12 Kimber
Rich has questions. I can feel them filling the space between us on the drive back to our cabin, and I escape into the shower after lying that I want to clean up.
We’re supposed to go down to the main pool tonight.
He said something about a primal game but I wasn’t really listening.
My mind is elsewhere. The creeping feeling that I’m going to accidentally ruin this trip by getting lost in my memories brings my mood down. I can’t get my head on straight.
The water doesn’t do enough to erase the headache.
If I use the hot spring just outside our cabin, Rich might join, and I’m not in the right headspace to play or even talk.
I don’t want to get into why I’m not in the mood with him right now.
We’ll end up talking about the memories Jude stirred up, which is something I never talk about, so instead I take an unnecessarily long shower and avoid the world.
Closing my eyes, I just keep seeing the picture Jude showed me. I can hear Jonah in my memory, the moments when he made me question why I was still alive. And if I wanted to be.
“I told you to listen to me!”
Holding up my hands to cover my face, I back up.
It’s a stupid choice; I know I’m not supposed to let myself get backed into anything or take my eyes off someone attacking me.
But he interrupted me while I was showering and I didn’t expect to see him tonight.
I thought the door to my apartment was locked and he’d have to at least wait until I knew he was here to come in.
“Jonah-”
He spun me around so I’m being backed into the bedroom, already having ripped me out of the shower. My skin is clammy and cold in the AC, and there’s still shampoo in my hair. The spot on my arm where he grabbed me is sore. If I turn and dart for the door -
My thoughts scatter as he grabs my hair, pulling me backwards. I stumble as he moves around me, reaching both of my hands up to try and grip my hair beneath his hand and relieve some of the tension when I scream.
I can’t seem to catch my footing, my wet feet unable to find purchase on the bedroom carpet. He drags me up and I follow his hand, anything to relieve the tension of Jonah trying to rip my hair out of my scalp.
When he throws me on the bed I don’t resist, whimpering as I reach back to hold my head. I rock and try to use the momentum to sit up, afraid to have him leering over me.
The slap hits me halfway to sitting up, and I fall back and scramble across the bed with a cry. He growls, and I lift my head, watching him with wild eyes as I struggle to open the side table.
He has no idea what’s there. If I can just get my hands on it -
“I don’t know what I ever saw in you,” Jonah says, tilting his head like he’s disgusted with his decision to date me.
He’s undoing his belt, working the leather out of the loops on his jeans.
“Yes means no, and you completely changed what you’re into.
What’s the point when you don’t fucking listen? ”
Outside the vivid memory someone touches my shoulder, causing me to shriek and jerk backwards. My head snaps into the wall and I wince, my eyes flying open.
I don’t really process what I’m looking at. There’s cold water hitting me on one side, and when I stare right in front of me I imagine Jonah’s big, hulking body.
I never could fight him off. Not by myself, until I took matters into my own hands.
Striking out, I go for whatever looks like it’ll hurt. Eyes, gut, knee to the groin -
“Fuck - Kim! What the hell?”
Two hands manage to grip my wrists, and they slam mine against the wall on either side of me. Panting, I glare up at him, realizing that the details are all wrong.
His hands are smaller. Normal sized because he’s not some hulking, braindead man. When I blink I recognize the violet eyes, and shame hits me. “Rich.”
He nods, and I blink a few more times as the water splashes off my arm. It’s ice cold now, and I can’t imagine how long I’ve been standing in here avoiding him. The severe look on his face softens when he realizes I’ve recognized him, and the tight grip on my wrists loosens significantly.
I’m breathing too fast, the panic edging away but not disappearing. When I study his face in the fluorescent lighting I realize that his pale skin shows a red mark across his cheek.
“Did I hit you?” I ask, hearing the tremble in my voice before the dam breaks. The tears build up, and I can’t stop them when they suddenly spill over. “Oh, I’m so sorry-”
Rich lets go of one of my wrists, tentatively holding up a hand. He keeps it low near his elbow, his eyes imploring me to listen. “Breathe for me. I’m going to just reach over and shut off the water.”
I nod, wincing as the movement worsens my headache. The memory made me forget, and cracking the back of my skull against the tile didn’t help.
He’s watching me carefully, and I absolutely hate it. His eyes trail over me like he’s looking for signs that I might break. I fear we’re already there. “You were screaming.”
