I wrapped her up in the bed sheet and carried her out of the house. I put her in the car and I didn't give a fuck who saw us. She was scared and there was something horribly wrong with her and I didn't have a choice.
I took her to the hospital.
I watched them wheel her away as the E.R. doctors and nurses bustled around her. I stayed until they took her away from me. Then I went back home because it was the only thing I could do. It wasn't safe anywhere else. It wasn't smart to stay with her, no matter how much I wanted to. So I left, like a piece of shit coward that I was.
I paced the living room floor for the rest of the night, back and forth, back and forth but nothing was getting better. There was no way around it. I'd fucked up royally. I'd ruined everything. And worst of all, I'd hurt her. The one thing I'd sworn I wouldn't do again. I did it. I lost myself in the anger and I'd done something I couldn't take back. I scrubbed my hands down my face, trying to wake myself up. I had to figure out what to do. I had to figure out where to go. I couldn't stay in her house anymore. She was angry. She probably didn't even want to look at me. If I could somehow apologize to her, to get down on my motherfucking knees and tell her I didn't mean it, that I was an asshole and I didn't deserve to have her.
How many times was I going to do that in my life? How many times until I actually stopped being a fuck-up?
I flung open her closet door and draped my arms on the shelf and leaned into her clothes. I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself down. It felt like everything was crumbling and I was the one who was tearing it down with my own two hands. Her scent swirled around my brain and invaded my nostrils and my skin. It made me forget for a moment that everything was chaos. But it also made me think of her. She was all alone in that hospital. She was all alone and scared. And pissed. And in pain. Worst of all, I couldn't be with her. I couldn't leave the fucking house without being afraid someone would recognize my face. I might as well be as dead as Lannister was, rotting in an unmarked grave. I couldn't do shit. My hands were tied.
I couldn't stop the frustrated growl from escaping my lips, muffling the sound in her soft and colorful and expensive clothes. I dropped my hands and bunched them in the fabric, wishing her skin was what was under my fingertips, not that sad, thin substitute. I don't know how to stop the bad thoughts coursing through my brain. I think about hurting myself. About hurting someone else. About destroying everything, beating something until my knuckles were broken and bleeding and disappearing into the void where there were no responsibilities or allegiances or societal expectations.
I forced myself to pull away from her clothes because the scent was too much. I slammed the door shut and tried my best not to look at the chaos in the bedroom. The lamp was still on its side on the floor and the sheets and blankets are pushed off the mattress, which is askew on the frame. Without thinking, I started putting the room to rights. I made the bed and fixed it so that it looked like nothing had happened in there at all. I adjusted the lampshade after replacing the lamp back on the bedside table and I noticed the drawer was cracked open. I could see the edge of the familiar corroded brass frame. I told myself not to look at it. I hated that she had that picture of me, but she hadn't asked me anything about it thankfully. I didn't want to talk about it at all.
I opened the drawer and shoved aside the pack of tissues and the condoms that covered the black velvet back of the frame. I pulled it out and flipped over the frame, the shock of seeing my five-year-old self still there. When I left Texas, I never thought I'd see shit like this again. Old family photos and Grandmother's furniture and Grandpa's odds and ends in the garage. Those ancient memories were the only things I was glad to leave behind. But here it was, still following me around like a ghost. But Joanie thought it was cute. She liked having a picture of me as a kid underneath the condoms in her bedside table. And for that reason and only that reason, I put it back.
I was craving a drink.
I was craving freedom.
I went downstairs but the air just as thick and stifling as it was up in the bedroom. I wanted to breathe fresh air. I moved from the kitchen to the living room and back again, tightening my fist in my T-shirt. It felt like my chest was tight. Joanie was the love of my life. She was the only one keeping me there. She was the only one keeping me in that moment. But she wasn't there. She wasn't there to keep me from losing my mind. She wasn't there to keep me from going stir-crazy.
