Saving Her

by B E Brouillard

  Desirée drew in a deep, shuddering breath. She stared at her brother, who dropped his eyes to the table in front of him. She glanced around the rest of the guests, who seemed frozen in silence. Even Jules was speechless.

  “Mom…I don’t know what Ben told you about that time—”

  “Desirée, I—” Ben began, but his sister’s expression stopped him.

  Jules’s grip on Desirée’s fingers had become painful. She yanked her hand away, not bothering to look at him. He reached for a bottle of scotch near Ben and poured himself a healthy shot. “Another day in paradise,” he muttered, offering the bottle to Brian across the table. The older man gave a stiff smile and shook his head. Desirée’s cheeks were pink with fury now.

  “I was hoping that today would be a peaceful day with family…that I would have a chance to find my feet after all that has happened, but I realize that I would be foolish to ever expect that was possible here. So, I’ll dive right in and set the record straight. Ben was never around when Dad’s friends were there. He wasn’t even out of kindergarten yet. I told him about those men. I told him about the things they did to me. The things my father did to me. If he’s told you otherwise, he’s lying. If you’ve spent the past years trying to make up for what you think happened to him, then your energy has been wasted. He was manipulating you. And I wouldn’t be surprised if there was money involved.” Her mother stared at her, then turned to Ben.

  “Ben,” she began, “she’s at it again, isn’t she? More stories?” For a moment, Desirée’s brother had the good grace to remain silent, then he straightened his shoulders.

  “I don’t know what she’s talking about, Ma,” he said, shrugging. Marlene turned a triumphant look at her daughter.

  “Exactly as I expected, Desirée. Another one of your attention-seeking devices. You should be—” She got no further. Her daughter had risen from her seat so sharply that her chair flew back and would have fallen if Jules hadn’t grabbed it. Without skipping a beat, Desirée turned to the Laceys, giving a small smile to each of them.

  “My apologies, Cathy…Brian, I didn’t mean to…” she glanced at her mother and brother, “to ruin your day. I hope you’ll excuse me.” She reached for her napkin, wiped her lips – though she’d barely eaten enough to warrant the gesture – and turned from the table. She couldn’t be bothered to say goodbye to Jules. She’d already said all she needed to say to him.

  ◆◆◆

  Desirée was sure she burned a path of sheer rage from the dining room to the bags she’d left in the hallway earlier. This was not her home. Not a place she wanted to stay. She had to get out of here.

  “Desirée!” she heard her mother calling from the table. Her mother was hushed by her brother, who, no doubt, needed to control the situation before someone asked him to answer some tough questions. Though, if Desirée was honest with herself, there were few there who really cared about the truth. Cathy and Brian were too polite to delve deeper. Jules was just a dick…he couldn’t care less that her brother had convinced their mother that her years of childhood abuse had been meted out to him and not her. And Ben was never going to admit that he’d lied about it all. It was highly likely that the financial support Marlene had provided him had been based on the guilt she’d felt of not looking after her little boy. Truth be told, she was so smitten with him, she’d probably find a way to make his lies seem justifiable. Desirée reached for her bag and slung it over her shoulder, yanking the front door open.

  Out in the road in front of her mother’s house, an engine rumbled, low and menacing.

  ‘Harley,’ Desirée told herself. Though not much of a motorcycle enthusiast, she could still recognize that sound anywhere. And she knew, with absolute certainty, why it was there.

  The owner of the bike was leaning against it casually. The casual stance was just a façade, and she could see through it. Something about him bristled an angry energy; perhaps it was the tall, lean, power of him. Perhaps it was the fact that she knew he wasn’t human. Suddenly, she was thrilled he knew how to find her without having to be told. She didn’t care where he’d come from, how he’d got there, or where they were going. Desirée walked towards him as if dragged by a magnetic field. As she drew nearer, he reached up his hands and tugged off his helmet. Turquoise eyes stared intently back at her. She kept walking, unable to stop herself. Not wanting to stop herself. He reached out his hand, and she took it.

