Same/Difference (The Depth of Emotion #4)

by D. D. Lorenzo

  “Blake. Please…”

  He sat back on his haunches, laughing in great rolls and harshly jabbed my scars.

  “You’re fucking hideous!” He cackled while a tar pit of dark memories suffocated me with sticky fingers. It stole any breath of sweetness that lingered that struggled to stay alive. His enjoyment at my expenses was a familiar asphyxiation as hurt upon hurt reemerged only to anchor around my feet. I felt myself pulling away. It was over. I fought the thickness of cruelty for so many years that there was little left inside of me. Although I fought to stay afloat, so much time had passed that I was out of practice. I felt myself sinking.

  “You son of a bitch! I’ll kill you.”

  A sob of relief caught in my throat as I recognized the unmistakable reverberation of Falcon’s roar. My eyes were blinded with tears as the pressure lifted from my chest and I watched Blake go airborne. Falcon’s fist was a blur of motion as it sailed through the air and Blake’s face crumbled. His aggression toward me was only dwarfed by the ferocity of Falcon’s fury.

  I tried to move.

  My mind said to stop them.

  My body refused to listen.

  Falcon dragged Blake out into the hall and the door would have slammed behind them if not for my shoe. It came off sometime during the attack, but I just stared at the red sole blocking the entrance. Threads of anxiety pricked me and pulled at my skin in a toxic needlepoint. My vision grew cloudy and my hearing became muffled. Tears washed my face in the salty wetness that dripped from my chin and bathed my chest. My mind screamed at the surrealism of the situation while the rational part of me was judiciously kidnapped.

  She came back. This wasn’t my fault. I wasn’t me.

  She was.

  She pounced on the fortuitous opportunity. I floated above as I watched her. She tried to hide, but the spotlight shined painfully through the Swiss cheese insecurity that was thicker than the scars. The resolve I’d so bravely developed through the years came crashing down horribly. Blake’s attack had fractured the spirit of the girl who lived inside me and she had come forth for an occasion to exact her revenge. He was worse than the juvenile torturers. Theirs were only vicious words. His fists stroked the immature accusations and stabbed the broken girl until she screamed to be set free from her cage within my scarred flesh. What was left of my senses and me was shut down and mangled leaving me fractured into two, separate victims.

  I couldn’t help the one.

  I couldn’t fight the other.

  Falcon examined his fist as he rode up the elevator and back to Paige’s floor. The blood on his hand wasn’t his. After getting in a few good punches to Blake’s, much too pretty, face, he took him downstairs to the hotel security office and asked them to call the police. He could only supply them with a brief rundown of events because he wasn’t aware of all of the facts and he wanted to get back to her.

  He hated leaving Paige by herself but, at the time, there was no other option. The minute he got Blake into the elevator he smelled the reeking alcohol. He didn’t care if he was drunk, nothing could excuse the fact that he put his hands on her. Now, all he wanted to do was get back to her. As far as he was concerned, Blake could spend the night in jail until Paige went down and pressed charges. For now, he would insist that she let him take her to the hospital. The criminal charges, and Blake, could wait.

  He saw her shoe. Kicking it aside he pushed the door open. His heart slammed to a stop. Paige’s posture was crumpled and the contents of her stomach were spilled out on the floor. She seemed to be in a trance. Facing the corner of the room, she stared blankly and slowly rocked back and forth. He moved closer to her for a better look. His heart shredded. Although he was right in front of her, her vacant stare indicated that her focus was hidden inside. She was locked into some kind of isolated torment; a soft pile of crème and coffee colored threads lay feathered in a nest on the floor.

  She was pulling her hair out.

  The altercation between Blake and him had fought off any lingering effect of the alcohol he’d consumed earlier. Seeing Paige like this sobered him even more. Seeing such a beautiful woman lost in a PTSD nightmare pained and unnerved him. She looked so fragile, and she was unraveling right before his eyes. Damn that son of a bitch!

