We All Fall Down (Of Love and Madness Book 2)

by Karen Cimms

  Stunned, she sucked in a lungful of air. Billy had never raised a hand to her, let alone struck her. The shock hurt more than the blow itself.

  Adrenaline pumped through her veins, and she struggled harder. “You have lost your fucking mind!”

  Billy raised his hand again. Time stopped. His fingers curled into a fist. The noise from the street fell away, leaving behind only the sound of her blood rushing through her veins, and the rhythmic thump of her own heart. His arm cocked back slowly, as if the air had grown thick.

  He was going to hit her. Again. Given his size and strength, he would hurt more than her pride this time.

  In that second, their eyes locked. In his she saw a flash of recognition, one single moment of clarity, as if he understood what he’d just done and what he was about to do. Time sped up again, his fist dropped, and the density that had swallowed them disappeared.

  “Don’t you hit me,” he growled. “Don’t you ever fucking hit me.”

  Panting as if he’d run a long distance, he stared down at her, his chest heaving. Gently, he threaded his fingers through her hair, then lowered his face over hers. His kiss was softer. Tender, even. As if he himself didn’t know what the hell he was doing.

  “It’s been too long, baby,” he murmured, his lips brushing her ear.

  When her nightgown got in his way, he tore it in two. His mouth found her breasts, sucking and kneading them. At one point he bit her, hard enough, she was sure, to have broken the skin. A scream rose in her throat, but he covered her mouth with his own. He kissed her face and her throat, all the while mumbling words that made no sense.

  She wanted to strike out against him, to kick and scream. But she didn’t. She wasn’t strong enough to fight him, so she stopped trying. And screaming would bring Devin. Then what? No. She couldn’t do that. She would endure whatever happened. But tomorrow? Tomorrow he would put his ass in rehab or else.

  “Hold me!” he demanded. “Put your fuckin’ arms around me, and hold me like you mean it.”

  His grip on her hair tightened and he pulled until she thought he would wrench it from its roots.

  “Stop it! You’re hurting me.”

  He eased up, but only a little. Kate wound her arms around him. Taut, hard muscles rippled beneath her fingers. She could feel each vertebra, every rib. His skin was slick, wet. Sweat dripped onto her.

  His rambling became more incoherent, and although it would have been wise to just give in and let him do what he wanted, knowing he wasn’t in his right mind, her instinct and outrage won out when he dropped to the ground between her thighs. Without thinking, she pulled her leg up and kicked her foot hard against his shoulder. With barely a grunt at her assault, he flipped her over effortlessly and slapped her ass. Then he began to massage it, as if this were all some kind of normal sex play. He ran his tongue over the burn, then bit her again.

  She balled up the sheets and blankets and screamed into the mattress. As frightened as she was for herself, she was more afraid to wake Devin. No longer able to control the tears, she sobbed into the bedding. It was as if he didn’t even hear her.

  When he had done all the surface damage he could manage, and more emotional damage than she could gauge, he dragged her onto the floor, pushed her knees apart, and forced himself inside her. His body was hot where it touched hers, and he was sweating so much that she was as wet as he was.

  It couldn’t have been worse if a stranger had dragged her into a dark alley. Though that meant she could have been lying in the street or even dead by now, either alternative might have been preferable to being attacked by the man she loved.

  But it was what happened next that cut her to her very core.

  Billy’s face was outlined by the ghostly blue-gray light coming from outside the window. He grabbed her by her hair and tilted her face until their eyes locked.

  “There’re plenty of woman I wouldn’t have to force to do what you’re doing right now. There’s a regular parade of pussy at my fingertips.” He pulled her so close she could feel his words on her face. “Fuck. I could’ve had Christa on her knees again today if I wanted.” He glared down at her. “All these years I felt guilty, while you’re carrying on under my nose like I’m some kinda fucking moron.”

  A knife through her heart would have been kinder. The pain and humiliation of what he’d done to her was nothing. All that mattered were his words: on her knees again.

