“I had this funny feeling that was it. But listen to me―you are NOT stupid. Ever. Don’t ever let me hear you say that again. Do you understand?”
She’s appropriately sheepish when she answers, “Yes, sir.”
“Good. Bedtime. Get ready. And yes―tonight we are having sex. You can be quiet. I know you can.”
“Well, okay,” she answers, but her voice is thick with trepidation. “If you insist.”
“I do. Scoot.”
In five minutes I’ve got her undressed and I’m torturing those nipples. Man, I love those things. They’re just the right size and hard as stones. Minutes later my tongue brings her right to the edge, and I decide I’ll just drive her over it with my dick. As soon as I slip inside her, she moans―loudly. “Shhhh,” I warn.
“Oh, god, Lucien,” she whispers, and it’s not a quiet whisper either. “Oh, shit, babe. That feels so good. Oh, god.” The volume of her voice is rising as she’s losing herself in the rhythm, and I smile to myself as I push her upward toward her climax. “Oh, god, Lucien, please, fuck me. Oh, yeah.” She’s getting louder, so when she cries out, “Oh, sir! Yeah, yeah, that’s―” I clamp my hand over her mouth.
The pain in my right eye is blinding, but it doesn’t begin to match the agony in my balls, and all the air vacates my lungs when I hit the floor. All I can do is curl up in a ball, clutching my sack and almost wailing. I do remember that I’m supposed to be quiet, but I can’t. “Aaaggghhhhh! Oh, Jesus, what the fuck? Why did you do that?”
“Oh my god, Lucien! I’m so sorry!” she cries out and drops to the floor beside me. “Are you okay?”
“Fuck no! You just jacked up my junk and punched me in the eye! What the hell?”
“I’m so sorry! Oh, please, god, don’t be mad at me! Lucien, please? Are you okay? Please tell me you’re okay!” she’s almost bellowing.
“You racked me like a pro wrestler in a championship match and I’m not supposed to be mad? What the hell is wrong with you?” That’s the moment I hear the bedroom door open and I realize we’re both naked but, at that very second, I really don’t give a shit.
“Mommy? Are you okay?”
“Yes, baby! Go back to bed! Lucien fell out of the bed. Okay? He’s fine, but it hurts a little,” Rayanna answers, panic in her voice.
“It hurts a lot,” I groan.
“I fall out of bed sometimes. It’ll be okay, Lucien. You’ll have a purple spot, but it’ll be okay,” the little girl calls out.
I hear Rayanna say, “Go back to bed, sweetie. I’ll be in to tuck you back into bed in a minute, okay?”
“Okay, Mommy. Feel better, Lucien, and try to stay in the bed.” With that, the door closes and all I hear is the sound of my own gasping.
“Dear god, sir, let’s get you up and on the bed, okay?” She’s tugging at my arm and I try to move. It doesn’t hurt quite as badly as it did a few seconds before, so I sit up and let the stars clear from my vision. “Can you get up?”
“Yeah, yeah. I think so.” I manage to sort of stand, hunched over, and fall onto the bed.
“There. That’s better,” she says and tries to pull the covers up over me.
“Rayanna? What the fuck? Why did you do that?” There’s a sniffle and then a sob. “Answer me!” When I open my eyes and look at her, tears are pouring down her cheeks. “I’m the one who should be crying! What was that about?”
“Um …” Then silence.
“Rayanna, answer me.” She sits there, picking at her fingers and refusing to look at me. “I mean it! Answer me right now!”
That’s when I notice that she’s trembling all over, so I just wait. Finally, after what seems like forever, she whispers something that chills my blood in my veins.
“You put your hand over my mouth.”
The weight of that sentence drops straight into the center of my chest and I choke for a completely different reason. Of course. Why didn’t I realize what I was doing? I’ve done that with dozens of women. A lot of them even find it incredibly arousing, but not Rayanna, and I’m certain I know why. “Babe, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking. Are you okay?”
“Lucien, please, don’t be mad! I didn’t mean to hurt you!” And that’s the end of it―she goes into full meltdown mode instantly.