  Her cheeks were wet with silent tears and the inaudible sound broke his heart. He probably should have been knocked out, but even in her brokenness she was beautiful. It shook him to see her in this quiet distress and his heart ached. Her long fingers were threaded through the thick waves that were pulled to the side over her shoulder. Over and over she ran her hands through the tresses as if she were brushing it—and then she tore the strands out one by one.

  As she decimated each follicle, the long stands fell gently to the floor. She held her hand out delicately after she ripped the strand from its life source. She wiggled her fingers in a tortured tango and the lonely lock fell. Various pieces went rogue and kissed her breast, stomach, and thigh on their way to the multi-strand grave.

  Falcon waited her out. He’d only had limited experience with the PTSD that soldiers experience, but he knew enough not to startle her. Her clarity was obviously lost within her emotional pain so he approached her with expectant caution. He wanted to touch her gently to let her know he was there and had reached out his hand to touch her when he saw the first scar. Red semi-circles marred her skin from, what could have been a fingernail, and he realized her pain was not limited to tonight’s event. It was both emotional and physical. Slowly, he pulled back and watched for some signal when he could break her concentration and guide her safely back to reality.

  He wanted to pull her into his arms and slay whatever dragon gave her such torment. Her battle-scarred expression was one of anguish and loss. All her concentration focused on her hair and she rocked as she pulled it from her head. Finally, she let out an exhausted sign and her gaze went to the pile beside her. He stooped, lowering himself behind her. His voice against her ear was a comforting whisper.

  “Paige.”

  Her hands stilled and her expression fell, a defeated look now arresting her features. Her face was etched with shame. He slowly anchored her to himself by placing his chest to her back.

  “I got you, baby.”

  She didn’t move.

  He placed his hands on her shoulders as delicately as one would touch a butterfly’s wing. His hands warmed her as he brushed across her skin. Slowly and tenderly, he stroked, soothing her as his hands traveled down her arms and back up again. When he finally felt her relaxing, he entwined their fingers, his hands over the back of hers. She surrendered, relinquishing control over the motions. Her breaths reduced to a much calmer pace. He held her tightly as she was embraced in his arms. She was heavy with exhaustion and sighed deeply as he leaned her against the edge of the bed. He disappeared into the bathroom and when he returned, he wiped the vomit from around her mouth with a warm cloth. He used a cooler one to wipe the perspiration from her face and neck but she was too drained to notice. He raised his voice to a deep, soothing baritone.

  “Paige, I want to get you out of these clothes. Help me if you can.”

  She moved with the hesitancy of someone in pain and robotically did what she could to assist him. She didn’t have the energy to lift her arms all the way up and he provided the help she needed. Underneath the torn dress she was still wearing underwear and he felt a small rush of relief. Her hair was sticky against her neck and he wiped it with a cool cloth. He wasn’t sure if she shivered from the cold or his touch because it happened as he brushed over the scar.

  “Don’t.”

  The word strangled in the air as she tried to cover it with her hand. She swayed against him and he guided her to the upright pillows. Her footsteps were labored as she blindly followed his lead to the bed where he pulled her between his legs. He cradled her and tucked her head beneath his chin. She wilted lifelessly into his embrace. With gentle fingertips he lifted her chin, rotating her head until he looked into her eyes. His
heart skipped a beat as awareness seeped back into her eyes.

  “I got you, beautiful.”

  She was beautiful even in her pain. He hugged her against him and pressed a kiss into her hair. Goosebumps erupted on her skin and he pulled the covers up and around her shoulders and he held her as she fell asleep in his arms.

  Falcon was convinced that there was more to this than an unfortunate run- in with Blake, although what little he saw of that encounter would have been enough to push anyone over the edge. Conflicted and curious, he lifted the blanket slightly to get a better view of the scar. White, shiny, and tight; it appeared to be from a burn. He followed the trail down her chest and saw where it spilled onto her breast. In shades of white and pink, it decorated her milky skin then disappeared underneath the damaged bra. He wanted to see how far it went and shifted to get a better view. She turned in her sleep and he moved to make himself more comfortable, and the combination of both provided the opportunity to satisfy his curiosity. The covers fell back and exposed another scar. Her positioning gave him a view of the injuries in their entirety. There were more of them than he was prepared to see, but at least they weren’t fresh and looked like they happened long ago. Now he knew why she always dressed so conservatively.