  “Desirée!” her mother’s voice trilled from the entrance to the house. “Desirée, what are you doing? Who is this man, and where do you think you’re going?” Desirée looked back, mulling over a reply. And then he did it for her.

  “She’s coming with me,” Axel’s voice cut through the air, strong and deep. “You are not good people. I will not let her remain with you. It’s not healthy.” Her mother stuttered a response. Desirée heard the words ‘stupid girl’ and ‘ungrateful’ but disregarded them. “Desirée, if you leave now, don’t think you’ll ever be welcome back here!” She disregarded that too.

  “Be quiet, woman,” Axel’s voice was low and menacing. Her mother was too flabbergasted to snap back. Instead, she watched, speechless, as Axel mounted the motor and then held Desirée’s hand as he helped her onto the back of the bike. He glanced back at her, raised the helmet in his hands, and eased it onto her head.

  “I think you need this more than I do,” he murmured; she nodded and gave a taut smile beneath the visor. “All ready?” he asked. She nodded again. Without another word, he reached for the handlebars, gunned the engine, and they shot off into the dark of the night.

  Chapter 11

  “Do you have a place to go?” Axel asked. They’d traveled for what felt like miles, and Desirée had lost her bearings. The murky little bar they’d stopped at seemed familiar to him. He’d guided her into the dark interior, and they’d found a seat in a quiet corner.

  “I…” She shook her head, trying to think clearly. “I think I can call Di. My friend, Diana. She’ll help.”

  He nodded silently, waiting as she made a call.

  “Di,” she began, stopping as her voice broke.

  “Des?” her friend’s voice was filled with concern. “I heard about…what happened. Oh, my friend… Are you ok?”

  “I…I’m pretty shaken up, Di,” Desirée admitted. “I just had the most horrible fight with my family.” She bit back a sob. “Di, I know you’re out of town—”

  “Of course I am, hon, or I would have been with you right now! I’ve been trying to reach you since I got the news. What can I do to help?” Di asked.

  “I’m leaving Jules, and I need a place to hole up,” Desirée murmured. “It won’t be for long – just until I can find my feet. I can’t stay with my mom…it’s complicated. I need to get a new place, move my stuff—”

  “Absolutely, of course!” Di interrupted. “You can stay at my place. I’m away until the end of the month, but you can make yourself at home, and if you need longer, we can be roomies.” Desirée could hear the smile in Di’s voice and couldn’t help smiling back. Axel’s expression seemed to lighten as he watched her. She exchanged some details and made arrangements to collect a key from a neighbor and then ended the call. She heaved a shuddering sigh, feeling relief surge.

  “And? All clear?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Desirée replied. “Could you take me there now?” He answered with a simple nod. “I need time to myself. Can you take me there and leave me for a while?” He hesitated, then nodded again. Minutes later, they were back on the bike and heading onto the highway.

  ◆◆◆

  Days later, Desirée was still trying to make sense of her emotions. She’d taken time off work – which Mr. Brixton was happy to accommodate, considering her circumstances.

  “My dear, you are long overdue for a rest anyway,” he assured her. “And if there’s anything you need, anything at all, just call me. Alright?” His voice was so warm and kind she almost regretted not being at the office with him to work thro
ugh this. But another part of her knew she needed time to recover. She desperately wanted solitude.

  At the same time, she wasn’t accustomed to being so isolated. Although Jules had left her alone for long stretches, there’d always been a sense of having a place to go, something to do. Now there was just Diana’s beautiful, silent apartment, the photos on the walls of all the glorious places she’d traveled. The fullness of her life that was such a stark contrast to Desirée’s own. Now her choices seemed to have been so foolish. So hollow. A dead-end relationship. A job that seemed to have so little importance to the people in her life. The baby who would have been in her world in just a few short months…

  She was curled up on the couch, warm from stepping out of the shower. Wrapped in a soft robe, her wet hair piled on her head. “Stop it!” she moaned to herself, biting back a sob. “You’ll make yourself crazy.” The half-empty bottle of wine she’d left on the table the night before drew her eye. She filled the red-stained glass beside it and drank deeply, feeling the gentle warmth in her limbs.

