Fifteen
I have no idea where we’re going, as Saxon is being awfully secretive about where he’s taking me. The only hint he disclosed was I had to wear my cowboy boots.
It’s a warm night so I’ve decided to wear my short denim shorts and blue and white plaid shirt. I’ve tied it Daisy Duke style because if I’m going to wear my boots, then I’ve got to go the whole hog.
My hair is loose and I’m wearing barely any makeup. As I reach for my cherry ChapStick off the dresser, I freeze, deciding to wear my peach one instead. Grabbing the essentials, I stuff everything into my bag and I head outside.
Locking the front door, I smile when I see Saxon leaning up against his bike. He’s looking less festive in blue jeans, a gray fitted t-shirt, and motorcycle boots. As I bound down the stairs, I promise myself that tonight, I will try and forget about Sam. I know it’ll be virtually impossible, but I’ll try my best.
Saxon whistles as I walk towards him. He tips his baseball cap mockingly. “Howdy, ma’am,” he says in the lamest country accent.
I can’t help but laugh. “There is no way I’m riding that thing,” I say, shaking my head.
Saxon smirks. “Yes, you are. Get on.”
“You’re so bossy,” I mumble under my breath.
He passes me a black helmet before mounting the beastly bike with ease. I watch as he straddles it, shuffling forward to give me minimal room on the back.
“You want me to sit there?” I ask, horrified, pointing at the tiny space behind him.
“Don’t worry, I won’t let you fall,” he confidently replies, removing his baseball cap and slipping his helmet on.
Taking a courageous breath, I slip the helmet on before very awkwardly climbing onto the motorcycle. I instantly press my chest to Saxon’s back and grip around his waist like a spidermonkey, clinging on for dear life.
He chuckles, the sound vibrating through my fingers. “Ready?”
“No.”
“Hold on tight,” he sarcastically quips once the engine roars to life. I yelp.
With one last throttle, Saxon takes off and my body jars backward with the force. I can feel his hardened abs underneath my fingers, and the faster he goes, the tighter I squeeze, afraid I’m going to fall off.
He steers the bike down the driveway and before I know it, we’re on open road. As we ride through the quiet streets, a sense of freedom overwhelms me, and I feel like someone other than me. It’s similar to how I felt when riding Potter bareback and into the darkened night.
Every inch of my body is telling me to close my eyes, but I don’t. Tonight is about forgetting because my woes will still be there tomorrow. I take in the sights around me, feeling like I’m flying as the night sky passes me by. Wheat, corn, and potato farms are our backdrop for the ride, however when Saxon takes a left, we’re surrounded by fields filled with hundreds of sunflowers.
The towering yellow plants take my breath away, their beauty reminding me of a forever summer, mingled with constant happiness. It’s absurd to think a simple flower can make me happy, but I’ll forever associate them with this night.
We ride for countless moments, but I don’t care. The further away we go, the easier it is to forget why we’re here. Feeling a little more confident, I loosen my grip around Saxon, relishing in the way the air whips at my face, shooting a charge throughout my body.
I’ve driven this road a thousand times before, but somehow, it feels like my first time. When Saxon picks up the speed, I scream, but not in terror. No, I scream in excitement.
“Faster!” I yell to be heard over the whipping wind. Saxon obliges and pushes this beast to full speed.
I know it’s incredibly dangerous riding this way, but I trust Saxon one hundred percent. The way he handles himself on a motorcycle is similar to how he carries himself—with confidence, elegance, and control.
As I’m nestled against his back, my arms secured around his strong form, I can’t help but think back to our kiss. I shouldn’t, but I can’t stop. From the very beginning, Saxon has given me a sense of freedom. I was so busy comparing him to Samuel, but they are worlds apart. The way he makes me feel isn’t the way Sam does, or did. With Saxon, I feel…alive. And I feel free.
Saxon turns down a dirt road, gravel kicking up as he zooms towards a glowing hue. The closer we get, I come to realize the glowing hue is actually a lit up old barn. The imposing wooden building however isn’t your average barn. The tall white sign out front with red letters reveals just exactly where we are.
Sawbuck Saloon.
The patrons out front are dressed in cowboy boots, hats, and western style shirts, laughing rowdily while drinking beer. The loud country music cuts through the night air and as the door is an open panel, I can see people dancing inside.