A knock on the door froze me in my tracks. I crouched down instantly, without thinking. The drapes were drawn, but there was light poking in from the gaps between the fabric. I studied the clouded window beside the door, but I could only make out a dark figure. The doorbell rang then, echoing through the lower level of the condo. My heart started pounding in my chest and I felt an itch under my collar. I knew if I didn't move, they would most likely go away, whoever they were. I knew that, but it didn't stop me from stalking toward the door and silently standing to check the keyhole. I don't know what it was, the adrenaline or the restlessness or the anger that I still couldn't get rid of. It didn't matter.
It especially didn't matter when I saw who was on the other side.
I didn't recognize him, but I recognized his clothes. From my years spent stuck in the justice system, I recognized the Sears suit and scuffed black shoes. I recognized the way he held himself and the way he was sniffing around. He was a cop, definitely a cop. There was no doubt about it.
He was Joanie's cop.
I watched as he took a step back and glanced up at the bedroom windows above. I wondered if he was looking for signs of life, for a sign of Joanie. He stepped to the side, his eyes darting to the picture window. I knew he probably wouldn't be able to see anything. I knew that if I stayed quiet long enough he would leave. I knew it, and yet I couldn't. I knew it but that didn't stop me from dropping my hand to the doorknob. I watched him through the peephole, his body distorted in the lens. I couldn't tell quite how tall he was or how strong he looked. He wasn't paying any attention to the door any more. He hopped down off the doorstep and walked closer to the window. He wasn't giving up, I told myself. He wasn't going away. It felt like he'd been there for an hour, but it had to've been seconds. My heart slowed in my chest and sweat beaded on my forehead. I wanted to know what he knew. I wanted to know what he wanted from Joanie. But most importantly, I wanted to crack his skull open and push all the thoughts of Joanie out. She was taken; she was mine. He wanted her, but he couldn't fucking have her.
So I did it. I didn't think anymore. I just turned the doorknob and let the door open a crack. It creaked lightly and a cool gust of air pushed it open further. I waited, waited to see if he would take the bait. It was foolish of me and I know that now, but at the time I couldn't think of anything else. I craved a fight too hard. I craved bone against bone and flesh and blood. I craved violence. And I craved some kind of ending, some kind of punctuation to the not knowing. It was my time to make something happen. Anything. So I did it.
I heard him return to the door step, his footsteps cautious. I heard a click, like a metallic button popping, and I knew he'd released the strap on his holster. I knew his gun would be at his hip, most likely his right side. I planned for it. It was fucking stupid, because I could just as easily have been killed. But at the time, it felt like it would've been worth it. Maybe I should've let him do it. Or maybe I should've done it myself. But it doesn't matter now. What's done is done. I let the cop in, I invited the danger into Joanie's living room. I invited the violence in, not that it'd ever left since the moment I stepped foot in her cozy life. I asked for it and I got in spades.
But I never stopped loving her, even as I destroyed any future we had together.
I just couldn't help myself.
“Joan?” he called out, pushing the door open wider. I leaned back just in time so it didn't hit me, pressing my heels into the wood floor to catch my balance and keep from taking a step back. I sucked in a breath and held it. No answer. He tried again, taking another step inside
. “Ms. Vasquez?” he said. Then he moved into my line of sight. I could see his profile and his hand curving around the door. Two more steps and he would be inside. Two more steps and I would have him. I didn't think about it anymore than that. I didn't think of it beyond what I wanted to do. It would be quick and rough but satisfying, like a fast fuck in a gas station bathroom. It was instantly regrettable, too, but I wasn't thinking of that at the time. I was single-minded, eyes on the prize like a starving lion looking on its last meal.
I was on him before he knew what had happened. He saw me out of the corner of his eye, or maybe he only sensed me, but I didn't wait for him to get his bearings. I pounced, hooking my arm around his neck and pulled him backward, making him lost his footing and stumble into me. He was bigger than I'd hoped and I had to exert more effort than I wanted to, but I was stronger. I was ready. I kicked the door shut behind him and then it was all up to me. It was time to get some answers.
Time to have a little fun.
