Chapter 5
Chapter Five
FALLON
T he weight is heavy, pulling me under. No matter how hard I fight, I can’t break free. I open my mouth to scream, but nothing comes out, not even air. I gasp, shooting up. My surroundings are unfamiliar. Panic begins to set in.
“Hey.” Warm hands cup my face. I grab them and try to pull them away. I kick and slap, my feet tangled in something heavy, but oxygen fills my lungs. I blink, trying to see through the darkness, light slowly bleeding in, but I don’t stop hitting. “You’re safe.”
Safe.
The word pierces through the panic, and my vision begins to clear. Shadowy familiar eyes come into focus, reminding me where I am.
“Rich,” I whisper before flinging myself at him, my legs still trapped, but he pulls the blanket free, scooping me into his arms.
“I got you.” His hand runs up and down my back, trying to soothe me. My heart pounds in my chest, threatening to break free. “Breathe for me, doll face.” He starts to rock back and forth to calm me. I bury my face in his neck, breathing him in. The smell of him is so calming. It shouldn’t be. I don’t know this man, but he has this effect on me. Somehow I trust him more than I’ve ever trusted any other male in my life, and that’s saying a lot for the short amount of time I’ve known him.
“There you go,” he whispers, his voice gruff. “Just match your breaths with mine.” Rich keeps running one hand up and down my back, still rocking with me in his lap. I’m not sure how long we’re like that, but everything inside me starts to calm. “You said my name.” I swear I can hear a smile in his voice. I want to look, but embarrassment starts to settle in as everything starts to come back, the dream of drowning and being pulled under the water.
Oh God. I hit him in my moment of panic. My hands have a slight ache to them. I’ve never hit anything in my life. I jerk back to stare at him, and I see a reddening scratch mark on his face. I touch it, a small gasp leaving me.
“It’s okay.” He takes my hand and kisses the tip of my finger. I jerk it back from his hold. “Sorry.” Why is he saying sorry? I hurt him, after all. My eyes start to sting with tears. “Oh shit, no. Please, don’t cry.” Rich’s eyes grow wide.
A knock sounds at his door before it starts to open. I bury my face back into his neck. “I heard a scream,” a soft voice says.
“I think she had a nightmare, but now she’s about to cry.” Rich sounds panicked.
“What happened to your face?” the woman asks.
“I’m sorry!” I burst into tears. “I didn’t mean to.”
“Don’t cry. Jesus. Please,” Rich says. I keep my face pressed to his neck.
“You can’t order her not to cry. Not really how that works, Rich,” the woman says.
“I don’t know what to do.”
“I think you’re okay. She’s wrapped around you like a koala bear.”
“I’m sorry,” I mutter again.
“Dollface, there is nothing to be sorry for.” He starts running his hand up and down my back.
“I think I should go. Leaving this tray over here,” I hear the woman say before the door closes again. I relax a fraction.
“I’ll lock the door so people can’t just walk in. I have a nosy family that wants to be helpful,” Rich tells me.
“I’m sorry.” I can’t stop apologizing.
“Babe.” He lets out a sigh. “Nothing to be sorry for.”
“I hit you.” It hurts me to even say it. I vowed that I would never hurt a hair on anyone’s head. Not with the way I was treated growing up. Well, maybe my father would be the exception to that rule.
“You’re not the first and won’t be the last.”
“What?” I lift my head.
“There you are.” Rich’s lips turn up into a smile. “You’re talking to me. You can hit me a few more times if it keeps you talking.” I shake my head no. “I’m teasing, dollface.”
“Who hits you?” I ask. The man is a giant. I can’t picture anyone hitting him, not if they want to live.
“I do cage fighting sometimes.” I have no clue what that means. “Doesn't matter. I’m fine. How are you feeling?” I shrug. “You got a name?” I shrug again, not sure if I should give it out. “Not going to tell anyone, but I can stick with calling you dollface for now if you’re more comfortable with that. Until I gain more of your trust.”
“I don’t want them to find me.”
