CHAPTER 21
DREW
Lola was pale, too pale. Her skin was flawless porcelain at the best of times, but now it was almost translucent. Her eyes were filled with unshed tears, turmoil and heartache swirling in their amber depths as she sat on the lounge chair before a black screened TV. I’d offered to turn it on, but a subtle shake of her head told me she wanted to sit in silence. Upon hearing the news that Ben had assaulted other women, in particular one of his foster sisters, Lola withdrew inside of herself immediately, and now it almost seemed as if she were trapped in dark memories. Hopelessness wasn’t something I’d felt often during my life, but right now, I felt useless as I paced the apartment, the walls surrounding me felt tight and constricting. I needed to get outside. The urge to hunt Ben Crane down and deliver the blood and pain he deserved was so fierce, the only thing keeping me here was knowing Lola needed me right now.
My gaze crossed the room and landed on her for what seemed like the hundredth time, and she still hadn’t moved. She was so close, yet seemed so far away. Those fears she had spent the last two months trying to defeat one by one seemed to have seized her, she was a hostage to the past once more.
Tearing my gaze away from such despair, I glanced down the hall in the direction of her room, an idea taking root in my mind. I had no idea if it was the right thing to do, but the need to do something was strong, and it was the only thing I could think of.
I grabbed that damn bucket of fears, which was in actual fact a small ice bucket, filled with innocuous pieces of paper from her bedside table, carried it back into the living area, and knelt down before her. Finally, her sad eyes left the television screen and settled on me. The futility and distress I saw within them made me clench the bucket so hard I thought I might break it. Nudging the container forward, I watched her eyes drop to take it in.
“Take one,” I encouraged.
Her lost gaze found me once more, and she hesitated.
“I don’t think now is the right—”
“There has never been a more right time than now. He took so much from you, and you were finally taking your life back. Don’t let him win now.”
I pushed the bucket until it was sitting in her lap. With a great deal of reluctance, she reached her delicate fingers inside and pulled out a piece of paper. She didn’t bother to look at it; she simply handed it to me. I took the bucket and placed it to one side, then carefully opened the scrunched-up piece of paper.
Scars
I didn’t think it would be possible, but Lola paled even further. I felt like a complete dick. This was Lola’s path to healing, and I had never been a part of this particular exercise. Perhaps I was asking too much from her, pushing too hard. Maybe this was something I should let her do alone.
Before I had a chance to open my mouth and apologize, Lola’s nimble fingers went to the buttons on her top. The words I was about to speak became stuck on my tongue as she slipped the fabric from each button. Beneath the top, she wore a tank top; layers were like a protective barrier for her. She stopped about halfway and gently pulled aside the collar of her shirt. Her creamy pale skin was exposed, and my insensitive cock began to throb with interest . . . right up until I caught the harsh pink lines carved into her skin. At first it looked a lot like a jagged array of mindless slashes, but my brain was quick to put the sickening harm together to form the word ‘mine’.
“I’m his,” Lola breathed, a tear spilling over her lashes. “He carved it into me so I’d never forget. I don’t remember when he did this. I don’t remember how many times he hit me. I don’t remember him inside me.”
More tears spilled down her cheeks, and my own eyes fought a battle against tears which hadn’t been released since I was a child. This man had hurt her in so many ways, but this mark, this branding; it was a barbaric reminder of her ordeal that she would carry forever. It sickened me and enflamed the anger that was burning through my veins.
“He cut me up, and all I have are vague memories that I’m not even sure are real or not. He was in me, and I don’t remember. I don’t remember if I fought,” she said on a broken sob. “All I’ve got is the proof in these scars that he violated me and broke me.”
Unable to sit back and watch her fall apart, I took her into my arms and turned until I was sitting on the couch with Lola in my lap, her head buried against the crook of my neck as she cried, agonizing sounds torn from somewhere deep inside her. It was almost as if the very fabric of her being was being ripped apart. And as I held her, my hands shaking with unrepressed fury, my own soul was breaking right along with her.
“I don’t remember,” she sobbed, “and I don’t want to remember because I don’t think I could survive those memories.” She cried for a long time, until her heart wrenching sobs softened, and broken sniffles interrupted the silence. “Every day I look at these scars and I remember that he raped me, and I fight those memories. I’m so tired of fighting,” she whispered.
“No,” I said through a throat tight with emotion. “Don't ever say that.” I put a little space between us until I could look her right in the eye. “Your life is worth fighting for, Mouse.”