I’m still in incredible pain―that girl knows exactly how to hit and hurt―but I just clutch her to me and let her sob and shake. My pain is nothing compared to hers, a pain I can feel deep in my bones, the kind that grips you and never really goes away. My heart is breaking because I know as I’m holding her and stroking her hair, she’s reliving all of that, the cruelty and pain and fear, and I’m partially responsible for that internal retelling of the horror story. Pure carelessness on my part has hurt her, and I can’t help it―I start to sob too. The last thing on earth I want to do is injure her physically or emotionally. Honoring her strength and bravery is more important. When she feels me sobbing, she starts to cry harder, and I feel even more guilty.
We sit there like that for almost an hour, but I don’t know that until we’re finished because I’m not looking at the clock. Her brave, strong, pure heart is the only thing that matters. When I get myself pulled together, I whisper to her, “Baby, please forgive me? I should never have done that. I don’t know why I didn’t think before I did it, but I won’t ever, ever do it again, I promise.”
She sniffles again before she says, “I know you didn’t mean to hurt me. I do know that, Lucien. It’s just that as soon as you did it, all this stuff came flooding back in my mind, and I started to remember it all, and it scared me. It really did.”
“I get it, and I really am sorry. Climb up here in the bed and let me hold you tight, sweetie. I love you, Precious, more than anything. That’ll never ever happen again.”
“I have to go put Carly back to bed,” she mumbles between hiccupping sobs.
“I’ll go put her back to bed. It’ll be fine. You’ll see.” Slipping on my pajama pants, I head down the hallway to the cute little room and open the door. “Hey, sweetie.”
“You okay?” she asks me.
“Yeah. I’m fine. But falling out of bed hurts,” I say as I sit down on the edge of her bed.
“I thought Mommy was coming to tuck me in.”
“You got me instead. Mommy was upset that I hurt myself, so I told her I’d come in here and tell you goodnight again. I’m sorry I woke you up.”
“Aww, it’s okay,” she says and pats my cheek with her little hand. It’s such a sweet gesture that I can’t help but smile. “I can go back to sleep. But don’t hurt yourself that way again, okay? We can get a bed rail for your bed if you keep falling out. That’s what Aunt Reagan did for me, and it works real good.”
“Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind! Now, back to dreamland with you, girl.” I pull the sheet and blanket up and under her chin. I’m not sure how to tuck a kid in, but that looks pretty good to me. “See you in the morning.”
“Kiss goodnight?” she asks, so I press my lips to her forehead.
“How’s that?”
“Good. G’night, Lucien. Sleep tight.”
“You too, little one. Goodnight.”
By the time I get back to the bed, Rayanna is lying there, still sniffling and shaking a little. I don’t even manage to get back under the covers before she says, “Lucien, I’m so sorry I―”
“Stop. Just stop. As far as I’m concerned, this was all my fault. What you did was just a reaction to what I did, and what I did was something I shouldn’t have. So I’m sorry for it all. I want you to feel loved and safe, and that’s not the way to get that to happen.”
“I do feel loved and safe. There was just this split second that―”
“I know. Totally my fault.” We lie there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, side by side in our misery, until I finally say, “You do know I’d die to keep you safe, right?”
Her voice breaks when she whispers, “Oh, Lucien,” and cuddles up against me. My arms wrap tightly aroun
d her and I’m reminded of that beautiful smile, those gorgeous blue eyes, and that precious, precious soul inside her that kept her alive against all odds for all those years. And then she whispers back, “I’d do the same for you. In a heartbeat.”
There’s no doubt in my mind that she’s telling the truth, but I hope I never have to find out for sure. Neither of us needs that trauma―ever.
* * *
I take Monday and Tuesday off from work at Brian’s insistence. He wants us to spend as much time together as we can, just the three of us.