“Them? So more than one.” I nod. “Are you sure you don’t need a doctor? I can get a private one. We have connections.” His eyes soften at the edges, and I can see he really is concerned for my well-being.
“I’m okay.” This is the best I’ve been since I can remember. While this situation may be scary, I remind myself that I got away. For now. I’m not taking a second of it for granted, not knowing how long it will last.
“Okay, Teddy brought food. You think you could eat for me?”
“Eat for you?” I tilt my head, wondering why he worded it in such a way.
“If you eat it, it will make me feel better, that I’m at least taking care of you.”
“Oh.” I stare into his eyes. He’s too good to be true.
“You don’t have to.” He stands up, running his hand through his short hair. “But I really want you to.” Rich seems flustered. “Here, let me show you.” He walks over to the round table sitting in front of a window with thick curtains drawn closed.
It is then that I really take notice of the room I’m in. I'm uncertain if the term "room" accurately describes the space. It’s more like a loft or suite. One area even features a sofa and a couple of chairs near a fireplace with a TV hanging above it.
“Teddy is a talented cook.” Rich sets the tray down on the bed in front of me. My stomach growls when I see the wide variety of food on it. There is soup, grilled cheese, grapes, crackers, and a piece of chocolate cake. “I’m not the worst cook, but I didn’t want to leave you alone.”
I lick my lips, staring at the food. I so badly want to eat, but an old fear rides me hard. My father would often drug my food. That’s how he’d gotten me onto the boat. He hadn’t fed me for a few days, and then I got a bowl of soup. I remember taking a few bites, and the next thing I knew, I was waking up on the boat being told I was getting married.
“I know you’re hungry.”
“They used to drug my food,” I whisper, feeling a sense of shame. Rich goes completely still, like a statue at my admission.
“They fucking drugged you?” Each of his words is laced with a fire that instantly has me shifting backwards, hitting the headboard. “Dollface.” Rich puts his hand out with his palm up. "I'm not angry with you. Shit, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“I don’t think you scare me.”
“I’m sorry, babe. I'm just pissed that anyone would do that to you. You hide drugs in an animal's food. Not a human being.” Rich picks up the bowl of soup, taking a couple of bites before moving on and sampling each item. He even takes sips of the two drinks.
I reach out and grab the sandwich, bringing it to my mouth to take a bite. The taste explodes on my tongue. Days without eating more than a couple sips of soup rush over me. It's not until I take the last bite of the cake that I realize I cleared everything on the tray. Rich is sitting on the bed in front of me. The tray is between us. Heat blooms in my cheeks.
"That was rude," I say.
"Nah, it was perfect, dollface." He smiles, clearing the tray out. "You want more?"
"No, I'm good." Part of me wants to say yes even though I'm full, not knowing when I might get food again.
“How about I have some snacks brought up? You can keep them over here so you can get to them anytime you’d like.” Is this man inside my head?
“You don’t have to do all that. You’ve already done so much.”
“Consider it done.” I don’t push because I do want the snacks, and I also think Rich will still have them brought up either way. “Now, how about a bath or shower? My sister brought a bag of clothes she thought you might need.” He grabs it off the chair, bringing it over to me.
“I kind of like the sweater I’m already wearing,” I admit. Rich smiles.
I don’t want to give up the comfort his sweater has brought me. I know it’s stupid, but it’s kind of like a security blanket to me now.
“You can keep it, and I’ve got plenty more.” He motions toward a door that I’m guessing is the closet. I peek inside the bag to see panties along with some sweats. “I’ll get you more stuff, but she had this on hand and said it’s new.”
“I can’t take her stuff.”
“Babe, it’s fine. Don’t stress about the money. It’s a non-issue.” He waves his hand around. I can see that they are wealthy, maybe more so than my father.
“It’s not only the money.”
“No expectations. I get that shit. My father would use money to try to control me. I won’t do that to you.”
“You don’t like him. Your father?”
“He’s dead, and the world is a better place for that.” Oh wow, we might have more in common than I thought.
“My father isn’t a good man.”
“That so?” I nod. “Noted.”
How can one simple word sound so deadly?