  It was hard. The thoughts drumming in her head were hard. The feelings were harder. The feelings created by those drumming cursed thoughts. They drove her to distraction. Created an echoing drumming in her heart that wasn’t in tune with the beat that belonged there. She had to make the beat feel normal.

  She had to tune out the drumming.

  Force the feelings into a place they belonged.

  They didn’t belong in her heart. Yet they refused to dissipate, threatened to run rampant, wanted to babble out of her mouth like vitriol.

  Her phone rang for the thousandth time since she’d moved into the small flat. It wasn’t Di, who called daily to check on her, was planning to cut her trip short to be with her. This time the name on the screen would show the same caller for the tenth time that day. She knew it was Jules. Knew the voicemail would be cajoling. And then, belligerent. Knew the messages would follow the call. First sweet words, and then ugliness. How useless she was. Pathetic. Unlovable. He could find a dozen better women who would want him more.

  'Bitch! It’s a good thing you lost that baby. You’d fuck it up as much as you’re fucked up.'

  The text message was followed by an image. It was their bedroom, and there was a naked woman sprawled across her bed. Lying on the linen she and Jules had picked out when they’d first moved in. Desirée took in a sharp breath. He’d started early today. Gone straight for the throat. She threw the phone across the room.

  “Fuck,” she whispered, “fuck, fuck, fuck! No.” She shook her head. That’s not what good girls did. Good girls didn’t let their feelings flow like poison spewing from a faucet. Didn’t let the world know it had caused harm. Didn’t let anyone around them know things were bad. She’d already seen how that turned out when she tried to speak to her mother.

  “I can’t do this,” she breathed, finishing her glass, refilling it. “I can’t feel this way. I can’t… My head is going to explode. My heart…” She drained the glass again, then stared at it, feeling her fingers tightening around it. Tighter still. Until the fragile crystal shattered between her fingers, shards falling onto her lap. A sharp piece had gashed her thumb, and she watched the blood ooze from the wound, then put her thumb into her mouth, sucking on the iron tang. The sting of it offered a welcome distraction from the sensation in her chest.

  “It’s the feelings,” she whispered, “I don’t know what to do with the feelings. They’re going to burst my heart.” For a moment, clarity descended. It wasn’t a new realization, just one she’d tried to keep at bay. But now, she felt an old compulsion return. The feelings had to be channeled. Had to be given an outlet to leave her body. Quietly, where nobody could hear, could see the poison. Had to seep out silently in her blood.

  She reached tentatively for a large shard of glass, then touched the sharp point to the soft skin of her thigh and dug in. It dented the flesh, prodded deeper. A pinprick of pink emerged, became darker, redder, as it formed a droplet. She pressed harder, dragged the tip down in that little pathway in her skin. The droplets followed the path of the glass, and she watched, fascinated as the poison ran out. A soft breath eased from parted lips as she released a sigh. Eyelids fluttered shut as she raked the glass further, catharsis settling in. It burned. Stung. But the tears that trailed were not from pain. It was relief.

  She took in a deep, shuddering breath and raised the glass again. Took it to a spot beside the start of the first deep groove and pushed the tip in again. She watched it this time. Watched it cut through her flesh, watched the blood well, and then run down her thigh. Another deep breath shuddered. Another track cut into her skin. The furrows resembled the slashes of an angry animal’s claws, but she didn’t care. It was the only way she knew how to release the venom. With the outpouring of blood and pain, came calm, peace. She dropped her head back and closed her eyes and sank into the feeling of finally being free.

  “What are you doing?”

  The voice snapped her out of her reverie, her pain-induced state of euphoria.

