by F. G. Adams
My hand goes to the scars on my belly. My body trembles uncontrollably as the memory awakens.
“Hey, there. Now, now, baby. What’s wrong?”
I want to hide. Explain to him my fear. Run away from the suffering. Each time I try to voice my pain, I’m stifled by the onslaught of emotions attacking me from all sides.
“Shh, baby. You’ve gotta stop cryin’. C’mon, you’re breakin’ my heart,” he says while soothingly wiping tears from my wet cheeks.
Years of pent-up misery from suffering in silence wrenches free. Where before there was only a small drip in the sliver of a crack in my mind’s concrete prison walls, a flood of emotions is set loose. Instantly collapsing the barrier containing the horror of that night, setting it free. All of it. Every single achingly brutal second of those one hundred forty-three minutes.
“He…he hurt me,” I finally sob. “Punished me for her.”
“Breathe, Fallyn. You sure ya wanna finish? Take your time.”
I shake my head, contradicting him. “Can’t…don’t want to wait. Once I close the crack again, I never want to unseal it. The damage is done. I just want to let it go.”
“You’re not makin’ much sense, Fallyn. We can—”
“He had me for one hundred forty-three minutes.”
“What was…”
“Ask me how I know the time.”
“Huh? Time?”
“Not because I wore a watch. Nope. The only way I was able to keep my sanity was by watching the second hand on a rusty, old mantle clock. Tick tock. Tick tock. I counted them until my mind succumbed to the darkness. The next time I woke, I was in my grandma’s arms.”
I gulp hard as hot tears slip down my cheeks.
“Matilda? She’s the one who found you?”
“Don’t know. Didn’t ask. She just took care of me. I recuperated in a private wing at the hospital for a couple of weeks. She told everyone I was with her. Nobody even questioned why. Not even my sisters.”
“Recuperated from…”
“His punishment.”
“What the fuck are you sayin’? Son of a bitch. He punished you for what? Tell me, Fallyn. Right now. I gotta know.”
I wilt at the anger radiating from his spoken words. He notices and is immediately contrite.
“Baby, I’m just angry he hurt you. Trust me. I will never hurt you. You gotta believe that. I feel for you, Fallyn. You do somethin’ to me that I thought died a long, long time ago.”
“I…I believe you.”
“Go on. You’ve set a path, and I can tell you aren’t gonna change direction. Get it all out.”
“He was waiting for me. Our normal spot on the ranch, except he forced me to leave. We…we hadn’t left. I woke up…”
“Take your time, Fallyn.”
“I woke up tied to a bed in some cabin. I’d never been there before. I searched for it after and couldn’t find it. All I remember is what happened inside. He told me about my grandma’s past and how she was supposed to marry Milo.”
“Milo Cabricci? His father?”
“Yeah, but she met my grandfather and fell in love. Love at first sight. Romantic, right? She told me she just knew she wouldn’t be happy married to Milo. So, she left the day she was supposed to marry him.”
“Fuck me. You don’t leave the Cabricci family waitin’ at the altar and not expect there to be hell to pay. What was she thinkin’?”
“She would start fresh, have a new life on the other side of the continent. For the most part, her dream came true…until Roman. I should have known. Every time I invited him to my grandma’s, something came up and he couldn’t go.”
“She would have recognized him.”
“Yeppers. Didn’t happen, though.”
“Oh, God! You were their revenge on Matilda!” he angrily shouts.
“Yes. I am the revenge. I will pay for her sins until I die,” I reply in a throaty voice clogged with emotion.
“Oh, my brave little vixen, I promise you he won’t ever touch you again. I will protect you.”
“Yeah, I know you will, but who’s going to protect you, Oliver?”
Life is full of hard choices and demands. You can become lost in the tangled webs if you’re not careful. I choose to leave the past behind me and not allow its control over me to shadow my forward steps.
20
Oliver
I learned a long time ago I should wear the tragedies that have happened in my life as armor, not as shackles. But up until recently, I didn’t fully understand what that meant.
Can the secret to happiness be freedom?