Saxon pulls the bike over, reversing into a spot by a beat up old Chevy. Once he kills the engine, I take a moment to catch my breath. I attempt to dismount without falling onto my face. My head feels like it weighs a thousand pounds as I look around at my surreal surroundings. Peering inside, I see a horde of people in a line, dancing.
I turn around so quickly to look at Saxon, I almost give myself whiplash. “Is this a honky-tonk bar?” I can’t hide my excitement.
Saxon chuckles as he runs a hand through his mussed hair, reminding me that like an idiot, I’m still wearing my helmet. Before I have a chance to unbuckle it however, he strides forward and pins me with a heart stopping stare as he unfastens the strap from under my chin.
He works with deft fingers, the soft contact buttering my skin with goose pimples. I lick my lips, tasting peach. As he slips the helmet from my head, I smile, but his gaze is filled with a look I’ve come to know. It’s a look that can only lead to trouble.
“First round’s on me,” I say, clearing my throat to break the palpable tension. This is not how friends behave. Saxon snaps from his lusty trance, and nods.
Sawbuck is exactly how I envisioned a honky-tonk bar would look. The huge bar, stocked with every alcohol imaginable to mankind, runs down the length of the wall to the right. Neon Budweiser signs sitting in cowboy boots with spurs and Bud Light signs are scattered around the enormous room, highlighting what the beer of choice is for these thirsty patrons.
When Saxon points towards the ceiling, I stifle a laugh behind my hand as I see tattered cowboy boots and hats dangling from the wooden rafters. Fairy lights are tangled amongst the creativity, setting off the lively atmosphere perfectly.
We wait in line patiently, while I can’t stop taking in the sights. Wooden barrels line the front of the stage where a five piece band is playing an upbeat country song. Behind them are black and white photographs of John Wayne, Clint Eastwood, and Johnny Cash. Large wagon wheels are nailed to the walls, complementing the rustic vibe.
“This place is amazing,” I shout to be heard over the electric banjo. “How on earth did I not know it existed?”
Saxon shrugs his brawny shoulders. He’s too polite to say what we both know to be true. Samuel wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this, and because this isn’t really his scene, it wasn’t mine, either. Saying it aloud in my head, I realize how pathetic I sound.
“Is everything all right?” Saxon asks, narrowing his eyes playfully. “You look like you’re about to punch somebody and seeing as I’m the closest person within reach—I won’t lie, I fear for my life.”
And just like that, I feel my rage lessening.
The pretty bartender wipes down the bar before asking what we want. “I’ll have a Budweiser. Lucy?” Saxon looks down at me while I bite my lip.
Looking over at the specials board, I realize I may as well be reading Swahili as none of it makes any sense. Remembering an episode of Sex and the City I watched when Samuel was away for the weekend, I smile. “I’ll have a Cosmopolitan. Thank you.”
* * * * *
No wonder Carrie and the gang got hooked on these drinks. They are delicious. They are also very, very potent. That might explain some of Samantha’s poor life choices.
“How about we get you some water?” Saxon suggests, subtly yanking the cocktail glass out from under me.
“Hey!” I yell, making grabby hands for it. “I was drinking that.”
We’re sitting around a barrel, my alcoholism openly staring at me as I give up on counting the amount of unknown glasses sitting inches away.
“Water,” Saxon firmly repeats, but his lopsided grin tells me he’s enjoying my drunken state. “You got a thing against coasters?”
I try and focus on the blurry Saxon, who points to the table. Peering down with one eye open, I see I’ve made confetti out of my coaster.
“Seriously, are you going to tell me what’s bugging you? You go from happy to homicidal in point two seconds. What’s going on?”
I shrug, reaching for his beer. When he attempts to stop me, I raise a brow. He raises his hands in surrender.
“You were right. Sam is a big, fat a-hole.”
He sits higher on his stool, not masking his surprise. “I could have told you that years ago. Why the sudden change of heart?”
Sipping my stolen beer, I sigh. “I think I’ve been sleepwalking.”
One of the many things I like about Saxon—he doesn’t need a manual. “And now you’ve awoken from a very long sleep?”
I nod.