  “What—?” Her eyes flashed up and met his. So intensely blue, they almost looked black. “I don’t…”

  “Stop.” Those eyes bore into hers. Froze her. His hand covered hers. Peeled her fingers from the shard of glass, pried it from her – gently…so gently, she didn’t even consider resistance. “You don’t need this.”

  “Yes,” she groaned. “Yes, I do. It’s the only thing that works. I’m evil. I have to let it out.” Her brow furrowed as she rubbed a thumb down her scoured flesh, pressed against the exposed nerve-endings there. Grated at them. The fresh lacerations crisscrossed the pale lines of old scars. Other times she’d rid herself of ‘poison’.

  He stilled her hand. His own fingers were strong, they burned her. There was something strangely comforting about those firm, dry fingertips.

  “Don’t do this. There is nothing evil about you. You are…damaging yourself.” His words were halting, as if he didn’t understand what was happening but sensed that this ran deeper than simply telling her to stop.

  “I need to.” Her voice was hoarse. “It’s the only way…” She trembled to a halt.

  “The only way?” he asked, headed tilted quizzically.

  “The only way to release…the poison,” she whispered.

  “Ah,” he responded, as if it all made sense suddenly. He tipped a finger under her chin, eyes locked with hers. “I understand.”

  And she knew that he did. Knew it without asking how he understood. She sat motionless as he cupped her cheek, then bent down until his head rested where her fingertips had been. His lips brushed the ruined flesh of her thigh and pressed gently, then more firmly. Kissed the senseless wounds she’d made, kissed the pain away. She watched, eyes wide as the skin healed miraculously beneath his lips.

  She took a deep, quivering breath and released it, not bothering to stifle the sob that burst out. Nor the next. And then she was crying, her chest heaving as great gusts of misery swelled her lungs and then billowed out. She reached for his head, where it hovered over her thigh, ran her fingers into his thick, caramel hair. Marveled at how silky it was. He turned his face and gazed up at her.

  “There is no poison in you,” he said. “You’re hurting. Let it out.” He sat up, gathered her into his arms, and let her weep.

  ◆◆◆

  Desirée lost track of the hours she wept. She didn’t know she had such vast reserves of tears. But eventually, they ran dry, and her sobs became more shallow until she simply curled against his chest and breathed deeply. Axel had sat, unmoving the entire time. If anything could have convinced her he wasn’t human, this would be it. She took another deep breath, the first that hadn’t left her body shuddering in its wake. She felt his hand on her hair, stroking gently. She leaned back and looked up at him. His face could have been carved from stone. There was no judgment there, no pity either.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  She frowned as she thought about her answe
r. “Better,” she said softly. Almost surprised to find that it was true. She felt better. She couldn’t remember when she’d felt this light. As if she had been unburdened, had dropped an intolerably heavy weight from her heart. They were still seated on the couch where he’d found her all those hours earlier. The cushions of the seat were downy beneath her. She was suddenly aware of how good they felt. She took another breath and smiled, there was a slight hint of fragrance in the air – one of Di’s many room scents, a blend of essential oils. Axel lifted his hands and cupped her face, lifting her head and gazing into her eyes. His lips were so close she could feel the warmth from them, wanted to melt into them.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, those lips brushing hers now. She swallowed hard, and then his mouth was on hers, his palms still warm against her face. She flattened her palms against his chest, then curled her fingers into his shirt. Wanted it off, to feel his bare skin. He leaned back and tugged his t-shirt over his head. Of course he knew that was what she’d wanted, but she didn’t pause to give it thought, simply pressed her lips to his chest, dotting kisses over his skin, along his collarbone, up his neck. He tipped his head back and let her trail her lips up the column of his throat to his chin. She had to stop herself from nipping at him, devouring him. Her own chest was heaving as she pressed him back against the couch and draped herself over him. He didn’t resist, just let her explore him…her newfound territory. When she dragged her lips down his torso towards the waistband of his pants, he twined his fingers into her hair, groaning as she fumbled with the buttons of his jeans.