At the same time, can the secret to that freedom be courage?
The moon flickers through the large window of the loft, which produces a fractured rainbow of cascading light in the area. The soft, muted color casting a glow around a very sated, very relaxed Fallyn.
I’m inspired by her courage. By telling her secret, it’s as if the burden she’s had to carry all these years has been lightened. Our burden to share, weight I’m willing to carry on my shoulders.
The result of everything Fallyn’s informed me of tonight has me worked up. Agitation and irritation blur my vision, and my hands tremble. I’m seeing red, and I want to punch something. Someone. If I could get my hands on Roman Cabricci right now, I’d kill him. Slowly. Painfully. No regrets or remorse.
As I slide out of the bed, Fallyn’s delicate outstretched hand summons me not to leave.
“Where are you going?”
Leaning down, I kiss her plump, soft lips.
“I’m gonna run us a hot bath. Yeah? And get us somethin’ to drink. I’ll be right back, Vixen. Won’t be long.”
Reluctantly releasing her, I step away, leaving Fallyn in bed. My posture is rigid and forlorn. It’s important to take some time to regroup from the murderous images playing in my mind.
Walking into the bathroom, I start the water in the tub at a slow, steady trickle. I toss in a few drops of vanilla oil for Fallyn. Taking the stairs two at a time, I advance in search of something to drink.
Rummaging through the cabinets in the kitchen, I finally find what I’m looking for. A bottle of aged whiskey.
I’m not one to normally partake in liquid fire. My dad educated me with real-life knowledge when I was a kid to be very leery of the stuff. He would drink himself into a stupor, then find my mom or me. Sometimes we’d get away, sometimes he’d catch us. In the end, the beating he’d give was horrific. That’s putting it mildly, because I’ve seen some pretty bad shit in my life.
Listening to Fallyn’s story from her childhood dislodged some unwanted memories of my own. So, tonight, beer just won’t cut it. I’m in need of some liquid courage to quench the ache within. The painful reminder of pain and abuse for me and the war Fallyn has overcome.
My finger runs along the scar behind my left ear. The aged, bubbled-up flesh about an inch in length, puckered and furrowed. It’s a stark reminder of the last time I ever laid eyes on my dad. The last beating he would ever give anyone in my presence.
I grab a glass from the upper cabinet and pour. My first gulp of the honey-colored liquid burns going down. I cough, trying to clear my throat from the sting, until it settles in my gut. I tighten my shaking hands into a fist and then loosen them, trying to calm the rage building inside. All the while, the last encounter with my dad unwillingly plays out.
“Where the hell are you, kid. Come out, come out wherever you are,” my dad’s wicked voice echoed through the paper-thin walls.
I’d hidden behind my football and baseball bags inside the hall closet. It was the first place I could run to when I heard the shattering of the glass bottle against the wall. Followed by a screeching whimper and a thud. My mom. He’d hurt her again.
“You know I’ll find you, boy. Come out and take it like a man.”
Dad came home from the bar he frequented, like every night after work. But tonight was different. His ranting expressed fury and hate, venom spewing from him. Som
ething had happened, and he was pissed off more than usual.
When his car pulled up in the drive, I heard my mom on the phone. She was panicked, begging whoever was on the other end to hurry.
Feeling around in the darkness, my hand came up with my baseball bat. I gripped the handle, sure and true. I must check on my mom. Make sure she’s alright. Defend her if I need to. I was a twelve-year-old boy with the weight of my father’s nightly drunken rage on my shoulders.
The sad part…when Dad was sober, he was the greatest dad in the whole world. He would take me to my games. Whatever sport I was playing at the time, he was involved. We’d throw the ball after school, laugh and play.
Why did he change? Why did he drink so much?
I’d asked myself time and again. But I was just a kid. The fact was, life shouldn’t be so hard. A dad should take care of his family, not abuse and misuse us.
My mind made up, I exited the hall closet, bat to my back. I tiptoed as quietly as I could down the hallway. The creaking sound triggered by my uneven steps on the floor joists of the old wood floor gave away my whereabouts. I cringed from the sound. I scanned up and down the hall, wondering if I’d been caught. Yet no one appeared.