I’m unsure if it’s the alcohol, or the fact I find talking to Saxon so incredible easy, but I decide to divulge it all. “This entire time, I thought Sam’s bad behavior was because he was frustrated, confused, and scared. But now…I’m not so sure. What if you’re right? What if this Sam is the real Sam and I’ve just been too blinded by love to see it? Both of you have said it. Am I just a hopeless romantic, desperate for my happily ever after?” I’m questioning everything and I hate it. I know Sam, the old Sam loved me, but why doesn’t the new Sam remember me?
“No, Lucy.” Saxon’s tone is sympathetic. “You’re just a girl who fell in love. Unequivocally and wholeheartedly. Sam does love you. He always has.”
I wipe my eyes, brushing away impending tears. He’s right, but I still feel helpless. “I’m a love struck fool, that’s what I am.” My engagement ring catches my eye, confirming my foolishness. Tugging at the ring, I attempt to slide it off my finger.
However, Saxon’s hand gently rests over mine before I can take it off. “Leave it. It’s yours. When Samuel gave that to you, he wanted you to have it.”
Looking down at his hand, I frown. “Why are you defending him?” I don’t understand. I thought he’d be jumping at the chance to have a major bitch session about his brother.
“I’m not.” He shakes his head. “I’m defending you.”
“I don’t get it.”
He smiles. “You’re drunk, you’re upset, and you’ve been thrown a massive curveball. I want you to make that decision when you’re sure. Right now, you’re running on emotion. It’s a dangerous thing.”
When his fingers squeeze mine, my heart does a tiny flip flop. “Have you always been this smart?”
He smirks, and the sight, it takes my breath away. “I’ve always been the practical one, while Sam was always the pretty one.”
I know he’s joking, but the alcohol lowers my guard as I reach out to stroke his whiskered cheek. “You’re pretty too.”
The surprise is evident on his face. And honestly, it’s on mine, too. But I don’t question it. I accept and embrace. Just how I should accept and embrace Saxon’s words of wisdom.
A loud roar has us both turning to see a group of people cheering and clapping as a young man rides a mechanical bull. He appears to have done this before, as he’s riding the bull like a pro. Above him sits a sign stating anyone who can stay on for eight seconds wins unlimited drinks and a cowboy hat.
The grin reveals what I want.
“C’mon,” I say, jumping up from my stool and dragging Saxon to where the action is. “That hat is mine.”
He doesn’t protest and chuckles as we push through the rowdy crowd. When we speak to the guy running the show, he initially thinks its Saxon who wants to ride, but when I tell him otherwise, he looks down at my small frame and laughs. His response has me even more determined.
“All right. Just wait here. I’ll call on you when it’s your turn.” I watch as another cowboy takes to the bull like a duck to water. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.
As Saxon stands beside me, arms folded as he watches on with interest, a group of girls to my right have deviously migrated closer to us, not bothering to mask their appreciation of the tall, dark, and handsome next to me.
“Ask him,” I hear one girl whisper.
“No, you ask him,” another says.
“He’s gorgeous,” girl number one says—the girl who is about to get her eyeballs gouged out. “Excuse me?” She rudely leans across me and taps Saxon on the arm.
He looks at her and smiles.
“My friends and I were just wondering if you were going to ride the bull.” I bet they were.
“Not me, but this little cowgirl is.” He playfully nudges me with his shoulder, while I try not to glare at the hand still attached to his bicep.
“You’re up, pretty thang,” the man at the controls says, snapping me from my uncharacteristic thoughts of ripping out the groper’s long fingernails one by one.
The pretty brunette sizes me up, seeing me as competition. Well, I’m about to show her just how competitive I can be.
Guzzling down the last of my beer, I pass the empty bottle to Saxon. “Tell them I drink Bud Light,” I boldly say from behind my hand, hinting I’ve got this in the bag.
I kick off my boots before stepping onto the inflatable red round ring where the bull sits dead center. The bouncy surface will provide all the cushioning I need when I fall face first. What was I thinking? Eight seconds is a long time when riding a crazed bull. Not to mention, I’m wasted.
I mount the bull as I would my horse, but the shoulder span of this thing is huge, so it takes me three attempts before I get on. Digging my heels into its wooly sides, I grip onto the handle with one hand and raise my other in the air for balance.
