“That’s awful. Why would a parent do that?”
“Why do people do anything they do?” he says offhandedly. “Anyway, we got on the ride, and they pulled the handles down over our chests, locking us in. The kid kicked and screamed, and we felt so bad for him, but the dad didn’t care. Anyway, the ride goes forward, right? And the clinking of the rollercoaster rising is somehow making this kid scream louder. Eventually, you can see over the entire park. It’s beautiful. And boom, we drop.”
“Oh no.” I cover my mouth to keep from giggling.
“Everyone is screaming because we’re going down and it’s steep. It’s thrilling. I’m screaming, Annabeth is screaming, the kid in front us is crying, and then suddenly we’re going upside down. Annabeth’s hair is in her face. The entire ride is so fun. Loops, drops, everything. It’s a kid’s worst nightmare, and it’s an old wooden rollercoaster, so it’s creaking and sounds like it’s about to fall apart. It adds to the thrill. We come to a stop, and Annabeth’s hair is still in her face. When I push it out of the way, my hand lands on a wad of blue gum.”
I gasp in horror. “No!”
“Oh, yeah.” Owen chuckles, and the comb gets caught in one of the strands of hair. He does shorter, quicker strokes to try to get the hair undone. “It was a wreck. Her hair was all over the place and caught in it. It was bad. The kid in front of us had blue gum in his mouth before we went on the rollercoaster, so I think it fell out of his mouth. I saw the fear in her eyes immediately. She knew it was bad. She cried. Oh, God, she cried. She was so afraid she would have to shave her head.”
I like listening to him talk about his wife. Is that weird? He seems so happy, not at all like the guy I met in the woods.
“We run to the car, and I let her wear my hoody so she can cover her head. She cried the entire way home, talking about how her hair was going to be ruined for photos we had planned.”
“Of course there are photos planned,” I mumble to the side of my mouth. “It’s always something.”
“Right? Anyway, we get home, and I get out ice and plop it on the gum to get it out. I grab a brush to brush her hair out, and she hits me with her flip-flop telling me that will make it worse. So I grab the comb while she’s yelling at me, hysterically sobbing. It took forever to get the last strand free of the gum. Once I did, though—” He stops combing for a second and stares up to the ceiling. He clears his throat, and his eyes water. He’s doing his best not to cry. Owen shakes his head clear and smiles again. “She was so happy.” His voice clogs, and he wipes his eyes on his shirt by lifting his shoulder. “She was so damn happy. It was one of the biggest hugs I ever got from her. If I would have known she was going to die like she did…” he exhales, “…I would have held her a little bit longer every time she was in my arms.”
“It sounds like you love her very much,” I notice, meeting his red eyes in the mirror. I don’t use past tense because the love is still there, just as strong as it was before.
“I did. I do. She was like jumping in a cold pool after a long hot day of sweating in the sun. I know that isn’t the sexiest analogy, but the relief you feel when you feel the cold water, the happiness of not being hot anymore, that relaxation that takes over you—that’s what she was like. And I never wanted to get out of her waters. I miss her. It’s hard to believe it’s been twenty years. It feels like it happened yesterday.”
“I think it will always feel like that. Loving someone that much, that hard, in that capacity, that never goes away.”
He concentrates on my hair as he speaks, “She made me promise something that I haven’t been able to do. It isn’t because I don’t think I’m capable; I just don’t know if I’m ready.”
“What was the promise?”
He looks up from my hair and meets his steel blue eyes with my green ones. “She made me promise to love someone again. It was her dying wish, but… I don’t know.”
“I can see why she promised that.”
The comb drops from his hand and clatters to the floor. I’m thinking about Annabeth and her reasons for wanting Owen to love again. It’s very selfless, to tell the man you love to love someone else one day. It must have been hard for her.
“Why do you say that?” he questions, combing my hair once more.