I almost wish the icy water was back. My skin turns cold, colder than before at his words, and he frowns deeply as he watches my expression. “I’m sorry-”
“No,” he says immediately, shifting back. He lets go of my other wrist, and for the first time it registers that he’s wearing sweats and a t-shirt like earlier and he’s soaking wet. “Don’t do that. No apologizing for what frightens you. Just help me understand what’s happening.”
Biting my bottom lip to keep it from wobbling, I try to find the words. How does one explain this mess?
As I ponder my words he brings a towel into the shower and wraps it round me, brushing back my short, wet hair. I flinch without meaning to, and he immediately drops his hand and watches me carefully.
His hands flex as I clench the towel, and then he turns and leans against the edge of the glassed-in shower. He could just as easily lean forward and get in my face, but I think he’s trying to give me space without giving up and letting me run out of here. “Was something I did out of line?”
“No,” I say right away. “It’s nothing like that.”
Rich drags his gaze over me once more, and I wonder how haggard I look. Finally he nods and steps back, and the tightness in my chest loosens as I dart out of the shower. Purposefully, I stand closer to the door so Rich isn’t between me and the exit.
He watches me the entire time, like he can pick apart what’s going on in my head.
“I need you to give me something, Kim. Even if it isn’t a whole story, you gotta give me something to work with.
You weren’t asleep; you were stuck in your thoughts.
Reacting to them. Whatever it is, it’s affecting you more than you probably want to admit. ”
I bite back a retort. He’s right, but my pride doesn’t like hearing it. When he breaks it down, it just makes me feel like I’m doing a shitty job hiding my sins.
This is why sleep is my escape. The silence I find in sleep when nightmares stay away is the best form of calm I have. My hands stay clenched around the towel as if I really need to hide myself from Rich after the ways I’ve let him fuck me.
He’s still staring, waiting but not pushing.
If I don’t give him something, he’ll think it’s worse than it is.
He might rescind the idea to go to the main springs and play.
He could change his mind about the whole arrangement, and the weekend is already nearly over. “Um, I cut my hair because of him.”
His violet eyes flash up to peer at my dyed-red hair for a moment. “Who?”
When our gazes meet, I try and beg him with my eyes to not make me say it. But his gaze doesn’t waver, and I swallow back the disdain that rises up when I spit it out. “Jonah.”
~~~
Rich gives me just enough time to do my hair before he’s stalking me around the little cabin, waiting for answers. He changed out of the wet clothes and finger combed his hair. It’s a little messy at the top, but better than mine which is straggly and could use a blow out.
I walk to the mini bar where there’s a decent amount of probably overpriced shots.
No chaser, but it won’t matter. I need something to take the edge off before I divulge anything to him, and at this point it feels like we’re a ticking time bomb.
He’s not going to forget my freak out, and he’s going to start questioning things with my behavior these past weeks if I don’t give him something.
But I hit him when I panicked, and the guilt eats at me as I dig out ten little plastic shot bottles and set them on the counter of the kitchenette. He was trying to help and I struck him.
Like a phantom pain, the old scars on my wrists itch and come to life. I rake my nails down then several times, feeling the old ridges of the cuts before I tear my hand away. I can remember how it used to feel to find relief that way… it was a different version of unhealthy, kind of like drinking.
“Kimber,” Rich says carefully, walking up beside me. He leaves more than an arm’s distance between us, and I worry that I’ve scared him off. “That’s a lot of shots.”
I shrug, breaking the seal on the first one. It’s an amber colored whiskey, and I don’t even look at the label to check the brand. “It gives me courage.”
He reaches out to push the plastic bottles away, and I smack his arm. Gently. It’s nothing compared to the mark on his cheek, and when I spot it a quiet whine builds in my throat. The noise draws all of his attention and he turns to watch me sharply.
I throw back the shot without looking at him, staring down at the counter when I set down the empty bottle. “It was an accident. The police ruled it as such, and the case was dropped.”
He’s quiet for a moment, not even commenting when I reach for the second bottle. I toss that back too, and then he finally finds his voice as he leans over, getting in my way of reaching for the other bottles. “Kim-”
“Your buddy Jude didn’t spill the beans?” I ask sarcastically, snorting.
His eyes narrow. “Jude didn’t tell me shit. What’s going on?”