Secrets In Our Scars

by Rebecca Trogner

  “Are you drunk?”

  What a stupid question. I hold up the bottle like it’s a trophy.

  “Jesus.” He’s on me so fast I don’t have time to react and snatches the bottle from my hand. “Grain alcohol. Are you trying to kill yourself?”

  There’s two of him now. Two Roys in jeans and fitted white shirts, looking at me with scolding eyes. I smile, not intimidated by his anger or that I’m standing here in only a t-shirt. I’m too drunk to care about such things as I try and take the bottle back, but he evades my grasp. “You know what’s funny?”

  He shakes his head.

  “I’m a virgin from Virginia.” I laugh and hiccup. “Get it? Queen Elizabeth, Virginia. We both have red hair. It’s funny.” Even in my muddled state, I see his eyes brighten as he takes in the short length of my shirt. “Like what you see?” I ask and enjoy a degree of victory when his jaw clenches. “So I was thinking…” I throw my arms out to spin around, enjoying how the air lifts the shirt. “I should drink more often.”

  He scans over the scratches on my legs. “You promised you wouldn’t.”

  “I didn’t promise anything. I went for a run in the woods. I didn’t…” I laugh and make a slashing motion over my wrist.

  He rakes his hand through his hair. “This is my fault.” He freezes and fixes me with his gaze. “You went for a run? At night? Alone in the woods?”

  Unrepentant, I return his scathing glare and let my eyes roam over his body. I want him. Even drunk and furious, I want his rough hands over every inch of my body. I point at his right hand; drops of blood fall to the floor.

  “Shit.” In two strides he’s at the kitchen sink, running cold water over his knuckles.

  I remember how he punished Jason. “Who’d you punish?”

  “What?”

  Unable to resist the pull of his body, I walk up behind him and press my chest against his warm back. “Who’d you punish?”

  He turns his head and with his uninjured hand reaches around and touches my hip. “The refrigerator.”

  It’s my turn to say, “What? At the inn?” He nods. “Who won?”

  “I did. It was a piece of shit.” He yanks his shirt off and wraps it around his hand.

  Having him so near causes impulses and flashes of images to flit across my brain. Male. Muscles. Broad and thick shoulders. Those rough hands caressing my skin. My lower abdomen clenches like a fist, and I press my hand against it.

  His eyes flare like a stallion smelling a mare. He lowers his gaze to the shirt hem skirting the top of my thighs. “Don’t.”

  My thighs press together, trying to soothe the ache. “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t look at me like that.” He yanks off sheets of paper towels to clean the blood off the floor. “I forbid you to run at night.”

  I whirl around, lose my balance, and bash against the counter. “Don’t jog at night,” I impersonate his voice. “Lock your doors. Eat your food. Blah, blah, blah.”

  “Daisy—”

  “Daisy, Daisy, Daisy, do this, do that, don’t do this…You know what I want?”

  He’s crouched down, using Clorox spray on my floor like a penitent sinner. “I’ll do whatever you want, baby.”

  “I want you to fuck me.” I’m woman. Hear me roar. Finally, I’ve said what I want.

  He stands, throws the towels in the trash, and turns his back on me. “Don’t talk like that.”

  “Why? You do.”

  “I was wrong. I didn’t know you were...” His back muscles bunch as he presses down hard against the counter. “It’s not an excuse.”

  “Innocent? Is that what you were going to say. You’re such an arrogant ass, you know that?”

  Roy whirls around. “I’m putting you to bed.”

  “Yes, let’s go to bed.” I stumble, reaching for the liquor sitting on the counter.

  He goes to steady me, but I swat his hand away.

  “No more of this.” He snatches the bottle away before I can reach it.

  “Give it back.”

  He upturns the bottle and pours what’s left of the liquor down the drain. “You’ve had enough.”

  “Fine.” I stomp over to the stairs and make it the newel post, clinging to it like a first-time ice skater. “I’ll go to a bar.”

  “You will not.” He blocks my path to the front door.

  I look down at my t-shirt. “Right, need clothes.” I walk up the stairs on all fours. My head spinning by the time I make it to the landing. It takes a minute, or two, or three, for my surroundings to still.