  Nausea gripped her.

  On her knees. Again.

  The words that destroyed her seemed to have strengthened him. With renewed vigor, he took her roughly, pounding hard against her hips until he eventually cried out and collapsed in a massive, wet, panting heap, pinning her to the floor. After a few minutes, he lifted his head. His eyes, dark and wild, found hers.

  “You’re mine, Katie,” he growled. “Don’t you ever forget it.”

  Hours may have passed. It was hard to tell. Kate lay still, her heart shredded, torn from her chest. She’d been ready to make excuses for him, convinced he’d taken some drug he wasn’t used to. But his confession? That hurt worse than anything he could have done. There were no excuses to make for that. Tears trailed from her eyes into her ears. She couldn’t even raise her arms to wipe them away.

  Billy groaned. His body shifted, and when she was certain he had passed out, she shimmied out from under him. A web of pain spread over her lower back and her hips. Her groin ached, and her legs seemed unable to support her. If she could just get to Joey’s room . . . And if Billy came looking for her, she would call the police.

  After separating her robe from the tangled sheets, Kate gingerly stepped out into the apartment. Except for the light from nearby buildings, it was dark, and thankfully, the door to the roof was closed. Devin wouldn’t have heard anything. She crossed the apartment as quietly as she could, each step an agonizing reminder of what Billy had done to her.

  By the time she reached Joey’s room, her body was shaking. She locked the door. She wanted nothing more than to collapse on the floor, but if she did, she might never get up again. She gripped the doorknob for support as her eyes swept the immaculate, tastefully decorated space. More than anywhere else in the apartment, this was where she felt Joey’s presence the most. She’d avoided it since he’d died, other than to pick out the clothes to bury him in, but she let it wrap around her now. A safe haven. It was as if he were there, protecting her.

  She choked back a sob. That she would need protecting from Billy crushed her. Yet here she was.

  Gathering what little strength she had left, she made a mental blueprint of the marks he might have left on her, to minimize the shock when she turned on the light. She pushed off the door as if she needed the momentum to move, slipped into Joey’s bathroom, and with an attempt at a deep, calming breath, she flipped on the light.

  What she saw stole that breath away.

  Her cheeks, neck, and shoulders were scarlet and raw-looking from the stubble on his face, and her lower lip was split and bleeding. When she ran a shaky hand through her hair, long pieces came out between her fingers.

  Facing the full-length mirrors, she dropped her robe. Ugly red and purple bruises covered her body. Marks were already forming on the underside of her arm where Billy’s fingers had dug into her flesh. Teeth marks marred her left breast, shoulder, and inner thighs. A handprint was still visible across her backside.

  Who was this woman staring back at her, and who had done this to her? She knew the truth, but she couldn’t grasp the reality of it. How was this even possible?

  Kate stared at her reflection and cried. She cried so hard, and with such great, racking sobs, she had to bury her face in a towel so she wouldn’t wake Devin—or, God forbid, Billy. When she felt she could bear it, she stepped into the shower, allowing the water to nearly scald her as she scrubbed at the marks Billy had left upon her flesh, marks that would fade eventually.

  But the way he’d shredded her heart?

  That would be permanent.

 
Billy woke sometime before dawn. The carpet was rough on his face. His body was hot, sweaty. Groaning, he pushed himself to his feet. Where the hell was he, and why was he on the floor? He was burning up. Fragments of memory flashed like a broken strobe, but nothing he could grab hold of. His muscles ached. His heart was beating too fast. His head pounded. His mouth felt like it was filled with cotton.

  Gray light from the street swirled around him, turning his stomach, making him dizzy. He lifted himself onto the bed, trying not to wake Kate and praying the room would stop spinning. It felt like he was spiraling through space. He needed grounding. His hand snaked toward her, fingers reaching, but they came up empty.

  His head jerked up and his stomach pitched. Why wasn’t she in bed? It had to be late. His hand swept the nightstand. Where the hell was his watch?

