Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
SHAW
I heard Monroe the minute she got out of bed.
As soon as the bathroom door shut, I came straight to the kitchen to throw on a pot of coffee. I didn't know if she'd like it, but I needed the warm brew to wake me up enough to deal with cow shit.
When the shower hadn’t turned on by the time I finished my first cup, I went upstairs to check on her. Her sobbing told me something was wrong. I opened the door quietly, noticing blood splatters in the sink and her on the floor, and had no idea what to think.
Now, holding her in my arms, comforting her as she buries her head further into her knees, I have no fucking idea how to help her. I’ve never dealt with a woman in tears, and it’s like being in foreign territory all over again.
“Monroe, you have to tell me what’s wrong, or I can’t fix it.” She shakes her head. The blood worries me most. “Can you tell me where you’re hurt, at least?”
I feel her hold her breath as silence fills the room before she slowly lifts her head, and I see the lengthy cut down her cheek.
“What the hell happened?” This can’t be anything other than self-harm.
“Nobody will want me if I’m not pretty.” Her tortured whisper renders me speechless.
How the fuck do I respond to that?
“Monroe.” Shit. “We need to get you to a doctor before that scars.” And as the words slip past my lips, I realize that might be exactly what she intended.
“No!” Her emphatic shout confirms my thought. “I don’t want it fixed. I hate perfection. I need to be flawed.”
Her wild eyes worry me more than the scar, and I wonder if she’d do more to hurt herself. I can’t pretend to understand her turmoil, but I do understand the need for change—drastic as it may be.
“Can I clean and bandage it, please?” She agrees, and I stand, pulling her up with me and lifting her onto the counter. Same as last night, only this time, I’m not just cleaning her up; I’m going to try to fix her.
Right now, her vulnerability has convinced her that a scar will make her undesirable; it won’t. And I get the feeling that in a few weeks, months, maybe even years, she might come to regret the decision to mar her face.
“Tell me what’s going on, Monroe.” Unfortunately, this girl won’t speak unless she wants to, and for me to protect her, that’s a problem. “I have to know, so I can keep you safe.”
Her soft blue eyes maintain contact as she asks, “Will you take me to a hairdresser?”
I freeze in place while pulling out butterfly bandages, trying to get a read on what she’s thinking, but come up empty.
“What for?” I ask, but she only shrugs. “Then, no,” is my response. I’m not about to risk some asshole finding her over beauty care. Even if I get the feeling she doesn’t give two shits about that.
Monroe turns her head, and before she lowers her eyes, I notice tears bubbling up again.
I don’t like it. But why? This girl is completely different than what I’m used to, and I don’t have a clue how to take her behavior.
She’s not trying to manipulate me, or she wouldn’t be hiding her feelings from me, but fuck, I think that’s why this is worse.
“You have to let me in, Monroe. You don’t get to just shut down and think I don’t give a shit.” Lifting her chin with a gentle hand, I wish I could make her smile.
I watched her win Miss California this morning, and when she allows herself to smile, the light she emits is impressive, even if it doesn't reach her eyes.
“Is this what you always wanted to do?” she suddenly asks, and I take a moment to think about my answer because, right now, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.
Wiping the remaining blood off her cheek, I gingerly pat it dry with a cloth before responding, “I thought I would be Delta Force till I died.” And I did. Until that mission two years ago.
“What happened?”
“I was injured. Had to have a complete hip replacement.” In all honesty, I might have been able to return in some capacity, but my mindset had changed.
“You were medically discharged?”
I watch Monroe stare at herself in the mirror, at the bandages I applied, and catch her balling her fists. She wants to rip the covering off to admire her scar. It’s a challenge to understand half of what this girl thinks; she’s harder to crack than any man I’ve interrogated in my career.
“I was honorably discharged. I had an epiphany in the hospital and realized what I wanted more than serving my country.”
“What’s that?” She meets my stare in the mirror.
“To come home to my family. I watched my best friend die, leaving behind a wife and two kids. One was a newborn.” I still feel guilty that I returned home, and Trace didn’t. “There is no greater honor than serving this country, but for the first time in my life, I wanted to be selfish.”
“Do you have a family?” I shake my head no. “What’s stopping you?” For someone who doesn’t like answering my personal questions, she sure doesn’t mind asking them.
“Haven’t found the right girl yet.”
“Oh.”
“What about you? What are your plans for the future?” Any light in her eyes disappears as she slips off the counter, pushing me back and avoiding eye contact again.
“Nothing, really.”
I don’t believe her.
“You don’t want a family? A career?” She shrugs in response. I grip her shoulders and notice her flinch, but I don’t let her go either as I turn her to face me. “Tell me.”
“I get the future my mother decides for me.” Her hands lift to clasp my arms as I hold her, and I look at Monroe with fresh eyes.
I see her pain. Her loneliness. Her desire to be more than what she’s been turned into. And it’s then that my attraction kickstarts my heart. Beholding Monroe for the first time, and the way her eyes beg me to give her life.
Leaning forward, I move slowly enough, allowing her time to step away, before placing my lips over hers. I bring her closer, leaving not an inch of space between us, and lick across her plump lips before sucking the bottom one.
She’s inactive at first but quickly gives in to the moment, her fingers tightening on my biceps, and her mouth opening slightly.
I accept the invitation to go deeper, to discover more of her.
She shivers, and I don’t hesitate to lift her shirt the slightest bit, exposing her soft flesh for exploration.
All too quickly, we’re gasping for a breath of air, and for the first time since seeing her photograph, I glimpse a bit of life in her eyes, and her lips quirk up at the sides as she sighs.
“That was nice,” she whispers, leaning her head against my chest. “I’ve never done that before.”
At her confession, my hands freeze while rubbing her back. I would never have guessed that. I figured Monroe was inexperienced, but never being kissed shocks me. In my mind, how could she not have had boys waiting in line to experience even a second of her passion?
“Now you have,” I murmur into her hair. I hope to give her many more firsts after today.