Chapter Six
I moved through the dark hallways quietly, dipping into a random empty room every few minutes and waiting for the coast to clear. There were only a few night nurses on duty, and in the mood I was in, I didn't want to run into any busybodies and have words. My whole body was wired, every muscle jumpy and electrified. The violence made me like this. I didn't know what else I was capable of. I didn't want to know. I didn't want to back myself into a corner and have to fight my way out. I was itching for a fight, though. That's why it was fucking stupid to be there, but I couldn't help it.
I had to see her one more time.
She was smarter than I would ever be, but she was stupid when it came to me. I was her blindspot, her weakness. She was in denial, but I'd known for a long time that it was going to come to an end. The countdown had started ticking the second I got to Seattle. It was only a matter of time and now my time was definitely up. I'd slipped and fucked up and now there was no other option. I didn't want to hurt anyone else, but it was impossible. She would be hurt. She would curse me and fight me and try to dig in and hold on to me, that's why it had to be the way it was.
She couldn't know what I was planning. She couldn't know what I had done. Not only because it would protect her, but because it would prove to her all along that I was a monster. She thought I could be fixed but she was wrong. She thought we could play pretend and life would go along like gangbusters. Unfortunately, there was no fixing me. I had to go where all the other wild things were, where all the bad men like me went to try to escape the pitfalls , rules, and dangers of society.
But there was no way in hell I was going back to prison.
A single fluorescent light was on in her room, above the bed. Even though she barely looked like herself, she was still my beautiful Joanie. Her dark hair was spread around her pale face on the white pillow. The white bandage was thick around her neck. It was all white in there, clean and stark but still sickly, and I had the urge to grab her up and carry her out of there. I'd done bad things to her and made her hurt, but I was still a selfish motherfucker. I wanted her smiles and her smell and her love all to myself. I wanted to wrap myself up in her and never let go.
I still want that.
Unfortunately, I fucked up too many times, so I had to pay the piper. I had to give up the one thing that made any sense to me in this whole shitty world, but it was the price I had to pay. I made the only choice I could at the time, but I do regret it. Joanie made sure I would regret it.
I regret a lot of fucking things.
I shut the door to her room softly behind me, trapping her inside with me. There was a thin white curtain hanging from the ceiling for privacy, and I pulled it closed around her bed, creating a cocoon around us. She rolled her head to the side and opened her eyes as I stepped close to her bed. For a long moment, I stared down at her and she stared back. I wondered if she was pissed, because quite honestly, she had every right to be. She jerked her arms, trying to lift them, and I realized that her wrists were tied to the bed with thick white leather straps. She stretched out her fingers like she wanted to touch me and I couldn't help but smile at her predicament. She was still my Joanie, tough as hell even when she was down and out.
“You tried to run?” I asked, keeping my voice low. “So they tied you down?” She scowled at me and mouthed something I couldn't quite catch. “Where the hell were you trying to go? You need to be here.” She opened her mouth again and let out a little frustrated puff of air. I ran my hand over the smooth leather that bound her right wrist to the bed, feeling grateful. Grateful that she was still in the hospital where she belonged. Grateful that she was away from me, even though I hated it. She reached for me again, so I had mercy on her. I entwined my fingers with hers, touching her lightly. A single touch was enough to get my dick hard, but that wasn't the point. The point was that I was the one who hurt her, over and over again. The point was that it was my fault that all of the shit had rained down on both of us.
Because I couldn't control myself.
Because I would hurt her again and keep hurting her.
Don't forget, I reminded myself. Never forget.
“Asshole,” she mouthed, exaggerating her lips around the word so I could understand. I leaned on the side of her hospital bed, draping my arms on the rail like I didn't have a care in the world. Meanwhile, every part of me was pulled tight with self-control. All I really wanted was to crawl in the narrow bed with her and spread her legs and fuck her like the animal I was. I looked down at our hands, noticing the nicks and cuts on my fingers and the bruises on my arms. I pulled my fingers from hers and she lifted her head off the pillow like she was trying to get closer to me. Not able to resist, I reached out for her, running my raw knuckles across her cool forehead. She moved into my touch with her whole body, wincing like she was in pain. I felt it too, deep inside me. She didn't know, but somehow it still hurt both of us the same.