I continued down the long hallway, unaware of what was coming. Before I knew what was happening, I was punched from behind with a sharp object, right behind my left ear. My head bounced off the wall as blackness took me under.
I found out later that my mom’s brother, Uncle Oscar, showed up and carried me to the hospital. The laceration required ten stitches.
Still not sure about what went down to this day, neither one will discuss it in my company. I haven’t seen my dad since that night. I’ve tried to locate him over the years, only to come up empty. Not sure what happened to him, but he’s been out of the picture all these years.
Shaking my head briskly from side to side, I wait for the gruesome daymare to vanish. My hands have steadied a little as I brush them through my hair, around my tense neck, and down my scruffy jaw.
The sharing time with Fallyn and the remembrance of my dad churns out a tingling in my scalp. Quivering knots in my stomach further increase my torment.
Once more, I grasp hold of the liquored glass and place it to my lips. The second chug of whiskey gushes into my mouth, tickling down my throat as I swallow. The burn is still present, but it’s smooth and my muddled brain is settling. I finish off the last bit in the glass. Then I place the bottle back into the cabinet, because I might give in to the temptation and consume more than I need.
I grab a bottle of wine from the fridge, two glasses, along with a bottle of water, and return to the loft.
Fallyn is no longer in the bed. My eyes search the area to find her. My chaotic nerves ratchet up when I can’t locate her. Until she comes into view. Standing in front of the window, her hands clutched tightly around her waist, hugging her naked body. Gazing out over the moonlit mountains, she’s lost in thought.
A vision of perfection. My goddess, worthy of my worship.
For a moment, my legs are dead weight, immobile. I’m unable to advance. The beauty this woman represents seizes my attention on a primal level. Stirring my insides and igniting a fire which only she can quench.
Not wanting to startle her again, I call out, “Fallyn.”
She turns around slowly. Her lips part unconsciously when our eyes connect as she begins to move in my direction. She’s a fantasy of agility and sexual grace. Her chin held high, breasts pushed out, with her hands by her hips, she elegantly takes one step at a time.
As she shifts closer, Fallyn oozes a confident woman who understands what she wants, what she needs. A lioness who’s found her prey. Grrrr.
“Fuck, Vixen. You’re so fuckin’ beautiful.”
When she reaches me, I haul her into my arms, and she enters willingly. Fallyn’s slight against my larger frame, reminding me of how fragile she is. The moment her body touches mine, my world is righted once again. Our own perfect bubble created by the special bond we’ve forged.
“I missed you, Ollie,” her raspy voice whispers against my chest.
“Missed you, too. How ‘bout that bath?”
Bending down, I scoop Fallyn up behind the legs, cradling her in my arms, and carry her into the bathroom. I don’t want to waste another minute of our time together, because every moment with Fallyn appeases the emptiness I’ve held close inside since I lost Taylor.
Placing one foot in at a time, I settle us down into the steaming, soothing water of the extra-large Jacuzzi tub. Her narrow back nestles against my broad chest, and I turn on the jets. The water rolls and boils up as vanilla-scented bubbles permeate the air.
Skin-to-skin contact and Fallyn’s sighs of pleasure from the silky flow of the jets spur my dick to pulse, aching for her touch. Yet neither one of us reacts.
I pour us both a glass of wine, striving to alleviate the hunger in my cock instead of losing myself of being a gentleman. A small pardon from the madness is just what the doctor ordered.
We unwind in the frothy bath, silence reigning, sipping the wine, and enjoying the quiet company as the water swirls around.
I scrub Fallyn’s scarred abdomen with the sponge. She’s pliable in my arms. Her relaxed posture grants me a small reprieve from her earlier confessions.
Eventually, Fallyn breaks the tranquility.
“A penny for your thoughts, cowboy.”
What can I tell her? This beautiful and damaged woman has me hooked. The hunger for her has escalated to giant proportions. While coincidentally dispatching an urgency and longing for Fallyn like I need my next breath. She’s become my lifeline.
