12. Chapter 12
Chapter 12
The sun crept up, light shining in my window as it pushed nighttime away. I had watched every hour pass, the light in my room still on. The furniture in the room had become old news to me.
The pink that taunted me had become boring and lifeless. And I felt the same as my fingers weaved through my hair, tugging out the thicker strands. I played with them for a minute or two before I ditched them to find another.
My stomach rumbled, and as if it conjured a food-bringing genie into the room, the door swung wide, leaving a dent in the paint. A curse followed, slipping through the thin painted lips of the genie, except she wasn’t a genie but a little old lady, shaking under the weight of a breakfast tray.
I wanted to get out of bed and help her, but I couldn’t. I could only watch as skinny legs brought her closer. I sat up in bed for her to place the tray on my lap, the sheets hiding my modesty.
“Eat up, child. I don’t want you starving to death. You’re too skinny as it is.” She waved her arms, her encouragement looking something like a wounded bird.
“Who are you?”
“Name’s Beatrix. But Trix is fine. Or, Nonna, if you’d prefer.” Her accent was the perfect blend of Italian and American. Of the country where she was born and where she now lives.
“You’re Mercer’s grandmother?” I asked, examining the cannoli she brought for me. Before she could answer, I asked another question. “Is that even his real name?”
“I am, and yes, it is. It was his mother’s maiden name. Beautiful woman. God rest her soul.” She drew a cross in the air, an unknown to me condition making her hands shake. “He has her eyes, you know. The Italian genes didn’t win that round.”
I bit into the cannoli, stopping myself from saying something horrible, like those baby blues were the only thing the creep had going for him. Then, my other feelings reminded me that wasn’t how I really felt.
“I’m leaving tonight,” the old lady told me. “But don’t worry, the boys are harmless, and I’ll be back in three days. While I’m gone, I’ve warned them to stay on their best behavior.”
Harmless? I almost choked on my cannoli. Mercer had done nothing but given me scars. Harmful and painful emotional scars that I would never heal from. The deepest one he gave me last night. Those awful words were still in my mind’s eye, invading my focus on this woman in front of me.
The tear stains on my red face spoke of the hurt he caused me. I didn’t deserve to live, in his eyes, at least, and that hurt because part of me, a small hidden part that my anger tried to hush constantly, still craved a hug from him...because for only a minute, they made everything better.
That was why I’d kissed him in the shower.
But I wouldn’t get a hug from a man who hated me and despised my existence.
I doubted I would get another kiss.
That was a bitter pill to swallow because the worst thing in the world was loving someone who didn’t love you back and not being able to let go. Maybe it would have been easier to let go if I had something—someone—else to hold on to. But I didn’t.
I had nothing.
And for some messed up reason, after such a small amount of time, I did love Mercer, and I could no longer blame that tiny cell for it.
A tear fell, soaking through the last bite of cannoli. “Please, stay.”
Her being here felt safer to me.
“I’m going on a bingo tour.” Trix smiled, excited over her trip.
“Can I come?” I almost begged, mouth full and undignified. I knew nothing about this woman, but I knew enough about her grandson to not feel safe here alone.
“I think the time here will be good for you both.”
I forced the rest of the cannoli into my mouth, washing it down with freshly squeezed orange juice.
“He’s not going to hurt you. I’d kick his ass if he ever put his hands on a woman—”
“Do you know about the cell?”
“I do, and I know you agreed to things under false pretenses, and believe you me, he heard my thoughts about that, too!”
“It won’t be good for me to stay here. He’s already hurt me. He hates me.”
“He doesn’t hate you, honey. The situation is just...complicated. He’s as confused as you are, and I know he’s done some things that haven’t been fair to you. You may have heard me yelling at him for those things this morning.”
I hadn’t heard anything. Nothing but music and the echo of an overly loud food mixer.
“Let me share some advice. Allow a man one mistake. They are stupid creatures, after all. If he learns from it, he’ll be better. If not, cut your losses.”
Surely, she knew I had no losses. No choice in anything that happened here.
“He’s in a dark place, and I know he’s dragged you into it, but you can walk out together or separately. Well, you’ll have to wheel out, but you still get to pick your direction.”
