Chapter 3
Lacey
David is heading right for me with deliberate, livid steps and I'm frozen in place. I didn't expect him to come to my apartment looking for me. Not tonight. I expected to have a day or so to work through each torturous second of tonight and decide on a course of action.
Call the cops?
Just ignore his calls and hope he leaves me alone?
Then again I guess nothing about this night is what I would have expected.
Max stands slightly ahead of me in a causal stance that doesn't fit the circumstances. He has no clue what monster is descending on us. On me.
Miraculously his presence calms me enough that I can stand upright and let go of the metal railing. Leaning on it for support isn’t the most reliable idea considering how old the building is. Parts of the railing have rusted completely through and broken off. Maintenance never replaced them or anything else around here. The last thing I need tonight is to fall on my face on the concrete trying to cling to this cold, weakened metal like a lifeline.
I instinctually inch closer to Max and brace for the argument I know is coming. Not long ago it was Max I was ready to haul ass away from. Funny how quickly things change when faced with your worst nightmare in the flesh.
"Why did you leave?" David demands loudly. Was he trying to wake all the neighbors so he has a bigger audience to terrorize me in front of? I don’t answer him so he keeps on yelling and berating me. "We obviously need to talk about what happened. I don’t like the way you’ve been acting."
He seems to finally notice Max standing there and shoots a menacing glare between us as if suspicious of our relationship. As if I was the untrustworthy party in this joke of a relationship. Little does he know I officially met Max under an hour ago and wouldn't even know him at all beyond a mysterious, slightly bizarre coffee shop customer if it weren't for David raping me.
Rape.
He raped me.
I hadn't had time to process what happened to me yet, what with Max imposing himself into my walk home. I was grateful for that now. The dreaded R-word sends tears streaming down my cheeks again before I can pull myself together. I haven’t cried so much all year and I deeply resent that David has reduced me to a sniffling, emotionally unstable mess in such a short time.
"I have nothing to say to you."
"That's not true." He scoffs and takes a step closer to me from the opposite side of Max.
Did he actually believe the words coming out of his mouth? That I would just follow him back to his apartment, sleep next to him and tomorrow we could talk about this?
Abuse was a deal breaker. Cheating was a deal breaker. Combined? I don’t even have a word to articulate that. Fuck no. That’s what that was called.
"I don't want to talk to you."
"Stop being dramatic, babe. Just come back with me and we can talk in the morning-"
I feel myself growing hysterical at his persistence. His mere presence. I can’t even look at his arrogant face.
"I said no!"
"Alright that's enough." Max butts in. "It's time for you to go."
"Who the fuck is this guy?" David looks right past Max and addresses me. I hate that I cower under his gaze. "Have you been fucking him? Is that it? You’ve been whoring around. That’s why you haven’t wanted to fuck me?”
His words are a slap in the face and I gasp in shock. Max maneuvers himself to block David completely from my view. Apparently he’s had it with the bullshit and doesn’t want to keep playing this game.
Good.
"She said she doesn't want to talk to you. Fuck off."
David makes another move toward me and apparently it’s the last straw. Max shoves him hard in the chest causing David to stumble back several steps. He only regains his balance because he bumps into his precious car.
I watch on horrified as fists start flying in a blur. I'm vaguely aware that Max has inched the fight further from me as I cling onto the stair railing once again. Blinds peek open from the apartments across the lot but after seeing it’s just a fight, they close back unconcerned.
Drunken Friday night fights aren’t unheard of around here.
Although they’re about the same size and build Max seems to have much more experience in fights. That’s obvious from the first punch. I can see it with my own eyes, knowing next to nothing about fights.
It doesn’t take a genius to see it though. He clearly has the upper hand, maneuvering their struggle to where he wants, far enough away from me so I wouldn’t end up in the crossfire. How is it possible to be thoughtful in the middle of a violent altercation?
Seeing his brute strength should probably scare me but it doesn't. In this moment Max is my defender and I'm comforted by the precision in his movements. The flexing and rippling in his muscles as he blocks a swing from David effortlessly. I remained confident he wouldn't hurt me or he would have done so on our walk home when he had the opportunity.
A chill ran over my skin at the idea that he was stronger, more powerful than David and look what he had done to me tonight. I felt powerless and terrified by his strength. What made Max’s different? He may be an ally for the time being but that didn’t mean I knew him.
I shook off those thoughts. David had been a snake in the grass. Trusting him for nearly a year had been the biggest mistake in my life. Thus far at least. I couldn’t imagine many things worse in life than what he had done to me.