“All right, little lady. On three, two and one!”
The moment the deafening buzzer sounds, the bull begins moving underneath me like it’s possessed. I scream, but that panic soon turns to determination when I realize I didn’t fall off as soon as the thing started bucking. I grip on tighter, squeezing my thighs and finding my balance to stay afloat. My drunken state is long forgotten and I focus.
Looking at the clock counting down, I see that I’ve made it to three seconds without flying off. When four seconds ticks over, I know I’ve made this bull my bitch. I hold on tighter, refusing to let go. I won’t let this bull, or any other bully beat me. I feel free.
I use my horse riding skills and athletic build to guide me and before I know it, the buzzer sounds, the bull stops throwing a bitch fit, and the crowd goes wild. My eyes search the spectators for Saxon, who smiles, giving me a thumbs up.
Jumping off, my inner thighs hurt like crazy, but I bounce across the floor and fling myself into Saxon’s arms. He catches me, laughing.
“I did it!” I shout, unable to contain my excitement.
“You sure did,” he says, hugging me tight. “You ready to claim your prize?”
Being wrapped in his arms this way, enveloped in his fragrance and warmth, I know that this, him, tonight, this is my prize. But I nod. I’m surprised when he walks with me still clinging to him, arms and legs wrapped around his neck and waist.
The controller doesn’t hide his disbelief that I stayed on as he passes me a straw hat with a pretty turquoise strap. “Congratulations. Looks like I bet on the wrong horse.”
“I’ve been riding since I was eight,” I smugly reveal, before hiccupping—looks like I could only evade my drunken mess for eight seconds.
“Well, god damn, shame on me.” Both Saxon and I laugh as we leave the next hopeful to try and conquer the bull. He doesn’t put me down and carries me over to the bar. As I look over his shoulder at his posse of pissed off admirers, I can’t help but smugly grin.
I feel silly being carried this way, but I also don’t want him to let go. Talk about push and pull. “So,” he says, reaching for the hat in my hand and placing it on my head. “What would the cowgirl like to drink?”
Adjusting the hat, I purse my lips in contemplation. He spins around so I can see the bar over his shoulder. Being pressed to his chest this way suddenly has me appreciating all the hard contours and muscular planes that make up Saxon Stone. I begin to feel that flutter in my belly—the flutter which leads to wicked thoughts.
A drink catches my eye, just for the name alone. I shouldn’t, but it’s out before I can stop myself. “I think I’ll have a sex on the beach.”
A choked breath gets trapped in Saxon’s throat, while I grin.
* * * * *
“No, you can’t leave her out here. She looks lonely,” I say, pointing to what I thought was Saxon’s bike. When he turns me around however, I realize I’m pointing to a Vespa.
“It’ll be fine and she? Since when has my bike been a female?”
“Since forever,” I reply, scoffing.
I have no idea what time it is because I lost track after my tenth shot. Saxon gave up with the water card after my third slippery nipple— the drink, I mean. I feel so educated in the world of spirits after tonight. I don’t know how educated I’ll feel tomorrow morning when I’m throwing most of it up, but I’ll deal with that when I’m crouched over the bowl.
Saxon slips his cell into his pocket once he calls a cab. He refuses to ride his motorcycle home, afraid I might fall off. I told him I was fine. However, when I tripped over air while walking to the bathroom, I knew he was right.
I can’t believe how much fun I’ve had. A shitty day has actually turned into one of the best days of my life. Fingering the woven straw in my hat, I smile, still on high from riding that bull and hanging on. It’s silly, but accomplishing that put forward the notion that I need things to change at home. There is no doubt in my mind that I love Sam, but is the Sam that I love someone I’ve put on a pedestal all these years? Have I been too blinded by love to see the cracks beneath the surface?
My memories of him are filled with nothing but love, happiness, and fun times, but if I were to dissect each one, would they be as perfect as I believed them to be? I do know that my journals will help me find those answers.
“Are you cold?”
I look up at Saxon, snapping from my thoughts. He really is incredibly gorgeous, and I know that’s not the beer talking. “A little,” I confess, as the night has taken an unexpected cold turn. He steps forward and gently rubs my arms.