Reagan and Terry get there about thirty minutes later than they thought they would, thanks to a flight delay. That’s perfectly okay. Showing up thirty minutes early would’ve been devastating for Rayanna and Carly. Now they’re saying goodbye and I swear to god, I think I’ll die from the pain just watching them. They’re weeping and clinging to each other, and it tears my heart in two. As soon as Reagan and Terry drive away, Rayanna runs to the bedroom, buries her face in her pillow, and sobs so loudly I’m pretty sure the neighbors can hear her. I make my way in there, stroke her hair, and whisper, “Baby, I’m here if you need me.” Then I just leave her. She doesn’t need me telling her how to feel. She needs to feel safe to grieve.
I check on her after an hour and find her sound asleep. It’s yet another hour before she comes dragging out of the bedroom, eyes almost swollen shut and face splotchy and red, and plops down on the sofa. “You hungry?” She shakes her head. “Okay. No biggie.”
“Eat if you’re hungry. I don’t think I can.” The words are no more out of her mouth than the doorbell rings. And when I open it, I get a huge surprise.
It’s Trish, Sheila, Olivia, and Melina, and they’re all carrying dishes. “We knew you probably wouldn’t feel like cooking or going out tonight, so we just wanted to drop these by and get out of your hair,” Sheila explains as they set the casserole dishes on the countertop. Then, one by one, they hug Rayanna and tell her they love her. She can’t even speak, just sobs. I’m almost in tears too, and I thank each of them with a hug and a kiss on the cheek as they leave.
Plate in hand, I scoop out just a little of everything, grab a fork, put it on a tray, and carry it to the sofa. “Here, babe. You need to try to eat something. You don’t have to eat it all, but do try, okay?”
“Okay.” I watch her pick at it as I fill my plate. There’s chicken casserole, green beans, garlic mashed potatoes, and a little salad, and it all smells delicious. I take my plate and sit down beside her.
After I see her take a few bites, I ask, “So? How is it?”
“Yummy as always. They’re all good cooks.”
“They are.” I take a bite and she’s right―the chicken casserole is amazing. “Oh, wow. This is really good.” That’s when I notice that she’s eaten almost everything on her plate, but I’m not about to say anything. “So would you like to go down to the shoreline and walk around? Just get out of the house?”
“I have to strip her bed and get all that cleaned up,” she says, trying to be nonchalant, but I can see the pain in her eyes.
“You can do that tomorrow while I’m at work. Right now, let’s just try to do something fun, okay?”
“I want to work on my artwork. Is that okay?”
“Of course. That’s perfectly fine. I’ve got stuff I can do too.”
Insisting on doing the cleanup myself, I shuttle her off to her little studio down the hallway and finish picking up and putting away. There’s enough food for at least another meal, and I hope she’ll eat some of it tomorrow. Three hours later, I check on her and find her drawing something. When I step up behind her to look over her shoulder, she looks like she’s going to hide whatever she’s working on, but then she sighs and keeps working. There’s a picture on the tabletop beside her and that’s what she’s working from.
It’s a butterfly slipping out of its chrysalis, and it’s breathtaking. The colors she’s chosen are just enough outside the lifelike palette to make them remarkable and vibrant without looking garish or childish. “Oh, babe,” I whisper, “that’s beautiful.”
“Thank you. It’s almost finished.”
“I see that. Will you put it on the refrigerator when you finish it so I can see it for a few days? I really like that.” She nods. “Okay. I’ll let you finish it.”
“Thanks.” As I walk out, I look back at her, hunched over her creation as though she’s the only person in the world, and I’m glad she’s got this outlet for her creativity. It seems to soothe her when she’s upset too, and I vow I’ll never let her run out of art supplies.
At bedtime, she gets ready and slides into bed. I decide I need a bottle of water, so I head for the kitchen. But when the refrigerator door swings shut, I see the drawing and for the first time, I see its title.
Lucien’s Love
I’m blinded by emotion. The butterfly unfurling its wings from its chrysalis―that’s her. The love I feel for her in that moment is overwhelming.
Ten minutes later as I stroke into her and look down into her eyes, I see my future looking back at me again and I’m thrilled beyond belief. We’re going to make it. We’re going to get that little girl back here. We’re going to be a family. And we’re going to do it in a house that my work bought for us. I want to hold her, and love her, and make her mine forever.
And I know how I can do that. I just hope we’re both ready.