She was making it sound as if I had a choice. Or a wheelchair—I had neither. I would just have to continue to be dragged by Mercer and tossed away when he grew bored, and eventually, he would grow bored. He had hinted at that so many times.
I finished my freshly squeezed orange juice, the juicy bits still on my tongue when I devoured the second cannoli. I wiped the crumbs from my lips before thanking Beatrix and saying no more about my situation.
She took the hint, understanding that I wasn’t in the mood for company, and she collected my tray, hobbling away. At my door, she turned back and said, “It was nice to meet you, Feebee. Remember what I told you. And don’t take no shit from that boy while I’m gone.”
I wasn’t hungry that evening, and I didn't get any food with Beatrix out of the house. But I got bored. Bored of watching the clock arrows move and listening to the annoying ticktock they traveled with.
I hated that fucking sound.
After a full twelve hours, my naked body dropped from the bed with a thud. Darkness was outside again, welcoming creatures of the night. Barn owls and their prey made sounds beyond my window. Some were pretty melodies, others, screams of terror.
That was why I threw myself from the bed, needing something else to listen to, and a TV remote taunted me in the distance, promising the music channels would be much better if I just retrieved it.
The soft carpet cushioned the fall as I landed awkwardly on my wrist. I dragged myself a mere inch when the door swung wide, hitting that same part of the wall, the pink paint chipping again.
“What the fuck are you doing?” the robotic voice I hoped to forget barreled loudly through my room and made me twitch in my skin, my soul trying to escape because my body couldn’t.
I didn’t look for the speaker.
“Mind your own fucking business,” I spat, taking Trix’s advice, lacing my tone in venom, and refusing to take his shit. I glared at the doorway; my eyes filled with anger. I was close to hissing at him.
He stepped inside my room, tainting the bright colors with his dark aura.
“I hate you,” I lied.
He didn’t care, looking neither amused nor displeased.
I turned away, carpet fibers parting beneath me as I heaved my naked body to the other side of the room to a giant TV and its remote, desperate to drown out the sound of wildlife murders outside.
But I never got there.
Mercer’s legs brought him quickly toward me, which brought envy rushing up my throat. If only my legs worked, I could kick, I could run.
Cruel fingers grabbed my ankle, tugging me back. My hand was up, ready to slap him in his face, but it just made it easier for him to grip my pained wrist and swing me onto the bed. I bounced, almost falling off the other side. I stared at the remote, promising myself I would get it once he left, the pain in my joint already forgotten.
“Is that what you want?” the voice questioned.
He walked toward it in ten simple steps. Don’t ask me why I counted them, but I did. In my defense, I had nothing else to do, that is, until I was shielding myself from the hard black plastic that would have broken my nose if I had raised my arms a second later.
The lack of a fractured bone allowed steam to burst from my nostrils. I glared at him, praying looks could kill, then praying they couldn’t.
Damn this fucking man.
He sent another message from the small keypad in his hands to the speakers, and they delivered it. “I don’t want to hear any more from you.”
I almost felt sorry for him. He had a weakness, too, and the look on his face, hidden beneath all the agitation I caused, told me he hated that. Hated that he had no voice.
He headed for the door, his ass looking too good in his gym shorts. His naked back looked just as hot, with the sweat glistening between his shoulder blades.
I cursed myself for thinking such things, turning away with tears in my eyes. Because while I lusted over him, he was wishing I was dead. Wishing for another woman to breathe the air he believed I was stealing. For this heart in my chest to pump her blood. Blood that would heat under his touch, just like mine did.
I felt sick. Another tear rolled down my cheek as the door clicked shut. The back of my hand wiped it away. How I had any tears left to cry was beyond me.
But at least I waited until he left the room to do it.
I fingered the button to turn on the TV, needing a distraction from the noise in my head and the arguments between one animal and another still going on.
Happy smiles filled the screen as a home video portraying love started playing. Long blonde waves blowing in the breeze of early autumn. She ran through leaves, chased by love...by the man who gifted that emotion with his whole heart. By Mercer.
My heart cracked, and pain shot through my chest. I rubbed it away and turned the channel to another recording...another season. Winter. Snow fell from above, and a large pond iced over. She skated, her forward spin, perfect, her hair, face, and smile, all perfect. She didn’t deserve to die...
And watching her, I started to feel like Mercer was right. I didn’t deserve to live.