Instantly, my traitorous body purrs at the contact and I’m too drunk to fight it.
“Better?”
My head wobbles as I nod.
The moonlight catches off his curved lip, highlighting his scar. Before my brain can reprimand my finger, I’m tracing the outline of his mouth He’s visibly shocked, but he doesn’t pull away. “What happened?”
I don’t remove my finger to allow him to reply. His warm flesh feels too good to break contact.
“I ran into a door,” he replies, smirking.
His response gives insight that he doesn’t want to talk about it. But when I finger over the scar repeatedly, mesmerized, he knows I won’t accept anything but the truth.
“I got into a fight.”
“With who? Why?”
“With no one special and why, because…I needed to feel pain to know I was alive.”
I freeze, pinning him with an inquisitive stare. His comment has me thinking about scars of my own. “Every scar means you were stronger than whatever tried to beat you.” Tears prick my eyes, hating how closely I can relate to his remark.
Saxon watches me, reading between the lines. He’s come to read me so well.
A horn honks, alerting us that our cab has arrived, thankfully interrupting a moment that was filled with too much emotion.
The alcohol hits me on the way home, and I end up slipping in and out of sleep. Nothing can compare to seeing the sights of Montana on the back of Saxon’s bike anyway, so I fall into a peaceful slumber. The car stopping and Saxon’s hushed voice alerts my foggy brain that we’ve arrived home, but my heavy eyelids and even heavier legs refuse to budge.
“Lucy…” he coos, “we’re home.”
I groan in response and turn into my pillow.
Wait, pillow?
As my “pillow” shifts, I realize I’m draped all over Saxon. If I wasn’t completely wasted, I would move. But the idea of moving hurts my pounding head and turns my nauseous stomach. So instead, I snuggle firmer into my makeshift cushion.
A graveled laugh soothes my aches and pains and I sigh, hugging into Saxon—the world’s comfiest bed.
I’m certain I’m floating because all of a sudden, I feel weightless. My body sags and I allow myself to be swept away in total stillness. A thump…thump…thump against my ear is the most soothing sound in the world. Not to mention with every breath I take, I’m cocooned in the most comforting smell. I want to stay here forever.
Forever comes to a screeching halt however when my ride through the clouds ends. “I’m going to put you to bed, Lucy. Okay?” No, that’s not okay. That sounds like an awful idea.
Forcing one eye open, I see the white stain of my bedroom door. I know I didn’t walk here, therefore, I know I’m in Saxon’s arms. I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to go in there because the thought of spending another night alone is too damn depressing. And then on the flip side, if Samuel is in there, I don’t want to be sleeping next to him either. My bedroom holds too many memories, ones I don’t want to deal with right now.
“Can I sleep with you?” I ask, my voice sounding like a garbled mess.
“W-what?” The hitch in Saxon’s voice is unusual, as he’s usually so poised.
“Can I sleep with you?” I repeat. “In your bed. Next to you. I promise…I won’t touch. Your virtue is safe with me.” I giggle at my own joke.
Saxon exhales loudly, and I’m too tired and drunk to decipher why. “Sure.”
Relieved, I snuggle into Saxon’s chest, sighing when that sense of comfort surrounds me once more. His boots sound against the floorboards as he walks towards his room. The door creaks as he opens it.
The moment he carries me in, I groggily open my eyes, thankful when he doesn’t switch on the light. “Do you think you can stand?”
I’m pretty certain that I can, so I nod.
I can feel his uncertainty when he lowers my feet to the ground. Even when I’m upright, he doesn’t remove his hands from my waist. The moonlight peeking in through the parted curtains basks us both in an ethereal glow, somehow adding to the magic of this night.
“Thank you.” My eyes droop to half mast as I fumble with the buttons on my shirt. I also feel like I’m wading through choppy waters as I sway from side to side. At this rate, I’ll get undressed by next week.
“Here…let me help you.”
Before I can protest, Saxon’s warm fingers overlap mine and he begins unbuttoning my shirt slowly. This is wrong, and so unlike me, but the need to crawl into bed and sleep overrides my modesty. His harsh breathing fills the still room. His face is hard, his jaw clenched.