  She was hiding.

  Falcon sank against the bed and held her tighter. He stroked her hair absentmindedly in a comforting way and twisted it so he could lay it over her shoulder. His fingers hit something sticky and he pulled it away. A painful lump formed in his throat when he discovered the area of missing hair. What the hell had happened to her?

  With more questions than answers he slid into his own exhaustion. He moved them both and spooned her in his arms. Fatigue set in, as did his overprotective nature. As his eyelids grew heavy he inhaled the remnants of her perfume and let the fragrance lull him to sleep. Morning would come soon enough, and with it, hopefully answers.

  Paige stiffened in his arms alerting him that she was awake. She had been out for more than twenty-four hours. Other than getting up occasionally to use the bathroom, he stayed beside her the entire time. She slept so soundly that he was beginning to worry and, if she hadn’t begun to stir, he was going to seek medical help.

  Even though he slept as well, he had woken up this time before she did. The scene replayed over and over in his mind. He was torn as he let her sleep because he knew the police could only hold Blake so long without formal charges. Once she was awake he had to impress upon her the importance of charging him with her assault. Even if he’d been released Falcon had the connections and technology to find him. His main concern was Paige. If stress were the trigger for her condition, he would have to tread lightly. The last thing he wanted was to catapult her into another episode. He leaned his chin against her head and murmured into her hair.

  “Good morning.”

  Although he knew she was awake she laid very still. His intuition told him that she was aware her secret had been exposed. Falcon could never be accused of standing on ceremony and he addressed the matter head-on. He tightened his arms around her.

  “Tell me what it is. I want to know.”

  As quiet as the whisper of a breeze, she began. “You know…I don’t do it all the time.”

  As he stroked the delicate line of her jaw, she turned toward him. A storm of emotion brewed behind her eyes.

  “I don’t know how to feel now that you’ve seen me. No one, outside of my parents, know. You’re the only one.” Her voice held a tremble and she paused and bit her lip. Uncertainty tightened the corners of her eyes. “I would think you’d want to run away. I would.” She lowered her voice to barely a whisper. “Aren’t you disgusted?”

  She said so much with the words she didn’t speak. Her eyes glazed with tears and her body stiffened to prepare for his answer. His heart swelled. She was so beautiful and vulnerable, trusting him with her fractured reality.

  . He wanted to answer, but reacted instead. Call it the irrational act of a rational man, but he couldn’t help himself. By admitting the truth, her honesty and confidence weakened him and her transparency made her even more desirable than she already was. Her lashes fluttered and her breath hitched as light filtered through the curtains and the soft rays caught the twinkling of tears in her eyes. His thumb stroked across her cheekbone and a lone tear escaped. It trailed down her face, hypnotizing him as it crept over her cheekbone and moistened her lips. He craved her mouth and pressed his lips to hers, tasting the salt that pooled there. It was the sweetest form of possession and she willingly submitted. He pushed his tongue in, demanding and claiming her compliance. He could have feasted on her willingness, but pulled back to answer her question.

  “Disgust? Paige…”

  The words caught in his throat and he smiled at her. She shivered as the weightless touch transmitted electricity to her sensitive flesh. He took the back of her hand and kissed it before looking into her eyes.

  “Never disgust. I don’t know much about perfection, but I think you come pretty damn close to it.”

  Her body liquefied in his arms as she waivered. Years and years of carelessly worded injury released. She slowly surrendered to his honesty. The wounds of assassinating verbiage were cleansed as she released her tears.