She dropped her head back down on the pillow heavily, her eyes trained on mine. I let my scarred fingers roam through her hair, wondering how to keep the time from passing so I could stay. “I know, baby,” I whispered. “I'm an asshole.” She nodded slowly, fisting her hands in the light blue blanket that covered her lower half. “How do you feel?” She shrugged her shoulders slightly, her pink lips parting like she wanted to talk. I zeroed in on her lower lip, imagining the way it would feel against my tongue – soft and supple. I wanted to bite it. I wanted to suck on it until... but I was a piece of shit. She was in a hospital bed because of me. She might never speak again because of me. I had too much to atone for. I owed her too much. I didn't deserve her.
But I kissed her anyway.
I tightened my hand in her hair and dropped my mouth to hers, sucking her plump lip between my teeth without another thought. Then I plunged my tongue into her mouth, memorizing the way she tasted. Crisp and earthy, like a flower that had yet to bloom. She was as raw as I was, as filthy, as needy, and yet, still untouched by my evil, somehow. I hadn't poisoned her yet. I'd fucked her and claimed her and degraded her, but I hadn't ruined her. Not yet. I knew that the longer I stayed, the worse off she'd be.
There was still hope for her.
If I could let her go.
If.
At that moment, I honestly didn't know if I would be able to. I didn't know how I was going to force myself to leave the hospital and leave her all alone in the room. So I stayed longer than I should have. I ran my fingers through her hair as I kissed her. Her hair was long and thick, just like I liked it. I told myself to remember how it felt. I told myself that the memories would be enough, when I got wherever the hell I was going. She was pulling on the leather straps, trying to get free, trying to touch me, but I ignored her. I broke the kiss and shoved the thin blanket off of her legs. She didn't fight me as I shoved my hand under the faded hospital gown they'd put her in. I forced my middle finger inside of her and she arched her back and furrowed her brow. I could see her nipples were hard underneath the light fabric and I couldn'
t resist pressing my face against her chest and taking a deep breath. The gown didn't smell like her though – it wasn't good enough. So I closed my mouth over her hard left nipple and teased her with my tongue as a I pumped my finger in and out of her. My dick was hard, but I didn't pay it any attention.
This was my punishment, after all.
I'd fucked everything up and now I had to pay. I wanted to apologize to her and that was the only way I knew how. Sex was easy. Sex was automatic with my Joanie. Our bodies were attuned that way. Years ago, I'd forced it on her and she'd adapted. That's what she'd told me once. She'd adapted to the person she was now, she'd said. I knew I would have to adapt, too. I was still the same piece of shit I'd always been, but I could still feel a little bit of change in me. She'd changed me like I'd changed her. Unfortunately, shit shined up like a new penny was still shit. Sooner rather than later, I was going to have to learn to live without her.
I shoved open her legs and lifted her right knee, opening her up to me. She was already wet and my finger slid in and out of her easily. Her fingernails were gripping the leather straps so hard her knuckles were turning white, but she was no longer struggling. She'd realized it was futile. When I raised my eyes to look at her face, she was staring at me, her eyes as deep as the motherfucking ocean. She wanted to know what I was going to do, or maybe she knew. Maybe she could read my mind. She was so beautiful that for a brief second, I was selfish. For a brief second, I thought about closing my hands around her neck and finishing the job I started the night before. I thought about squeezing the life out of her, I admit it. Then I could go walk in front of a bus or shoot my brains out and we could be together forever. But she bit down hard on her lip and stared at me like she loved me and the bad thoughts fled my brain. My eyes never leaving hers, I lowered myself until my face was inches from her pussy. She blinked a few times quickly and I wondered if she was trying to tell me something. But her pussy was calling me and I couldn't resist it.
Love Is Strange (I Know... #2) Page 8