I watch through a hazy cloud as each button pops free, revealing more and more of my skin. My flesh heats, part embarrassment, and part in craving. It’s been so long since someone has touched me so intimately, I long for more.
Once my buttons are undone, Saxon slips the shirt from my shoulders, disrobing me as it falls to the floor. His chest rises and falls, making no secret of his thoughts as his gaze lingers on my chest. I have on a plain black bra, but the way Saxon is looking at me, I feel like I’m naked.
He swallows before dropping to his knees before me. The gesture for some reason warms my heart and I can’t help but smile. He makes his intentions clear as he secures a hand behind my calf, indicating he’s going to take off my boots. Placing one hand on his shoulder for balance, I lift my leg and watch in appreciation as his bicep flexes when taking off each boot.
I’m now standing barefoot and topless with Saxon still on his knees. He’s looking up at me with nothing but admiration and I feel…beautiful.
He points to my shorts, timidly, asking permission. “Your, um, shorts.”
I know I shouldn’t, but I nod, lost in this moment between us.
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows nervously before reaching forward. Looking up at me from under his long lashes, he unsnaps the button on my shorts. He stops, his hands singeing my flesh as they rest at my waist. He waits, again seeking consent if it’s okay he goes on. God strike me down, I nod.
The heat from his fingers sends a charge throughout my body as he slowly unfastens my zipper and slides the denim down my legs. As they pool at my feet, I step out of them, feeling beautifully wicked.
Saxon is still on his knees, surrendering. I don’t know why I feel that way, but his torn features reveal he’s battling an inner war. Finally standing, I feel even smaller and fragile in his presence, only clothed in my underwear and cowboy hat.
The room is spinning, but it’s not the alcohol. It’s Saxon.
Feeling ashamed for such feelings, I hurriedly toss my hat onto the floor and turn, forgetting something which I’m usually so guarded about.
Saxon’s gasp hints that he’s seen my deformity. “Lucy, who did that to you?” The anger in his voice scares me.
“No one, just…” But he’s on me in seconds, spinning me around so quickly, I almost fall.
“Who?” His hard eyes reveal he’s not going anywhere.
My lower lip trembles and tears prick my eyes. “Let’s just say before I was Lucy Tucker, I was a nobody.”
Saxon’s face falls and his lips dip into a saddened frown. “This happened when you were a kid?”
I nod sadly. “I’m adopted, Saxon. I’m not sure if Samuel ever told you, but I grew up in the system. I didn’t even have a name. I was just known as M.”
He loosens his grip around my bicep, but never breaks contact and for that, I’m glad.
Taking a walk down memory lane, I confess, “When I was four, I went to live with Nigel and Denise Martin. At first, I was excited to live in Hollywood. I mean, this is where dreams come true. But my dreams soon turned to nightmares when Nigel’s true nature emerged. He was a mean man with a rotten temper. Denise was too busy rubbing shoulders with her socialite friends to notice. Or maybe she just didn’t care. I still don’t know why they fostered me. Maybe they thought it would camouflage their true nature, as people would see their act as charitable and kind.
It started out with little things. Nigel slapping me on the wrist for making too much noise. Or yelling at me for dragging in dirt from the yard. I can’t really remember much else, just flashes of him not liking me very much. But that one night, in his study, it’s a memory I’ll never forget. It’s one that still haunts me to this day.”
I don’t know why I’m telling Saxon this. It’s not an easy memory for me to share. But I know he won’t judge me for something that wasn’t my fault.
“There was a room next door to mine which was always locked. I was too young to understand then, but later on I found out that Nigel and Denise had lost a daughter to SIDS. The maid forgot to lock the door and the inquisitive four-year-old me thought it would be cool to see what was inside. When I stepped inside, I thought I had stumbled upon a goldmine. The pink room had every toy imaginable locked inside. To a kid who had nothing, this was the ultimate jackpot. Looking back, it was an untouched time capsule, a shrine to the daughter they lost.”
Wiping my tears away with the back of my hand, I continue. “A teddy bear sitting alone on a rocking chair in the corner of the room caught my eye. He looked so sad, so lonely, kind of like me. I was so desperate for a friend. A stuffed bear was better than having no one at all. So I walked over, not understanding the consequences, and decided he was to be my new best friend. I still remember the feel of him, the smell. He was perfect. But our friendship was short-lived.
