Her Eyes

by Jennifer Cloud, Regan Taylor

Frank took a bite of his now-cold ziti. They ate their dinner, and occasionally, he would catch Catherine looking at him. Her eyes were big, a soft smile played at her lips, and he could almost believe that she loved him.

  Chapter Five

  The knife sliced through the air. He intended to kill her. In her heart and soul, she knew it. There was no mistaking the look of hatred in his eyes or the rage in his voice. For all the times he had struck her, beat her, threatened her, she knew tonight was the night she would die. That face, she didn't want to die looking at that face.

  "Please don't."

  He came closer, swishing the knife back and forth in front of him. The fillet knife was from his tackle box, not even a clean one from the kitchen. Dirty, smelly, crude—like him. This one had the remains of something brown and a few scales clung along the backside.

  "You can't leave me, Pam.” His voice, the epitome of redneck in his slow and careful way, hung in the air and added to her terror. “You're my wife."

  "Stop it. Don't do this, Robert.” Robert, who had promised her the moon and left her with only dust. Robert, the man who tried to destroy her spirit and when he couldn't, he now tried to destroy her body. I don't want to die, not this way. I want to live and have a full and fulfilling life. Someone, please hear me. I want to live!

  He came closer and leaned down, bringing the knife level with her waist. This was the only chance she would get. With all her might, she kicked out, causing him to lose his balance and stumble backward. The blow wasn't enough, though. He grabbed her arm, turning her, the knife sliced across her belly. There was surprisingly little pain, and for a brief instant, she thought he had missed. Then the slow red line started. She raised the palm of her hand and smashed his nose, taking some pleasure in the snapping sound. He let go, and she began to run.

  The screen door slammed closed behind her. With her heart pounding wildly in her chest, she ran. She had to get away. Her car sat in the driveway. The blood from the wound poured freely now, running in a red stream to her pants and dotting her sneakers. So much blood. Too much blood, she had to find help.

  She made it into the car, fumbled with the handle, her hands slick with blood made pulling the door open difficult. Finally, she tugged it free and started it by the time the dizziness hit. There was no time to waste. Robert wouldn't be down for long, and he would finish the job. She floored the accelerator and started down the tired dirt road. Dust flew behind her. Then darkness, then light, the tree, glass tinkling. She flew into a waterfall that used to be the windshield, like a bird set free. Dying isn't so bad after all, but I don't want to die. I want to live and love and be loved. I don't want to die.

  "He killed you." A strange voice filled her head. One that wasn't hers. She'd never heard it before. "Men are evil, you know. He killed you, and you're too fucking stupid to even know it."

  Who are you?

  "The question is, who are you and what are you doing in my body?"

  Catherine jerked awake to find Frank leaning over her. At first, she screamed, not knowing who he was or why he was in her bed. Wait, this was their bed. He was her husband.

  "Please don't hurt me.” She raised her hands preparing for a blow. “Not again."

  "Sweetie, it's me."

  His hands were rough, but in a masculine way that she liked. He swept her hair from her face, the motion seemingly too gentle to come from such large strong hands. In the same delicate way, he pulled her closer. She rested her face on his chest.

  "I think you had a nightmare."

  "I guess so.” She didn't want to say more. Had it been a nightmare? Nothing more than a silly bit of drama strung together by her mind? It felt so real, like it was a memory, not just a dream. Who was Robert? Why was he trying to kill her? It felt so real. It felt like she was reliving a life. Not necessarily her life, but a life. All she had were snatches of memory that came through the fog.

  He stroked her cheek. “I'm here. You don't have to be afraid of anything."

  When they'd gone to bed, she hadn't watched him undress even though she wanted to. She had imagined how he would look yet at the same time knew every muscle and plane of his body. Now she felt his body, hard and muscled, protecting her. The arms that held her were strong, but the way he held her made her forget the nightmare and the fear. This wasn't the man in the dream. This man wouldn't harm her.