  He flicked on the bedside lamp, squinting against the brightness. His clothes were strewn about the room. He spotted his briefs, stood clumsily, and slipped them on. Then he checked his pants pockets. No watch. He’d taken it off. But where?

  When the walls stopped trying to fall and crush him, he staggered to the door, unsure if he was even standing straight. The apartment was dark and silent. The couch was made up for sleeping, but it lay empty. Maybe she’d gone up to the roof.

  He climbed the stairs, holding onto the railing with both hands to keep from falling. Devin was asleep on the chaise, despite the city sounds drifting up from below. No Kate. He made his way back downstairs with careful steps and tried Joey’s door. Locked.

  An ugly thought raced through his head: Tom. He stared hard at the door, as if he might be able to see through to the other side and find Kate in bed with—

  His throat tightened.

  What the hell was he thinking? Kate would never . . . Would she?

  He grabbed his chest, thinking his heart might explode. If he didn’t lie down, he was going to be sick. His head was as full of cotton as his mouth. He stumbled back into the kitchen and snatched a bottle of water from the refrigerator, but the cabinets and bathroom medicine chest mocked him in his search for aspirin. There was never any fucking aspirin when he needed it.

  He returned to the bedroom, dragging his hand along the walls to keep himself upright, and climbed into bed, where he prayed for sleep or death.

  Either would do.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Soft scratching noises rose from deep in the recesses of his brain, but Billy chose to ignore them. When they didn’t stop, he rolled over to find Kate poking around in the closet.

  The sunlight was downright painful. “Babe?” he mumbled. “What time is it?”

  “Early.” Her voice was low but sharp. “Go back to sleep.”

  He rolled onto his side. “Did Devin leave?”

  “Yes.”

  Kate yanked at something in the closet, and a hanger clattered to the floor. He squeezed his eyes shut and groaned, then rubbed his temples with the tips of his fingers.

  “Could you find me some aspirin? Please? I have a killer headache.” He forced his eyes open a little wider. “Then come lie down with me.”

  Kate seemed determined to reach something in the bottom of the closet. “I have to get dressed.”

  Through eyes open no wider than slits, he watched her grip the edge of the wall and lower herself to pick up what she’d dropped, groaning as she did.

  “You okay?”

  “Fine.”

  “You don’t sound fine.”

  She steadied herself against the wall. “I’m fine,” she repeated, her voice like ice.

  Might as well get it over with. He forced himself to sit up.

  “I’m sorry about yesterday. I know you must be disappointed. There’s no excuse. I let you down. Again.”

  “Disappointed?” She looked at him like he’d grown two heads. “You think I’m disappointed?”

  He couldn’t come to grips with the venom in her tone. “Yeah, well, I’m kinda disappointed in you, too, you know. And hurt.”

  Her mouth fell open. “You’re disappointed in me?”

  “Yeah. And hurt.”

  Her face was a total blank. “I can’t even begin to formulate a response to that.”

  She moved toward the door.

  He needed to make this right, to get to the bottom of whatever was going on with Tom. It was probably nothing—but whatever it was, it was going to stop. In spite of his desperate need for more sleep and a handful of aspirin, he rose from the bed. The room spun like a Tilt-a-Whirl. He wished he could remember whatever the fuck he’d taken last night, because whatever it was, he wanted to make sure he’d never do it again.

  “Katie.” He grimaced at the sound of his own voice echoing inside his head. “Don’t walk away from me.” He reached for her but she ducked, crying out as she did.

  “Don’t touch me!”

  Her voice was a dagger between his eyes. He pulled back and rubbed his hand over his face, then reached for her again.

  “Don’t!” She held her free hand up as if to stop him.

  It did, but after the shock of her response wore off, he took another step. “Katie?” The room spun and his stomach threatened to empty its contents on the bedroom floor.

  “No!” She moved backward through the door and into the bright light of the living room.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Marks were visible on her face, throat, and chest. “What the hell is all over your neck?”