I lift my left shoulder and let it drop. “I think she was thinking of what’s best for you in her final moments. I think she experienced a love of her lifetime, just like you did, and she wanted you to share that again with someone. I bet she found your love to be too big not to ever share it again.” I stare down at my fingers and pick at my cuticles. “I think that was amazing of her to do, to want what is best for you, even as she died. She loved you very much. It must be nice to be loved like that.”
I expect him to say something back, but he doesn’t. I glance into the mirror again and find him staring at me, guilt written on his face.
“Do you plan to uphold her promise?” I ask him out of the blue.
“No, I never did. I never planned to. It was the one thing I didn’t think I could do,” he admits. “I never thought of it like that, how she thought of me in her last moments. I … I was too stricken with grief.”
“I think she knew that too,” I say, giving him a warm smile in hopes he will feel better. “I don’t think she expected you to fall in love all over again in a day, but one day. I think she’s right.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says, and our eyes lock again in the mirror. A moment passes between us again, and I’m not sure what to make of it. He realizes what he needs to do.
He needs to be selfless instead of being selfish for a love he will never have again with Annabeth. Comparing what he had to what he may have isn’t fair. Whatever love he experiences again will never be the same as his first, but the amount of love he could have, that may be the same, if not just as intense.
“So tell me about you.” He clears his throat. I’m not sure he’s getting anywhere with these useless strands, but I appreciate his effort.
Effort.
The tiniest word with the biggest meaning. It can turn worlds, shape lives, make someone's bad day better.
The only effort I’ve ever experienced is all the days I pushed myself, alone, to get through work and college to make something of myself.
Sometimes effort is exhausting when you’re the only one giving yourself the drive to get to where you need to be.
And I’m tired.
It looks like Owen is too.
“There’s nothing to know, not really. I told you everything.”
“I don’t believe that. What’s your favorite color? Movie? Food?”
“I don’t remember the last thing I watched on TV. I love sushi. I love the color between pink and orange. Coral? I guess. I love that color.”
He squeezes more conditioner into his palm and loads the same strip of hair he has been working on for the last hour. “That’s a good color. I like blue.”
I roll my eyes. “All freaking men like blue.”
He chuckles and nods. “I suppose we do, but don’t tell anyone—a close second is purple. I love that color.”
“Your secret is safe with me.” I giggle just as the plastic comb breaks, the teeth of it snapping in half.
He lifts the comb in the air and pinches his lips together, then plucks the pieces of plastic out of my hair. “That’s okay. I can get another comb.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I hesitantly whisper, hating that this is what has to happen. “Let’s be honest.” I swallow, coating my dry throat as my eyes well up again. “We both knew there was no saving this. You were being nice.”
“I’ll keep trying. We don’t have to give up. I know how important this is—”
I turn around and lower his hand in with mine, hating how much I notice how warm and comforting his skin is. “I know you do,” I say through tears. “I love that. I do, but we both know … we know. It’s another thing, I suppose …” I say bitterly, “I’ll have to live with that he
took from me. God, he can’t stop, can he? Even we he’s dead. There will always be something.”
“Listen to me.” Owen spins me around on the stool and grabs my hands. “He will only take what you allow him to take, Jolie. You cut your hair, it will grow back. You can be healthy. You can go to therapy. You can beat him. You can. What else do you want him to take that he hasn’t already? He took a year and a half of your life, your body, your fear; he fed off you, Jolie. Don’t let him take anything else. You can beat him. He isn’t here anymore. Nothing can hurt you here. I won’t allow anything to hurt you.” His voice is soft, delicate, covering me like a blanket on a cold night, and I want to wrap up in it. If I had the strength and opportunity, if I wasn’t carrying around this emptiness and fear. Maybe I’d have the courage to lean in and kiss him right about now.
But I don’t.
I’m not that kind of woman. I won’t ever be that woman.
He took that from me.
Maybe one day, I’ll get it back.