  Beneath her leg, he hardened, the stiff shaft smoothly rubbing against her. At that moment, she realized that he'd gone to bed naked. Her thighs moved together impulsively. She couldn't remember this man ever making love to her but his gentle treatment combined with his body stirred something inside her. She lay there a moment, trying to control her emotions. She'd just had a nightmare, but the way he held her aroused her in ways that she couldn't remember experiencing. Then she remembered her face. He might not want her.

  "Frank?"

  "What?” He sounded sleepy.

  "Well...” She didn't know what to say. She couldn't remember ever wanting a man like this much less making her desires known. “Nothing."

  She shouldn't pursue this. Exciting a man now was unthinkable, and a man like Frank could have gorgeous women. Who wouldn't want to be on the arm of such a muscled, intelligent man? “Goodnight."

  She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. He held her there, bringing her face close enough so that she saw him clearly, even in the dim light. His face wasn't classically handsome, but rugged, manly. The sensation between her thighs stirred again.

  "How are you?” he whispered near her ear, moving his mouth back and forth along her cheek.

  "Wonderful, now.” She brought her thigh across him, rubbing his stiff length. A low moan of pleasure erupted from his throat.

  "Really?"

  Frank kissed her again, harder this time, and she lost her breath. His tongue dipped into her mouth, touching hers before she followed. Everything felt so new, but this was her husband. She knew it in her heart. There was no reason to hold back or hesitate.

  He reached beneath her nightshirt, touching her body, caressing her skin in a slow sweet climb. Those rough hands found her breasts, cupping, holding. She kissed him harder, wanting him inside her. Then he lifted her shirt from her body.

  "You're so beautiful."

  His mouth went to one breast, then the other. They felt larger, fuller, than she remembered. But that couldn't be. Each kiss, circling the underside then coming up and taking her nipple into his hot mouth. She moaned, and heat spread through her body. She had to have him. Catherine reached down, touching his cock, caressing it from base to tip. It was large, hard, and she longed to taste the dewy tip, yet she didn't want to pull her breast from his hungry mouth. She ran her fingers through his hair and arched her back. Those rough hands ran down, sliding to her hips and rolling her onto her back.

  "Are you sure I won't hurt you?"

  She couldn't speak, only shook her head no while she reached for his groin, massaging him, tickling the underside of his sac before running along his length again. Familiar, but at the same time, different, better, right ... so right. The smooth head of his cock nudged against her thigh, drawing closer to her mound. Agonizing seconds passed as he teased her, nearing to her opening, then pulling away while he plundered her mouth. Desire burned through her, and she thrust her hips up, trying to catch him, but he pulled back, just enough to rub himself against her clitoris, causing her to moan again.

  The hunger inside drove her mad. She reached around him, gripped his ass, and at his next tease, pulled him into her, sheathing him in her mound. It was too much. He stretched her, pushing then exiting only to bring himself back inside. She cried, unable to control her pleasure, and he hesitated.

  "Am I hurting you?"

  "Don't stop.” She'd never remembered being demanding in bed, but he had to finish her. She was so close. “Please, don't stop."

  Frank eased his hips closer to hers, and she knew his hunger rose out of control. He entered her slowly then harder, taking her, possessing
her in a passion greater than anything she'd ever experienced.

  Vibrations spread through her center, and she moaned, letting the delight roll through her. There was no reason to hold back. This was her husband, and she came. As her body let go, so did his. A grunt, another moan, and hot seed filled her.

  "Oh, Frank."

  Their bodies stilled. Hers beneath his. He rolled onto his back, bringing her with him. She'd become part of him, and there she snuggled. His breathing slowed, becoming regular, and she let sleep envelop her.

  Frank was perfect, and that was her last though as the sleeping world seeped in.

  * * * *

  Catherine woke in the kitchen, the cold tile on her feet. Startled, she turned, trying to get her bearings. Her naked body chilled. Her body felt different ... more, more, more something she couldn't define. She couldn't remember what she'd been dreaming. The daze of sleep lifted, and she looked at the knife in her hand. It was a long fillet knife, sparkling in the bit of light coming in the window from the street.