  I make it into my bedroom with Roy shadowing me. “Let’s dance.” It takes two tries to hit play on my iPod, and The Weeknd’s voice croons through the speakers.

  “I thought you were going to a bar.” He grabs some shorts from my dresser. “Here, put these on.”

  I step away. “I’m not naked.” I love the sexiness of this song. “I’d rather dance.”

  “You aren’t going to listen to me, are you?”

  “Why should I? You’re the one who left.” I shake my head and carelessly pull the shirt up with my hands as I move my hips to the music.

  He reaches out to catch me, but I regain my balance. “I told you I’d be back.”

  I pull the elastic from my hair, loving the way it brushes against my back. His low growl brings my head up. My body responds. And as with everything, he sees it and growls again. What if when I’m sober, I revert back to pathetic Daisy? What if this is my only chance?

  “Fuck me.” I point to the door. “Or get out and never come back.”

  “Not like this.” He grimaces. “Never like this.”

  “Then go.” His rejection rips at my heart. “I’m sure someone will.”

  Too fast for me to react, he has me in his arms, holding my chin with his hand and pressing my body against his. “You’re mine.” He brands me with his eyes. “Don’t talk about fucking anyone else ever again.” He releases me. I stagger back. “Enjoy yourself.” He sits down in the bedroom chair. “You’ll regret this soon.”

  “We’ll see.” I blow him a kiss. I’m going to make him suffer. I run my hands over my breasts, my nipples hard and tight underneath the fabric. Roy’s groans, and slides down in the chair and opens his legs wide. As if another woman has invaded my body, I drop on all fours and crawl toward him.

  “Baby, you’ve got to stop.” He warns, but leans forward and rests his forearms on his thighs as he watches me.

  I rise up between his legs. My hands run up his muscled thighs, inching towards his manhood clearly outlined in his pants—until he grabs hold of my wrist to keep me from touching him there.

  “I saw you naked.” A goofy smile spreads across my face.

  “I know, baby.” He closes his eyes for a moment. “I can’t touch you like this.” His voice sounds like a plea.

  “Who said anything about you touching me?” I roll my head back and around pressing my breasts into the zipper of his jeans.

  He hisses out, “I’m not a monster.”

  “A monster,” I repeat, and lean back on my heels, letting my hands fall from his thighs to the floor. “Maybe I want you to be a monster.” I pull the shirt over my head, my breasts bounce and settle.

  Roy groans. “Those perfect fucking tits of yours.”

  It’s exhilarating seeing the lust in his eyes. Knowing he wants to touch me, but his honor won’t allow it. “You like these?” I press them together between my hands.

  He grinds his teeth and shifts in his seat. “Stop it,” he warns.

  “Or what?” I release them and run my hand over my thigh and between my legs, watching as his eyes follow my finger inside me.

  His breathing is ragged. His hands are clamped around the chair arms so hard I can hear the wood protest.

  “Want me?”

  “More than anything.” He rakes his hands through his hair.

  “Hmm.” I roll my hips, shuddering from the sensations awakened inside me. “Promise me.”

 
“Promise you what?” He’s dropped his head into his hands.

  “You’ll show me how to come.”

  A tortured sound escapes his lungs. His eyes look into mine like he’s grappling to hang onto his sanity. “Baby, I’ll do whatever you want if you’ll stop punishing me and put some clothes on.”

  I laugh and rub the viscous fluid between thumb and forefinger.

  He inhales deeply and guides my finger to his tongue.

  What would his warm mouth feel like on other parts of my body? “Do I taste like a virgin?”

  He lets go of me like I’ve burned him and gets up from the chair, moving to the far side of the room. “That was wrong of me.”

  “Not a monster.” I try to stand, fall, and lean against the bed. The room is spinning. “I’m dizzy.” Before I can say anything else my stomach revolts and I throw up.

  His hands lift me and carry me to the bathroom. I watch, too weak and dizzy to move, as he places a towel in front of the toilet and sets me on it. I throw up everything in my stomach until I’m dry-heaving and wishing I were dead.