“I’ll help you through it,” he adds, gathering my hair in his palm. He spins me around, and we stare at each other in the mirror. “I’ll be right back. Don’t move. Don’t go anywhere.” Owen starts to walk away and pauses, glancing over his shoulder. “You know what I mean. Unless you want to go anywhere, then you can. You aren’t a prisoner here.”
I want to laugh, but the instincts to run as far away as I can so the risk of being stuck here is strong. I know I have nothing to worry about with Owen. He’s made me feel safe, but for too long now, I’ve been stuck inside, trapped, chained.
That’s not here. I’m not trapped. I can leave when I want.
I grip the edge of the seat with my hands and try to take a deep breath. I stay where I’m at as he disappears into the dark bedroom. His footsteps echo, reminding me I’m not truly alone.
“No, fuck off. No, you can’t do it. No, you can’t watch. She deserves privacy, Heaven. You can’t be nosey. Go eat something,” Owen hollers at his friend.
I let out a breath. Owen isn’t like the man who captured me. I didn’t even know that man’s name. A year and half of being held in a small room, starved like a dog, and I never knew the man who repeatedly raped me.
I spin around in the chair and look at myself in the mirror. My hair is dull, my cheeks are slightly hollow from the weight loss, and I look tired.
My fingers brush over the bruise on my cheek. He hit me last week. I was so tired, so hungry, I barely felt the pain. I drag my fingers through my hair and touch the ends that are ruined. Owen is right.
It can grow back.
Just like everything else that man took away from me, I can grow it back. It will take time, patience, and maybe a lot of sleepless nights, but I’m ready to grow.
Even if growth scares the hell out of me.
Owen comes back into the bathroom and lifts scissors in the air. The blades of the metal slide together.
I gulp as he sets them down in front of me.
“You ready?” he asks.
I lift my eyes from the red handles and stare at him in the mirror again. “I don’t know if I can do it.”
“I think you can. I think it’s important for you to do it too,” he says, pushing the scissors closer to me.
I wrap my hands around the scissors and lift them. Owen gathers my hair and splits it down the middle, throwing each section over my shoulders. Gosh, I’m a mess. When I cut my hair, it will be to my shoulders.
If I cut my hair.
I lift a strand and do my best not to cry. It’s just hair. It isn’t a big deal. If it isn’t then why is this so hard? Why do I want to break the mirror in front of me? Why do I want to scream? I don’t understand. I want to hit, punch, yell, stab, shoot, and all of my anger is at him.
A man who’s already dead.
“I’m here,” Owen says, staying in my line of sight. “You can do it.”
I don’t know why he believes in me so much, but the effort he’s giving me is enough for me to believe in myself.
Effort. There’s that damn word again, but I didn’t realize how much I needed it until right now. I nod my head to him and open the scissors by placing my thumb in one slot and my index finger in the other. With a deep breath, I place my hair between the blades and give Owen one last look of uncertainty.
He urges me on, nodding, big eyes and a hopeful smile, something that seems so foreign to a face that has been frozen in stone for so long.
I close my eyes, take another breath, and when the nerves finally settle, I stare at myself as I make the first cut. The hair snips, falling to the floor in individual strands. The blades meet, and I gasp in surprise when I start to see a version of myself I like.
A chunk of the past is gone.
Hurriedly, I gather another strand.
And another.
This time as I cry, I feel free. I’m liberated. Every cut is a chain that monster put on me. Every cut is one of the times he hit me. Every cut is a time he raped me, made me beg for food, spit on me, pissed on me, laughed at me.
Every cut is me owning who I am again.
And the last cut is for the baby he made me bear. The baby I lost. The baby that was mine, that was never meant to be mine, the baby I wanted, but never wanted at the same time. The baby I loved with a confusing amount of hate because of the man who impregnated me.
The baby who owns a part of my soul that I’ll never get back.