  "What the hell?"

  She dropped it into the sink, horrified over why she had it and what it could mean. Panic-stricken, she ran back into her bedroom. Surely she hadn't acted out her nightmare. He had to be okay. He was her husband, she belonged with him. In her heart of hearts, she knew they were soul mates and still she feared what the darker areas of her mind might do during unrestrained sleep.

  There lay Frank. His beautiful body twisted in the covers. It was too dark to see him clearly from the door, so she crept forward and slid her hand down his chest, waiting until he breathed. His chest rose and fell. He was fine.

  Never in her life had she wanted to harm another human being and certainly not Frank. The idea that she could have hurt him wouldn't shake. Tears filled her eyes. She had to get out of that room. She went to the bathroom and splashed cool water onto her face.

  This isn't happening. She'd just had a bad dream, nothing more. She loved Frank, at least she thought she did. I wouldn't marry a man I didn't love, would I? Of course not. He is, and always has been, the love of my life. Right now things felt too new to be sure, but that was from the accident, her suicide attempt. She couldn't imagine wanting to take her life and didn't remember the event at all. Maybe she'd gone insane. How else could she explain what happened to her face? The scars, the transplants, ... maybe that was it. She remembered once reading something about transplants and cell memory. No, she was home, safe and with her husband.

  Catherine looked at herself in the mirror. The edges of her hair were wet along with part of her bandage. She hadn't thought about that before splashing her face. She opened the medicine cabinet and pulled out a fresh pad along with cloth tape to secure it. As she pulled off the old bandage, she caught a glance of her eyes. The light was bad. That's all. She closed her eyes, then refocused them. On second look, everything was fine, but for a minute, she could've sworn two blue eyes held in the reflection instead of one blue and one green.

  Weren't my eyes green?

  No, that's not right. She replaced the bandage and looked again. One blue eye and one green looked back at her. Her vision perfect, but she couldn't help wondering why her eyes looked so different. It was more than the color. The blue one seemed colder somehow.

  This isn't making sense.

  She brushed her hair and crawled back into bed. In the morning, there wouldn't be a knife in the sink. Everything would be fine. This was a bad dream, nothing more. She'd been through a lot of stress and hadn't settled back to her routine.

  Quietly, she snuggled against Frank. He responded, eyes flittering open briefly before he took her in his arms. They said nothing, and she felt safe again, removed from whatever horrors had caused her to sleepwalk.

  I don't want to lose him.

  "Well I do."

  I won't lose him, not again.

  "You don't have a choice."

  She opened her eyes again but no one was there. Another dream. She wasn't hearing voices in her head. She didn't hear them now. It must be a side effect of the drugs at the hospital. Yes, that was it. The residual of the drugs from the hospital was messing with her mind. That was all.

  Again, Catherine tried to sleep. She wasn't crazy. This was a temporary thing, and everything would be better in the morning. Deep in her heart, she wanted Frank more than anything.

  "But you can't hide from yourself."

  I'm safe in his arms.

  "No, you aren't. I won't let you be."

  You can't stop me.

  "No? I can stop him."

  Chapter Six

  Frank had attempted to clear his calendar in the hopes of spending a solid week at home with Catherine. Originally, he didn't want to spend any time at home, but now things had changed. Catherine needed him. Something troubled her. He wasn't sure if it was from her injuries but it seemed like a strange dread had settled over her.

  Her difficulty sleeping also bothered her. She stayed restless, even moments after falling asleep. Those dreams she tried to casually mention disturbed her more than she was willing to admit. Honestly, he wasn't sure if she had nightmares before her hospital stint or not. It was embarrassing to say, but he had no idea how the old Catherine slept. After years of her rolling away from him, and then his sleeping in the den, he didn't know Catherine's sleeping patterns.

  On day two, however, his cell phone rang, disturbing their time together. They'd been cuddling on the couch, and he had to stop to handle business. So much for time with his wife.