She just stared at me, her eyes and nose red, her face flushed with emotion.
“I’m just tired, and this is such a lonely battle.”
“You are not alone. You have friends here, Lola.” I paused so she knew what I was about to say next was weighted with meaning. “You have me.”
Her head tilted to one side with curiosity. “How could you want me when I’m so damaged, when he marked me the way he did?”
“I want you,” I growled, my hand raising to the back of her neck and holding her steady. “I. Want. You. Scars and all. You aren’t his. That word does not make you his. What he did to you does not make you his. You are not a possession to be taken, and these scars,” I took a deep breath as my eyes lowered to the scars on her chest. “They are the battle wounds of a warrior who went to hell and kicked its ass. They are proof of how strong you are, and a reminder that you are alive!” My gaze rose back to find her glassy eyes on me. “And if you’re too tired to fight, I’ll fucking fight for you, but promise me you won’t give up. Don’t let him win.” Another tear trickled down her cheek, and I wiped it away with my thumb, using more gentleness than I truly felt I could provide in this moment. Lola’s pain made me want to set the world on fire, her scars made me want to draw blood, and her tears made me want to kill someone. That someone had a name and he was living on borrowed time: Ben Crane. Even if I had to leave Montgomery Security and do it alone, I was going to kill Ben. Death would be a kindness I would eventually deliver, but not until I filled his world with so much pain that his soul begged for release.
A small hand on my cheek brought my thoughts back to the present. “Learn from yesterday, live for today, hope for tomorrow.”
My brow furrowed in confusion.
“It’s a quote David told me. It's by Albert Einstein. I like it.”
“Me too,” I whispered gruffly.
“I want to get it tattooed, here.” She pointed to her chest.
I could only nod. Seeing her turn her scars into something beautiful was the perfect solution.
“Ella told me Jaxon has a large tattoo on his back, some of it covers a particularly nasty scar.”
“That’s a great idea,” I mumbled, wishing I had been the one to think of it. “You could even get some roses or something.”
“Dandelions,” Lola breathed, her gaze settling over my shoulder and once again far away. “They represent overcoming hardship . . . I think I’d like dandelions.”
Her brown eyes settled back on mine and silence enveloped us. When her soft hand left my cheek, I felt a whisper of touch as her finger traced my bottom lip.
“Will you kiss me?” she asked, her voice so soft I barely heard her.
As her cheeks deepened in color, I realized how much bravery it took her to ask me for such a thing, but I couldn’t do anything to hurt Lola. She must have noticed the hesitation in my eyes, because she placed a hand over my beating heart and took a deep breath.
“You told me not to let him win. I want to feel normal again. I want to hold hands and hug and . . .” her blush deepened, “. . . other stuff.”
I couldn’t stop my lips from curling into a small smile.
“Other stuff?”
Lola rolled her eyes and slapped her hand hard against my chest.
“Don’t be a shmuck,” she whispered.
The light-heartedness in her words made the last agonizing half hour of emotional turmoil worth it. Under the pain and sadness was a woman who wanted to laugh and joke, and more importantly, she wanted to feel like a desired and appreciated woman.
“Okay, but you are in control here. You start this, and you finish it when you’re ready.”
Those beautiful brown eyes dropped to my lips, and I almost groaned aloud, moving her ever so slightly off my cock so she wouldn’t feel my hard-on. For a moment, I thought she might change her mind; the indecision in her eyes and posture was pretty damn clear. The moment she made up her mind, though, was like a whip cracking, so fast, and as her lips pressed to mine, I snapped into an almost painful rigidness. Her lips were tentative and soft as she held herself perfectly still, and then ever so slowly she began to move. Her kiss was restrained innocence as I carefully moved against her, keeping my tongue out of the action as we just sipped at each other, testing the waters. Pulling away, she sat back a little and looked me in the eye.
“That was my first kiss,” she quietly confessed. “Well, I had a boyfriend in high school who kissed me once, but it was a quick peck on the lips. I’ve been too busy running from Ben to date, so, yeah, I’ve never really kissed anyone.”
Although Ben had taken her virginity, she was still innocent in so many ways.
“I wish you had told me. I would have tried to make the moment more special or something.”
Lola shook her head. “It was perfect. I don’t need special. I know fairy tales aren’t real, and I’m not some kind of princess. I just want real.”