That would scare her, send her packing for sure. Until she knows the truth about everything, about Taylor. I can't share.
“Just so damn grateful to be here, with you, right now,” I mutter with the conviction of a starving man.
I angle my head down, my mouth in search of her neck, peppering feather kisses. Fallyn’s slender neck falls to the side yet leans into every caress. Our bodies in sync.
“Wanna share everything, Fallyn. Let ya in on everything goin’ on in my head. But let’s save that for another day,” I warily state. “We’ve had enough secrets for tonight. Yeah?”
“M’kay,” a groggy Fallyn replies, her voice full of resignation, and she softens more into my touch.
“Good. Relax, baby. Let me take care of you,” I add, kissing the sweet spot behind her ear, sucking her lobe into my mouth.
The faint sounds of satisfaction emanating from Fallyn bounce off the walls around the room.
She continues, “It’s amazing, really. I stopped looking for my knight in shining armor all those years ago. I’ve never believed in fairy tales like Harper does. Roman took those away from me.” She pauses. “And then you walked into Ray’s Diner.”
Her words cause a flutter in my chest. My heart pounds erratically. When I slide us down into the tub a little further, her head stops at my pecs and she inhales deep breaths. Fallyn’s tiny body quivers as she attempts to control her emotions. Her eyes gather moisture, and I wipe away the would-be tears.
“Hey. Enough of that, Fallyn. You’re safe. You’ll always be safe with me. Believe it.”
“The funny thing is, I feel safe, Oliver. With you. Here. I never want this feeling to end.”
Fallyn’s unshed tears begin to fall.
“Shhh. It’s okay, lil’ Vixen. I’ve gotcha.”
One more moment of truth. One more echo of a life I lived in the past. A past we both need to let go.
This is where my future is. Fallyn Blackwood is mine.
I pull her small body up out of the water, her silky legs straddling instinctively around my waist, and I hold Fallyn close. Caressing her body with each stoke of the sponge along her skin. Scrubbing all the bad memories away, replacing them with good ones. Memories that include me.
Fallyn’s breathing becomes soft; a normal harmony beats tenderly inside my ears. I glance down and notice her e
yes are closed, muscles slack, and limbs loose. The flush on her checks and slightly parted lips communicate she’s relaxed, at ease. The final call from the sandman, compounded by the situational fatigue, has drawn my sleepy little vixen in to a peaceful slumber.
Reaching over, I turn off the jets. The bath water is chilly, the heat fading. A warmth radiates along my chest and arms from the luscious body sprawled on top of me. My jaw clinches, but I ignore the discomfort of the hard surface pressing against my back.
My mouth dries up and my throat grows cotton thick as I watch Fallyn sleep. The dirty-blond roots of her natural color peeking through at her scalp is a good sign. Like her real hazel eyes, the real Fallyn is coming to the surface, waiting to break out.
Step by step, Fallyn will discover who she used to be.
Little by little, she can be free.
Her courage is my strength. Fallyn’s courage is her freedom, our freedom together.
21
Fallyn
Some of us choose to live in a dream world, some of us face reality head-on, and then there are those unique individuals who combine the best of both worlds—creating a world of beauty and wonder.
Oliver has done that for me, fused the best of both and laid them at my feet. The last few days have been perfect. My personal dream world hidden in the Ozark Mountains.
If someone had told me a month ago all I needed was Oliver Bishop to cure my emotional scars, I would have laughed in their face and told them they had some kind of nerve.
On the other hand, knowing what I know now, I would have to agree. I’m still concerned about what Roman will do. Even so, I’m lighter and happier than I’ve ever been.
The sound of “Man, I feel like a Woman” filters softly through the speakers above. I concentrate on the blank canvas in front of me, waiting for a spark of inspiration. I sway back and forth trying to find the exact color I’m searching for. This is my third attempt at a portrait of Oliver.
“You’re the ‘pea’ in my nut, lil Vixen,” Oliver shouts from the hallway.