  "What?” He didn't mean to bark, but the blissful moment had been too wonderful to disturb, until the digital chime. Some days he hated technology.

  The call was from Irwin, his foreman. A concrete support column hadn't been poured properly, and the job would likely be behind a week because of it. It was one of the few things that could pull him from Catherine's embrace. Damn, there were times he hated being the boss.

  "I have to go."

  "I know.” Disappointment filled her eyes.

  She actually cared that he was leaving.

  "I'll be back soon."

  "Then we can go to the market and get some real food in this place."

  "Deal.” Shopping for food, now that was a new one. Catherine shopped—for clothes, jewelry, things to enhance her image—but food? Maybe there was something in the drugs they gave her during the surgeries.

  Frank showered and put on his slacks. No jeans today. There was no telling who he'd have to deal with to get the job back on schedule. It was a state thing. Those bastards were picky and slow to pay, but consistent work for his men was better than letting them go without a check until a better job came along.

  He wasn't sure why he worried anymore. He had six crews going and two more jobs waiting as soon as he could clear someone. Work had always been his focus and the more work the better, it kept Catherine in the style she liked to live in and him out of the house. Of course now, work was the last thing on his mind. Cuddling, loving, planning a future with Catherine took priority. For the first time since they returned from their honeymoon ten years ago it looked like they were going to have a real marriage. Maybe they would even have children. Even one child would be wonderful. She never wanted any before, said they would ruin her figure. But maybe now she would want a child, his child.

  "Are you sure you'll be okay here, all by yourself?"

  "I'm a big girl. besides, I have Win."

  At the sound of his name, Win jumped onto the couch and put his head in her lap. Damn dog knew he wasn't supposed to be on the couch, but the look of them together kept Frank from saying anything. They both seemed content to keep each other company while waiting for him.

  "You used to want me to lock up Win when I went out."

  A deep crease appeared on her forehead, like she was trying to remember saying that. Then her pleasant smile returned, and she rubbed the dog's head. His tail wagged, and he rolled onto his back as a hint for a belly rub.

  "Don't lock him up. That would be terrible."<
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  He would never understand that fickle dog. Whatever enchanting qualities Catherine had picked up at the hospital worked on spoiled rotten mutts too. “Call me if he gives you any trouble."

  "I will."

  Frank went out the door. Catherine and Win followed him, stopping on the wraparound deck and waving goodbye as he pulled out of the driveway. They sat there on the top step while he drove down the road. She watched him leave, instead of waving him on while sitting in front of the television.

  "What's gotten into you, Catherine?” he asked as he looked into the rear view mirror at them.

  Frank had always imagined having a marriage like his parents'. His mother took care of the house while his father went out and earned a living. Mom had her church nights and occasionally babysat the neighbor's boys. They always had dinner together as a family though. Dad would help Mom clear away the dishes. They would stand in the kitchen together, her washing, him drying. It seemed like they never enjoyed being away from each other. At night they would tuck him into bed. Dad would read him a story while his mom hugged him and listened too.

  When he married Catherine, the hopes for a similar situation quickly vanished. She had him locked into his vows. His mother had warned him. She had tried to tell him that Catherine wasn't the right one, but he hadn't listened. His father had only given him the talk that when a man took a wife, it was for life. Those were ideas from a forgotten time, but that's how Frank was raised. He had old-fashioned values.

  As he drove he let a little hope light in his heart. Maybe he would get a good wife now. He wanted to fall in love with Catherine again. He only hoped she would really love him this time instead of returning to her previous behavior.

  A half an hour later, he pulled up at the jobsite. Twenty men stood around, staring at the support beam and concrete column. He didn't need twenty guys standing around. Downtime could cost him a fortune.

  A trailer had been set up on site to use as an office. Frank marched inside to find his foreman, Irwin, sitting at the desk with his feet propped up. At the sight, the foreman straightened up and picked up the schedule for the project.