wear this?”
She didn't need to ask me again, stretching the neck, I pulled the tee over my head, and for the second time today, I gave what I was wearing to one of my girls.
“Arms up.”
Jolie did as I asked, revealing a trail of fading bruises beneath both arms, where she'd no doubt been dragged around by my father. My nostrils flared, the hate I felt traveling down them fast and furious.
I lifted her hair, enjoying the second I felt it between my fingertips because it reminded me of a simpler time. Of us, and the late nights in each other’s arms, protecting each other from nightmares that chased us.
But they'd finally caught up, and our strength was depleted.
I dressed her, pulling my t-shirt down to her thighs, where it barely covered her intimate area. The blood, still between her legs, ignited a rage inside me, and I was louder than I meant to be when I called my father the most offensive term I could think of.
“I'm sorry,” I immediately apologized to Jolie for my lack of respect towards her ears. “Come up with me; let me clean you up?" It was probably the stupidest idea I ever had, and I knew that upon asking.
I was never expecting her to consider it.
She looked out to the hallway, those ears I'd possibly offended, listening carefully for any noise upstairs.
I knew my father well. He'd fall asleep before I'd climb the stairs. He was on the vodka tonight. The smell was already on his breath this afternoon. He was drinking the cheap kind, because that’s all that was left in this house, and that always knocked him out quickly.
I spared a glance to the solo bottle top he'd left on the counter.
When I turned back, Jolie was taking her second bite of her sandwich, her shaking hands capturing the crumbs as they fell from her lips.
“I won't be able to climb the stairs; I’ll take too long. But I don't want to be down here by myself.”
“I can carry you. My father will drop off quickly,” I said, not feeling like I could retract my offer.
She pondered for a second, then another, and then she nodded. “I need a real bath, or a shower will do. Are you sure he’ll be asleep?”
I blinked twice. I quietly pulled out another chair to sit in, giving her the time to finish off her sandwich, her stomach rumbling throughout. When she was done, she chugged at the chocolate milk.
“Do you need more?”
She shook her head and hiccupped. Embarrassment pinked her hollow cheeks.
I left the mess on the table and told Jolie not to worry about it. I turned and bent in front of her, tapping my back for her to get on.
I was careful with her knee, as she was my swollen throat.
Her hands landed on my chest, fingers pressing in until she felt my heartbeat.
She rubbed at my chest, massaging the pain I felt that could never be taken away.
But I silently thanked her for trying, pulling her hand to my mouth and placing a soft kiss on her swollen knuckles.
I walked us through the hallway, darkness trailing behind as I turned out the lights. I stopped at the bottom step, my foot testing the creaky floorboard with the weight of Jolie on my back.
“I'm scared.” Her whisper crept up my neck.
“I'd die before letting him hurt you.”
“I don't want that.” She held me tighter.
“He's asleep, trust me.”
She nodded, her hair tickling my ears more than ever. I pulled away because I was in no mood for laughing, and I continued moving up the stairs.
The upstairs corridor felt like a mile long, and even with nothing to worry about, I tried to rush through it.
I didn't stop at my room, moving quickly away from my parents’ door on the opposite side, all the way to the bathroom, which was, unfortunately, the last fucking door.
There was no sound up here, nothing but the light snore that my mother always refused to believe was her. I didn’t stop to wait for the louder snort coming from my father's blocked nose, that always interrupted her sleep.
I turned the bathroom lock the second we stepped inside.
Jolie took off my tee, hanging it on the rail next to the towel she'd be using.
She limped towards the shower, while I internally scolded myself for still appreciating the curve of her ass.
I undressed myself and assisted her over the small step into the shower.
Standing naked, with nothing on our bodies but each other's hands, we helped each other wash, keeping the water pressure slow and quiet.
I didn't tell her why I had mud up to my elbows, and she didn't ask as her fingers weaved through the water, helping to lift it from my skin.
I reached for my mother's special moisturizers, the kind I wasn't meant to touch. And I ignored her whiny voice as it played in my head, by squeezing a healthy dollop into my palm. I massaged Jolie's back, mindful of the heaviness on her bruises.
Washing between her legs, ridding her skin of the blood that stained her, made me feel ill. And I could feel the anger taking over me. . . and something. . . someone else.
Her fingers dug into my shoulders, careful to avoid my scar, supporting herself, as she struggled with the excess standing time.
I finished cleaning her and placed a kiss on the inside of her thigh before standing.
Her arms wrapped around me when we were both clean. . . and I held tight, but I still slipped away.
Hell
My arms were bound around her, my fingers roaming over her back.
I kept them there, exploring her, and I enjoyed the feel.
Enjoyed that she was mine. Mine. And only my hands should fucking touch her.
I couldn’t remember causing any of these new bruises, and something niggling in the back of my mind—Woodrow—told me, I hadn't.
“Hell?” The question of who I was came through the sound of the raining shower. . . just barely.
How did she know? I quizzed myself. It must have been something more than my stiffening body.
“Woodrow!” His name shot through the house. Jolie's eyes widened at the sound of impatience in my father's tone.
She reeled back in my arms, the only part of her touching me now was her protruding stomach.
I wanted to touch, but something told me the baby was gone. And I already knew how empty felt. . . and I didn't fucking like it.
She stared up at me, the name ringing out again. A tear fell from her sad eyes. She didn’t anticipate my help.
But that didn’t mean I wouldn’t give it.
I tucked her hair behind her ear, revealing her hidden eye and the tears traveling through the crevices on her face.
“I'm not supposed to be up here. Woodrow brought me. We were supposed to leave together.”
I heard her real message, of how scared she was of my father, and how he wasn't meant to know of her plan.
And I was about to tell her he wouldn’t find anything out from me, when he called again.