  He cleans my face with a cold washcloth. Cradles me in his arms and carries me to bed.

  “I’m sorry,” I croak, my throat raw.

  “For what?”

  “Being a virgin.”

  “You’re perfect.”

  “Please.” I reach out to him when he gets up. “Don’t leave.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” he says and slides in next to me.

  Chapter Eight

  I’m wrapped in warmth. In stages, I remember everything. “Aren’t I supposed to black out stuff?”

  The something warm wrapped around me moves. “How are you?” Roy asks and slides his arm from underneath me and gets out of bed, rolling his injured shoulder to ease the stiffness.

  “Mortified.” I peek up as he stretches his arms above his head, the glorious naked expanse of his muscled back open to my view.

  He nods as if to himself and goes to the bathroom. “I gave you a little pharmaceutical cocktail to ease the pain.”

  He did? I don’t remember.

  He flushes the toilet, washes his hands, and comes back in. “I’ll make some breakfast.”

  I roll over and cover my face. “Food…no.”

  “Ever been drunk before?”

  I groan and hide my face in the comforter. “I don’t drink.”

  “You put on quite a show.” He chuckles and goes downstairs.

  “I’m such an ass,” I mutter, and roll out of bed too fast. The floor shifts under my feet. Reaching out to steady myself with the bedpost, I take a few deep breaths and acclimate to being upright.

  I smell bleach and look around to see he’s cleaned up the mess I made on the floor, and the bathroom is sparkling. He took care of me when I was so awful to him. When I teased him and danced naked. Naked. I close my eyes. I’m such an idiot.

  The mirror is not my friend this morning. My eyes are puffy. My complexion is splotchy. My curly red hair unruly since I went to bed with it wet. I wash my face and brush my teeth. Colgate and Listerine are no match for my hangover breath. I drag a brush through my tangles, only to give up and braid it down my back. Finally, I pull on a pair of loose shorts, a sports bra, and a t-shirt and make my way to the kitchen.

  Any other morning, the aroma of bacon frying and fresh coffee would have me taking the stairs two at a time. Right now, it’s revolting, and I hold my hand over my mouth.

  “That will help.” He points toward the table, where a glass of blue liquids sits. “It’s Powerade. You need electrolytes and sodium and carbs.” He must have gone shopping or sent someone because he’s cooking scrambled eggs. I hate eggs except in cookies and cakes and bread. I guess it’s in bread. “Trust me.” He nods to the glass I’m holding like it contains arsenic. “I’ve been where you are.”

  No smell. I take a sip. It’s cold and sweet and soothes my throat. While Roy’s busy stirring the eggs and putting bread in the toaster, I finish it. “So you’ve danced naked in front of a man?”

  Roy laughs and scrapes the eggs onto a plate. “No, can’t say I have.” He pours another glass of the blue stuff, drops the plate of eggs in front of me, retrieves the toast and sets it on the table. Finally, he pulls a chair out for me and goes to sit facing me. “I enjoyed the show even if you gave me the worst case of blue balls of my life.”

  “I’ll never touch alcohol again.”

  “Doubtful.” He points to the plates of food. “Eat.”

  “Does everyone do what you say?”

  “You didn’t listen to me last night.” He takes a sip of coffee. “How’d that work out for you?”

  He’s a smartass, but he has a point. “Aren’t you hungry?”

  No response. He continues drinking his coffee like he’s waiting for me to do the right thing.

  “Thank you.” I push the plate of eggs to the side. I’m nibbling on a slice of toast when I look up and catch him staring at my chest. I roll my shoulders forward, self-conscious and ashamed. “I behaved badly last night. The things I did. My aunts raised me better.”

  He takes his time meeting my eyes. “I’m sorry for how I reacted at the restaurant. It was wrong of me, and not your fault. You trusted me to act like a man. I let you down. Can you forgive me?”

  “I didn’t believe you’d come back.” I pick out a slice of bacon, not because I want it but needing something to do under his intense gaze. “You don’t have to be afraid I’ll do something to myself if you don’t want to…”

  “I’ve never wanted a woman more.” He abruptly stands and goes to lean back against the counter. “You shame me.” He rakes his hands through his hair. “It never occurred to me you were a virgin. The way I spoke to you. Have you done nothing?”

