Chapter 17 #2
In visceral panic my hands claw at the door and when I feel the guy’s presence loom over me, that numbness I wanted to use to forget, rears its ugly head.
No. No. No.
His touch is soft at first as he takes my disabled body in his arms, pulling me against him, but then his touch turns harsh. His fingers dig into my skin beneath my dress.
My feet dangle off the bed as he shoves me on my back, and my head lolls to the side. He plants demanding kisses on my neck and on my shoulders, feeling me up in places that bring back those horrible vivid memories.
I had fought then. I had fought back the first time, the second, and even the third, but by the time the fourth one came, my body had given up and the fight in me died.
There was no use. Maybe it was the same for this too.
But even with my will screaming inside me, I can’t move. My limbs are trapped like prisoners.
His entire body looms over top of mine now as he runs his hand up my leg, under my dress. A tear falls down my cheek.
Giving up seems like the only choice anymore. So here I am, giving up.
Sounds of any kind are muffled but I’m sure of the loud bang that echoes off the walls just now. The door splinters in half from being forced open and the man who was viciously trapping me underneath him is gone.
There’s movement. A body. Two bodies. And one of them is… Hush. He’s throwing punch after punch to my attacker’s face as he straddles him.
My throat is raw and dry as I try to call his name. Try to call out for him to stop before he kills the bastard.
With every single fiber of my being I can muster, I manage to yell to him and just like that, Hush pauses midair with his arm cocked and ready to land another blow.
Still holding position, he turns my way, with his chest heaving but he stands with the darkest shadows of rage I’ve ever seen.
In a blink, he’s cupping my face leaning over me. There’s a swirling scent of metal from his bleeding knuckles.
He’s saying something but it’s muffled like I’m underwater. Then I’m being lifted from the bed and into a set of warm arms.
Hush carries me down the steps I was previously forced up, and then into the crowd, to the front exit.
One of the members of his MC stands by the street and when he sees us, Hush tosses something in the air, the other guy catching it with ease. I listen to his heartbeat and begin to close my eyes but popping them back open in a panic.
“Lydia.” My mouth is so dry, like sandpaper and I’m not even sure if he hears me.
“She’s safe.”
Thank God.
Hush climbs into the back seat of the SUV, Lydia sleeping with her head against the window.
I stay lying in his lap, his arms enclosing around me. Someone’s driving but I can’t make out who. My vision is off—blurry still.
“Can you walk?”
We must have made it back to my apartment or wherever because the car isn’t moving, which I hadn’t noticed until now as Hush whispers down to me.
“Maybe.” I’m not sure myself.
He says something to the driver who now, getting a better look, is Bullet, their Vice President.
I’m being shuffled off Hush’s lap, his strong arms steadying me once again as he tucks me to his side helping me inside my building. There’s an invisible weight on my shoulders, creating the false idea I’m heavier than my buck thirty.
“Thanks for…” I stumble on my own feet, clearly unable to walk like a normal person.
Hush doesn’t say a word as he keeps an arm around me, helping me up the stairs. I don’t ask how he knows where my apartment is, nor do I even care now. I only crave to shut my eyes.
Searching for my keys in my crossbody purse is a struggle and the infuriating anger hits me like a brick when I let out a frustrated grunt.
“Let me see.” He reaches around with his other hand, grabbing them at first try, brushing my skin along the way.
My head is a mess, and the building won’t stop moving. “Fuckers spiked my drink, didn’t they?” I manage to say in realization, a dryness in my words from the drug.
“Yeah,” he says in gritted teeth as he closes and locks the door behind us. “You need to throw it up.”
Humiliation runs through me, knowing he’s about to witness me puking my guts out.
He helps me to the bathroom, the cold tile beneath my knees as I kneel in front of the toilet.
“Do you need help?” His question would have moved me if I wasn’t so angry at myself.
“I know there’s not much left, but I’d like to hold on to some of my remaining dignity.”
He nods, giving me the privacy I seek, and then I force myself to throw up, emptying my stomach into the bowl.
My life is a joke.
I slowly make my way to my bedroom, clinging to the walls for support. Hush waiting for me as he leans against it, watching me with a hint of venom behind his scowl. He can’t possibly be angry at me. Although, I should have taken his warning and left with Lydia. It is my fault.
“I’m going to change,” I tell him, swaying to my drawers to pull out sleep pants and a shirt which was lot harder than I thought.
He leaves the room as I try for my zipper in the back. A simple task being ten times harder with a date rape drug in my system.
“Fuck.” My teeth grind in frustration. I should’ve never gone out tonight.
I stand in the doorway, my pathetic body frozen in helplessness as Hush is already moving toward me. “I need your help.” The quiet, shameful tone in my voice is all he needs as a sign to play hero again. “I can’t get the stupid zipper.” Whoever designed this dress needs to be fired.