  “Stay away from me.”

  He grabbed her arm gently, wanting to see what she was hiding, but let go when she let out an anguished, painful cry.

  Blood pounded in his ears. His jaw clenched, and his fists curled. “What happened to you?” If somebody had hurt her . . .

  Her eyes were filled with fear and something else, something he’d never seen before. Something feral.

  Icy fingers gripped the base of his spine, creeping upward. “Katie. What’s wrong?” Images spun through his head so quickly they made him dizzy, and he found himself holding onto the door frame to keep from falling.

  Moving as if every step was painful, she tossed the clothing in her arms onto the sofa. Then she faced him and untied her robe, letting it drop in a heap around her ankles.

  His reaction was visceral, as red as the blood smeared on her chin from the split in her lip. Anger roared in his ears. Her body was covered with bruises and bites.

  Words escaped him. Black-and-white memories tumbled in his brain along with a pain that was almost debilitating. His heart pounded dangerously.

  “I’ll kill whoever did this.” The sound of his voice, only a whisper, made him sick.

  He squeezed his eyes shut, jammed his palms into his eye sockets, and pressed. When he opened his eyes, it was all still there—every welt, every bruise.

  The images in his head clicked into place like a Rubik’s Cube, from an abstract puzzle to the beginning of a memory.

  He began to shake.

  “No,” he whispered as more memories dropped into place. “It’s not possible.” He swallowed the bile inching up this throat.

  Kate turned so he could see her back as well. An ugly welt across her bottom. Purple fingerprints dotting her upper arms.

  It made no sense. “I don’t . . . I could never . . .” He shook his head, trying to clear it, searching for an explanation, a piece of memory he could pull out and examine.

  “I was drinking.” He toggled between a memory and an explanation. “A lot. I remember that. I went to a bar in the Village, and someone had a joint, and we went out back. I did a few lines of coke . . .” He rubbed his wrist. “My watch.”

  Kate looked even angrier.

  “No, listen. I gave someone my watch.” He stared at the floor as more images clicked into place. “Meth.” He said it so softly she might not have heard. He cleared his throat. “Crystal meth. I was snorting crystal meth. That has to be it.”

  Meth? What the hell was wrong with him? He wanted to drop to his knees, beg her to listen, to understand. “I’m
not sure, Katie. Please. Let me think.” He took another step toward her, holding out his hands. “I can’t believe I did that.” His voice broke and he swallowed a sob. “I love you. I would never hurt you.”

  A lone tear rolled down her cheek.

  “Being raped by a stranger in an alley would have been easier to live through than what you did to me.” Each word was a dagger, plunged into his heart. “And it would have been over quicker. And maybe I would have been dead instead of just wishing I were.”

  Another painful cry escaped as she bent to pick up her robe. She slipped it on, cinching the belt tightly around her waist.

  He wanted to go to her, comfort her. Jesus. He needed her to comfort him. This was some fucked-up nightmare. But he couldn’t move.

  “And if that wasn’t bad enough”—her voice broke—“you cheated.”

  His heart slammed against his ribs. “No! Never. That’s not true.”

  “You’re a liar!” She took a step toward him as if she would strike him. “You told me yourself. You said you could’ve had her again yesterday if you wanted. You were actually bragging.”

  His eyes dropped to the floor, unable to face her, but it was too late. The shock on his face must have been all she needed to confirm it.

  “How stupid am I?” She wrapped her arms around her waist. “We had our problems, but I always thought we were better than that. All these people over the years telling me I should expect you to cheat. It was the nature of the business, they said, but I swore that would never be us. How they must have laughed at me. I thought we were special. I thought as long as we had love and respect, we could deal with all the rest. I was an idiot!”

  He reached for her. “No, Katie, it wasn’t like that. It was a long time ago. It meant nothing.”

  “Stop!” She covered her ears with her hands, her mouth contorting with grief. “Nothing you say can change what you’ve done.”

  He needed to explain, to hold her. “Katie, please.”