  “Thank you.” She laid her hand on his cheek and caressed his face with a delicate touch. It was such a small act but it annihilated any reservations that he had about wanting her in his life. His lips grazed the hollow of her palm and she kissed him. The sweetness of it washed away his gruff exterior with her trust. He knew it was rare, but it was the balm that could heal her. Even though he didn’t think he deserved her he wanted all of her, and he wanted to give her the love she needed to release her from the remnants of the past.

  Thirty-nine hours. Two thousand three hundred forty minutes. I marked the biggest change in life by the ticking of time. Two hours at dinner, three hours of dancing, countless minutes of assault, and a lifetime of hiding exposed.

  I was about to reveal all when the buzzing from my cell phone interrupted the connection between Falcon and I. Liz’s bright and cheery voice assaulted my ear.

  “Paige? Are you okay?”

  I hesitated. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Because you told me to meet you at Il Fornaio and I’ve been waiting here an hour. I think I’ve had about four cups of coffee.”

  “What are you talking about?” I was puzzled. “We’re supposed to meet tomorrow.”

  “Now, what are you talking about? The night we went out with your beefcake boy, you told me to meet you at Il Fornaio.”

  “Right! On Wednesday. Did you get your days mixed up”? Liz could be a little forgetful. In fact, she said her nickname was Dory, like the forgetful fish in Finding Nemo.

  “Right. Wednesday. Today is Wednesday.”

  I pulled the phone away from my ear and looked at the display. Right there, in backlit letters was Wednesday and, right there, in my calendar it said I was meeting her for breakfast. I laid my head back on the pillow and put my forearm across my eyes. I had lost a whole damn day!

  Behind me Falcon yawned and cleared his throat.

  “Is that Falcon?” She bubbled with a brew of teasing and inquisitiveness. “Did he stay the night?”

  I looked over my shoulder. Falcon peered at me through narrow slits. It was so quiet in the room he could hear everything she said without eavesdropping. He seemed amused at my uncomfortable situation and raised his eyebrows as he, too, waited for my response. Neither one of them was going to be satisfied because I decided that, for the time being, the best response was no response.

  I looked back at him playfully while I spoke into the phone.

  “I don’t think I’m going to make it this morning, babe.” He gave me a stern look and put his arms behind his head. “I’ll meet you later. Sorry about breakfast.” I rolled my eyes to emphasize my agitation.

  “Oh, I can’t wait to hear this!”

  Elizabeth’s sarcasm gushed through the phone. I hung
up to the sound of her laughing and tossed the cell to the bottom of the bed. A low chuckle escaped Falcon and he patted my leg.

  “Was that the cellular equivalent of a walk of shame?”

  “Sure.” My voice was muffled by the pillow I now had over my head as I hid my face under a light dew of mortification. “I’m so glad you find this amusing.”

  “Do you remember anything that happened?” His tone changed from playful to serious.

  “Some, but I’m sure I’ll remember more once I have some coffee and the fog lifts from my brain.”

  I mentally sorted the night’s images by going through the events. The pleasant ones faded away while the one of Blake coming to my room clarified. I pushed the covers down. The moment I saw the bruises the pain registered. A panic attack hit when I touched the black and blue skin.

  “Oh my god! I shouldn’t have gotten so drunk.”

  “And I shouldn’t have left you alone.” The remorse in his voice was palpable.

  “What are you talking about? It wasn’t your fault. I thought it was you at the door. I didn’t look through the peep hole, even though I know better.”

  Rising up on his elbow he pulled the pillow away from my midsection and looked at the bruises himself. Once his eyes raked over me his gaze was harsh.

  “Blake spent a night in jail and deserves a lot more. He attacked you. Are you seriously blaming yourself?”

  Shit! He spent the night in jail? Falcon arranged that, I was positive. I just hoped everyone at home didn’t know.

  “Well, it was my fault,” I countered. “I just opened the door without even asking who it was. That was a very stupid move on my part.”

  “Are you kidding me? I’ll agree that you should have looked through the door to see who it was, but Blake’s the one at fault here. He’s obsessed with you!”

  “He was drunk.” My eyes dropped and I turned away.