But cutting off this last strand of matted, dirty, heavy hair, I’ve gained a small fraction of who I am. I look better, healthier, even … dare I say, happier.
“Well, look at that,” Owen compliments, dusting the hair off my shoulder. “A true beauty underneath all that pain.”
“I could say the same about you,” I say, remembering our conversation.
He fluffs my hair, and I grin at him through our reflections. Again, our eyes meet.
And this time, the little flame inside me that was lost for too long sparks. Not for Owen, but for me.
And it’s warm, and inviting, and I never want it to end.
Owen’s effort.
It’s intoxicating.
Ten
Owen
I check my watch for the twentieth time this morning and wonder where the hell Jolie is. It’s nearly noon, and she hasn’t woken up yet. I’m starting to get worried.
“She’s just sleeping,” Jaxon says, giving Quinn a quick kiss on the lips. “Relax, Owen.”
“I can’t wait to meet the woman who has you in knots,” Quinn states, groaning as she sits on the stool. “Oh my God, I’m a damn whale.” She leans against the back of the barstool and lays her hand on her swollen belly.
“Don’t talk about my girl like that,” Jaxon says, laying his hand against her stomach, just like she is.
A pang hits my heart. I haven’t felt a pregnant belly since Annabeth. It’s a beautiful feeling, touching something so small, something growing inside the person you love. There isn’t anything like it. “I know, but she’s been asleep so long. Maybe I should go check on her,” I say, ripping my eyes away from Quinn’s belly and toward the hallway, hoping Jolie will walk through.
“She hasn’t slept on anything comfortable in a long time, I assume. Give her time,” Jaxon says.
“We could take her shopping.” Gabriella takes a bite of egg that Sebastian made for her.
“There’s that new boutique in town. We should go,” Finley says. “We would have a lot of fun.”
I nod, but it makes me nervous. I don’t think she’s ready to go out around people she doesn’t know. “It will be up to her, but I don’t think she’ll want to go. She freaked out when she met the guys. I don’t know how she’ll do in a crowd.”
“I can call ahead and rent the boutique out?” Jaxon offers. “I’ll make sure they have privacy.”
“That could work…” I ponder, then check my watch again impatiently. “It isn’t up to me. I’m not her keeper, so you’ll have to ask her when she wakes up. Speaking of, I�
��m going to check on her. Something could have happened.”
“Owen, she’s fine,” Jaxon tells me again and all it does is piss me off.
“I know!” I snap, and everyone in the kitchen stares at me in shock. “I’m sorry, okay. I’m sorry.” I try to relax by taking a few deep breaths. “I need to check on her.” I’m not going to give an explanation. I’m worried. I can be worried, can’t I? She’s only just escaped a horrible person, and she’s in a new place. She’s had to chop off her hair and meet new people. What if … I don’t know, what if she tries something?
Fuck.
I fly off the barstool and run down the hall, panicked. Why didn’t I think of that sooner? Goddamn it, Jolie. “Please, please, please,” I mumble under my breath as I run to her room. I can’t lose her too. She’s the one I can actually be there for. I can save her. I couldn’t save Annabeth, but I can save Jolie.
My feet slide against the floor as I try to stop. “Shit,” I mumble under my breath when my hand slips on the doorknob, and I start to fall. “Fuck,” I groan as my shoulder slams against the floor. I lay there for a minute, staring up at the vaulted ceiling and glittering chandelier. Damn, that hurt.
“I heard a crash. Is everything okay?” Heaven says, looking down at me with a teasing grin.
“Shut up.” I lift up my hand, and he helps me to my feet.
My back protests, my hip throbs, and my shoulder is on fire. I’ve never felt like I was in my forties until now.
“You good, old man?”
I place my hand on my lower back and stretch, moaning when something pops into place. “I’ll show you old. Get out of my face,” I say, unthankful for him helping me up.
Cruel Intoxication: A Dark Romance (Underground Kings Book 4) Page 8