Chapter Twelve
We get to her therapy session on Wednesday morning and Ted seems to think she’s turned a corner in her healing. I have to agree. She’s a shining example of the perseverance of the human spirit, and I’m proud she’s with me.
When we get back, she’s rummaging around in the kitchen. “What are you looking for?”
“Just one piece of candy. I just want one piece of chocolate, and there’s nothing here.”
“Sorry. I can get some while I’m out if you want,” I offer.
“Nah. I’ll just walk down to the convenience store if that’s okay.”
I think about it for a few seconds. Everything’s been quiet. No false alarms, no panic attacks, none of that stuff. She should be fine. “Sure. Go ahead. I’ll be leaving in about forty-five minutes.”
“Oh, I’ll be back long before then. Want anything?”
“Nope.”
“Okay. Be right back.” She steps up to me, gives me a peck on the lips, and heads out the door, keys in hand.
She’s been gone about twenty minutes when there’s a huge commotion and the door flies open, then slams shut. I turn to find her there, leaning back against its solid surface, chest heaving and eyes wide with terror. “What the hell, babe?”
“Oh, god, Lucien! I saw him!”
Oh, shit. Not this again. “Saw who?”
“Connor! Oh, god, he was leaning up against a car across the street, staring at me! Oh, my god …”
“Rayanna, we’ve talked about this before and―”
A look of full-fledged fury passes over her face. “YOU THINK WHAT YOU WANT, BUT I SAW HIM!” she bellows. “I saw him, Lucien! I swear to god, I saw him! He was looking right at me, leering at me!”
“Rayanna, you know he’s―”
She yanks her phone out of her pocket and holds it out. “CALL THEM! Call them and make sure! He’s out there, Lucien, and I saw him! I know you don’t believe me, but I’m not crazy and I know I saw him!”
I just shake my head. If that’s what it takes to get her to calm down, then fine―I’ll call them. “I’ll use my phone,” I say as I look up the number for the sheriff’s department. They manage the jail, so they have all the inmate records. It’ll only take a few seconds and it’ll stop her hysterics for good.
The number rings twice before a woman answers, “King County Sheriff’s Department. How may I direct your call?”
“Could you connect me to the detention center, please?”
“Certainly. One moment, sir.” There’s this annoying music while I’m on hold, and I have to wonder how many people
have committed crimes simply from having to listen to it.
Another voice says, “Detention center. Officer Vincent speaking.”
“Hi, sir. My name is Lucien Pelletier. My girlfriend’s ex is incarcerated there. She was a domestic violence and abuse victim, and she insists she saw him outside our apartment, although I know that―”
He interrupts me with, “What’s his name?”
“Connor Bacchus.”
There’s a long silence―too long―before he says, “Um, Bacchus escaped the other day.”
The other day? What the fuck does that even mean? I can feel my heartbeat doubling under my ribs. “The other day? You mean, like more than one day ago?”
“Friday.”
Holy shit. He’s been out since Friday. Worse yet, he’s managed to find us. Then an inferno of rage passes over me. “What do you mean, Friday? And NOBODY called us?”
“They were supposed to but―”
“‘But’ gets us killed, idiot! We were supposed to be notified if there was any change in his status! How the hell did he―”
“Overpowered a guard. Took the guard’s keys and let himself out. They’ve been looking for him.”
“Well, I can tell you where you could’ve found him three minutes ago―across the street from our apartment, terrorizing his victim!” I shriek. “Get somebody over here NOW!”
“Yes, sir,” he says, his voice an unconcerned monotone, and I’m angrier than I’ve ever been in my life. It’s all I can do to keep from hurling my phone at the wall.
I wheel to face her, unsure how to tell her, and then just decide to blurt it out. “He’s out. He escaped Friday and nobody told us.”
“I’m not crazy,” she whispers, her face pale and hands shaking.
“No, babe. You’re not. You really did see him.” I head straight into the bedroom and grab my handgun and a loaded magazine, slam the mag in, and rack a round in the chamber, then run back to the living room. “Stay here,” I bark and open the door.
Eternally Yours: Bliss Series, Book Six Page 23