  “Other than Charlie.” I shudder and shake my head.

  “Right, doesn’t count.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “I can’t be the one.”

  I wrap my arms around my chest.

  “I’m shit at this. I meant you’ll need to initiate, so I don’t pressure you into anything you don’t want.”

  “I want you,” I whisper. “I was drunk, but I meant what I said last night.”

  He truly is like a large cat as he prowls across the room and kneels on one leg by my chair. “And I you.” He places his hands on either side of my face and lowers his lips to mine.

  It’s a chaste kiss, yet manages to make my body tingle with the promise of things to come.

  He quickly disengages. “Right, we can talk more about this tonight. I’ve got some research to do about your…condition.”

  “My condition.” I wrap my hands around my coffee cup and inhale the heady aroma. “I don’t have a disease.”

  “I’m crazy to even consider this.” He stops and faces me. “I mean look at me.” He lifts his large hands up. “I’m a bull, and you’re the china.”

  I can’t help but smile at him using my analogy. “I’m not made of china.”

  “And I’m too old for this.”

  His words hurt. “Surely some of the hundreds of women you’ve seduced were virgins.” His ex-lovers must look like Black Friday shoppers lined up at their favorite store.

  I know he’s tasted the sarcasm in my remark by the height of his raised eyebrow. “No, this is a first for me.” He kisses my forehead, my nose, and lightly brushes his lips against mine before releasing me. “I’ll make this right. I’ll call the doctor and sort out the best way to proceed.”

  “Doctor? This isn’t some business venture where professionals are needed. People in love muddle through just fine.”

  “Hmph.” He takes my coffee cup from me and points toward the stairs. “Go on, take a shower and get ready for work. I spoke with your Aunt Stella earlier and let her know you’d be late.”

  I grab my cup back. Apparently, Roy doesn’t understand I function by the grace of the almighty coffee bean. “Thank you for calling them.” But I know they’re going to be merciless with their questions.
/>   He playfully smacks my behind as I walk by. “What am I going to do with you?”

  I’m wide-eyed and surprised that I like the sting.

  “I need to warn you.” I freeze, afraid of what he’ll say. “I don’t share what is mine. You’ll do well to remember that.”

  “Good, because I’d hate to have to fight for your honor.” And run up the stairs as fast as I can without spilling any coffee.

  I’m all nerve endings and achy need as I wash my legs, which look like a patchwork quilt of mosquito bites and scratches. I spend a long time on my breasts. They’ve never felt so tender. My nipples are tight and pink and begging to be twisted. At first, I don’t notice the absence of my razor. Not the Lady Bic I shave my legs with, but Reggie’s old straight razor.

  I know it was there last night. What the heck did I do with it? It has to be here somewhere, unless… I put on my best underwear set, jeans and a Mangler polo, and rush downstairs to confront Roy about the razor.

  “Get the watch.”

  Shit. I forgot about the Rolex and how he was forced into it by circumstance. “It’s too expensive,” I protest. “Please, return it. I don’t want you spending so much money on me.” I’m sure it’s worth more than the Buick and delivery van put together.

  “Do you like it?”

  “Who wouldn’t?”

  “Get it.”

  I run back upstairs, pull the box from the bottom of my sock drawer, and dutifully bring it back to him.

  He unlatches the clasp, holding it out to fit on my wrist. “Comfortable?”

  “I don’t need a Rolex.”

  He ignores my comment. “I’ll get this sized at the jeweler today.”

  “Of course you will,” I exhale, and follow him out the door, having to jog to keep up with him.

  “Deadbolt locks will be installed this afternoon.”

  I halt while he waits by the open car door. “No, they won’t.”

  He looks back at my house. “Vincent could easily kick your door in. Hell, you could probably kick it in.”

  With determination, I meet his eyes and firmly say, “It’s my house. I appreciate your concern, but the answer is no.”

  His face a storm cloud ready to erupt, he waits while I get in, closes the door, and slides in behind the wheel. “You’ll be staying with me anyway.”