Nigel charged into the room, slapping me so hard across the cheek I lost two teeth. I’d been hit before, but never like this. I didn’t understand what I had done wrong. I was four. I tried to give Nigel the bear, apologizing for touching something that wasn’t mine. But it was too late. He grabbed me by the ponytail, ignoring my cries for help and dragged me over to the bed. He then threw me onto my stomach. I heard his belt being unbuckled.”
Saxon’s eyes turn murderous.
The near darkness makes my tale easier to tell. “I-I didn’t understand what he was doing, but he made his intentions clear when he yanked up my dress and slapped me so hard across the behind with his belt, tears stung my eyes. He made sure he used the buckle. I don’t know how many times he hit me. I’d passed out by strike number five, still clutching onto that teddy, needing someone to hold my hand.
I woke up in the hospital where a nice lady told me that the bad man was gone. Sadly, the scars from that night will remain with me forever. He whipped me so hard he tore the skin off my back and behind. I don’t know how many stitches I got to piece me back together again. But it was enough to leave me looking like this.” I gesture to my body, not hiding my disgust. “Not long after, Simon and Maggie came into my world, saving me from becoming another statistic.
“I’ve been keeping journals ever since. Obviously, when I was too young to write, I relied on drawing to express my sadness and fears. Maggie and Simon were told what had happened and Mom recognized my pictures as a form of therapy. She kept every one. And I’m glad she did. I went to therapy when I was old enough to talk about what had happened. That’s when I began writing in my journals.”
Saxon nods, appreciating their significance.
“On my eighteenth birthday, I burned that bear. I know it was kind of morbid me holding onto it, but he was a reminder of who I once was, and who I was now. My childhood wasn’t easy, but I’m not a victim. Not anymore. And I’ll be damned if I stand by and let another human being be treated the way I was.”
“So that’s why you do what you do,” Saxon says in sudden understanding.
“Yes. I fight in the name of the four-year-old me. I was silent, but not anymore. Every time I help someone, I’m taking back a small piece of me. So you see, we’ve both got scars. My perfect life isn’t so perfect after all,” I say, referring to his comment at the hospital.
He turns his cheek, ashamed. “I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. I didn’t know.”
For once, I’m the one who comforts him, and it feels nice. After revealing my vulnerabilities, I feel strong. “Sshh, there’s no need for you to be sorry.”
The room is silent, heavy with emotion. It’s a feeling I’m all too used to when I dig up the ghosts of my pasts.
“I’m going to find that motherfucker…and kill him.” The anger behind Saxon’s promise displays that he’s not joking.
His response is so different than Samuel’s. Sam was understanding, and sorry for what had happened, but Saxon has launched into full-blown protection mode. He looks like he’s about to jump on his Harley and ride to Hollywood and kill Nigel with his bare hands.
“He already did it for you. Well, a twenty gauge shotgun did,” I say, revealing that Nigel took his own life. His clenched jaw whines in anger.
“I didn’t tell you this expecting you to avenge my childhood, or for you to look at me differently. I told you because I…trust you, Saxon. I want you to know all there is to me, and I hope one day, you’ll feel the same.”
I know he too has skeletons in his closet, ones I hope he feels comfortable to release one day. But not today because suddenly, I’m dog tired.
“Thank you for listening to my story.”
His face softens. “Thank you for trusting me with it.”
A yawn escapes me and my eyes begin to droop shut. Saxon pulls back the woolen blanket on the bed. White sheets have never looked more comforting and my body sings in ecstasy when I slip inside. Saxon draws the blanket over me while I sigh, never feeling more at peace.
I’m not sure how long later, but the mattress dips besides me. I instantly let out a low hum, feeling safe and at home with Saxon by my side.
Caught between reality and the dream world, I whisper my fears aloud.
“Will you take care of me?”
His heavy breathing fills the night air.
“Yes,” he replies after a drawn-out silence.
“You promise?” I know this can’t last forever, and I’m afraid.
He counters with so much emotion, his sincerity brings tears to my eyes. “Yes, I promise.”
“For how long?”
Pause… “For as long as you want me to.”
As I fall into a deep sleep, the word “forever” replaces goodnight.