At my back, the heat from Hush’s body encloses mine, but it’s hesitation and apprehension I sense most. He’s afraid to touch me though he has before, but not like this. This is intimate.
Just as I’m about to turn around, telling him I’ll just sleep in this fucking thing so he can avoid any uncomfortableness, a feather like touch grazes my skin before disappearing over the material.
With a swallow, I keep my dress tightly against my chest, so it won’t fall to the floor.
“Thank you,” I say, spinning around catching the quick glance he casts down at my visible scar.
Thanks to my dress now loose, the engraving to one of the worst memories rears its ugliness to the world. And sometimes I dig at my skin wishing I had the mental capacity to take a knife and slice it off. The marking would be gone for good, but I’d have to be a masochist to do it.
I don’t miss the flash of empathy on his face.
“Don’t pity me.” I hate the gesture—hate that everyone feels sorry for what had happened to me.
“I don’t pity you. But I would have killed him for you.” His voice sends a chill through me, and I shiver from it. “Get into bed, I’ll bring you some water.”
With my dress still clutched in my grip, I stare at the spot Hush had stood. How do I act after such a declaration? But I shove it away, the feeling of being cared for, wanting to be defended in such a way I can’t remember.
I throw on my night clothes, curling my body inside my bed sheets when Hush comes back, placing the water on the bedside table.
I don’t want him to leave, but I’d never say that to him. Instead, words that I’ve been fighting against venture from my mouth. “I hate myself. Hate who I am.” The confession is bold, but it’s not like I’m in the right mind set anyway.
His body goes rigid, standing at the side of my bed, his back to me. But it’s the way he turns just enough allowing me to see the view of his perfectly, sharp profile. “Why do you say that?” Disgust or disbelief slides out of his tone.
“You were there. You saw how stupid and reckless I was and look where it got me because of it.” My heart picks up at my self-realization. “I just wanted to forget everything for once. Erase it out of my mind even if it was just for one night.”
Hush whirls around, letting me fully see him, and there’s an understanding in his eyes. “This wasn’t your fault.”
I grip the sheets tightly, balling them into my fists for comfort. “Maybe not entirely. But I always have the same ending.”
The tension leaves his shoulders, and he breathes out a deep, heavy sigh. “This isn’t your ending.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No. But I won’t let that happen.”
My gaze holds strong against him and a flutter in my stomach dances uncontrollably.
“You can’t go back to that club, Danika.” He doesn’t have to tell me because I’ve already decided to swear off that environment for good. The old me loved going to clubs, to bars, parties. But the new me… well, I haven’t figured her out just yet.
“Why were you there?” I’m curious but at the same time, incredibly lucky.
“Club business.” That’s all he says, me taking that as a hint not to ask any further questions.
With my hands under my cheek, laying on my soft sheets, I watch as he sits in the chair only a couple feet away. “Forget my ending, what if my life between now and then is this?”
He leans forward, elbows resting on his strong thighs. “And what’s that?”
“Someone to be used.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“Is it? Because I’m not so sure anymore.”
“You’re not someone who would give up so easily.”
My eyes burn and not from the drug taking up residence in my blood. “Have you ever thought about giving up?” I don’t know why I’d ask that. But I can’t take it back now even if I do regret it.
There’s a brief pause before he says, “Every day.”
My thoughts spiral, but I can’t fight my eyes closing anymore. And the fact he’s here in my room should leave me on edge, but I’m glad because it gives me a sense of comfort instead.
“Get some sleep.” His voice is the last sound I hear before the world fades away.
Hush
They say, grief affects people differently. But as I stared into Danika’s eyes, I saw myself. Both of us are mourning a loss.
Hers being the woman she once was.
I wanted to tell her everyone changes. We evolve with time as we grow, but hers was a forced evil. One she had zero say in and that really pisses me off. Her will to choose was stripped of her and that wasn’t fair.
I sit, watching her sleep, my body glued to the chair almost like a mental force holding me down.
With her small breaths, and her long lashes resting on the tops of her cheeks she reminds me of her.
But fuck, she always reminds me of Gracie.
They look nothing alike but somehow—someway—she’s the perfect likeness to her.
Gracie was a few inches taller than Danika and her hair a completely different color.
Where Danika has her bright blue eyes, Gracie’s were brown.
But it paralyzes me, making sense as to why I can’t stay away.
The morbid curiosity overtakes me, and it’s far too powerful.
And in a sick way, I felt close to Gracie again.
I flex my right hand, trying to loosen the soreness out of it. The dried blood is still visible over top of my knuckles. I’d have killed that sick fuck if my need to get Danika out of there hadn’t outweighed the urge.
To make sure she’ll be all right, I crouch down, studying her vitals, reaching out to move a strand of fallen hair over her cheek. But as I do, I pause, deciding it’s best not to touch her or satisfy any curiosity I may have. So, I slip out and head back to the clubhouse.