Suddenly the bloodshed dissipates and David hunches forward, catching his breath. The two guys stare each other down for several tense moments. Max’s back was to me but as far as I could see from this angle, his energy wasn’t as spent. If need be he could keep going and his posture told David the same.
Try me. It said. I’m ready for you.
David turns to leave, spitting blood into the concrete walkway. "I hope you didn't plan on fucking her tonight because I've already had her." He shouts hatefully as he climbs back into his car, smirking in satisfaction as my cheeks blush so deeply I can feel the heat. He sends a pointed look between my legs. "Might be a little messy down there."
Max lunges toward him again, the muscles in his arms tensing with aggression and adrenaline. David lets out a laugh that echoes across the parking lot, amused by the reaction, and peels off before Max reaches him. Tears of humiliation stream down my cheeks, chasing the tears of pain, and I turn away from Max to hide my face from view.
His footsteps fall softly on the paved walkway as he cautiously approaches me like I’m a frightened animal that may take off running at the slightest movement. I anticipate him asking if I'm ok like he’s already done several times tonight.
He doesn't.
"So who's the fucking douche bag?"
I let out the breath I was holding. I can't help but laugh and I'm surprised at how easily Max is able to bring that out of me on the worst night of my life. It’s more of a release of tension than an actual laugh but it still counts. He makes me feel…lighter.
"My boyfriend...ex-boyfriend."
He lifts an eyebrow but doesn't question me further. I'm sure he had gathered as much from the exchange he witnessed. Still, I can't bring myself to add anything more.
My focus drifts from his hazel eyes to his lips and I take a step closer. His bottom lip is swollen and split down the middle, blood caking in the corner where it pooled. Guilt surges inside my chest. I dragged this Good Samaritan that volunteered to walk me home into a fist fight in the parking lot of my apartment.
Who the heck does that?
“You're bleeding."
He shrugs and his lips lift at the corners. A hint of dimples sink in each cheek as if he's fighting a smile. "I've had worse, Lacey. I'll be fine."
I stare up at him thoroughly unconvinced. Less than twenty minutes ago there was no way in hell I was going to let this man in my apartment. But now?
"Come upstairs and let me help. You need to clean it up."
He stares back at me for several beats and I sense that he's trying to read any hesitation from my expression. When he finds none he nods and follows me upstairs, his shoes heavily thudding the rickety steps below me. I unlock my door with trembling fingers, shaken by the evening I've had. Everything is catching up to me and I feel on the verge of a meltdown like no other. My nerves are completely shot.
Max waits patiently behind me, giving me space to unlock it on my own. I see him watching my shaking hands from the corner of my eye but he makes no move to grab the keys. I appreciate the distance, giving me a second to pull myself together.
Finally I’m able to get the damn door open. I feel self-conscious about my fretful demeanor but thankfully he still doesn't comment on it.
"The bathroom is this way." I lead him down the narrow hallway to the guest bathroom, which sits across the hall from my bedroom. I pull the door to my bedroom shut promptly, effectively cutting off his view of my bed and clothes scattered on the floor, and open the door of the bathroom.
I gesture him inside and he complies obediently, flipping on the light. His large frame takes up most of the room and I linger in the doorway, stretching to open the medicine cabinet above the sink and pull out the never opened first-aid kit without brushing against him.
His lips quirk in that signature smirk I’m beginning to associate with him as he eyes the kit. He's openly amused that I think he needs a first-aid kit but sits down on the toilet without complaint. I pull out the bottle of peroxide and soak a cotton swab, handing it to him.
“You need it. God knows what was on his hands. He probably gave you an incurable disease just now.”
He laughs and holds eye contact as he presses the cotton to his bottom lip gingerly. When he pulls it away it’s lightly soaked in red. I cringe at the sight.
"I'm so sorry you got dragged into that, Max. This is all my fault."
"This is not your fault at all. Besides, I'm fine."
I take the used cotton swab from his hand and toss it to the trash. He kept assuring me he was fine and I felt as if we traded places. Our roles reversed from earlier in the evening when he was the one worried about me.
"Look, I...I really need to take a shower." I break the silence.
I desperately need to wash myself of David and assess the damage downstairs. I feel a worse ache than I had after my first time and there's a real possibility I might be seriously hurt.
"Ok." he agrees softly. My stomach growls and he looks back up at me. "Are you hungry?"
Unable to deny it I nod. "I haven't had dinner. I think I lost my appetite though. I probably should just go to bed."
"Why don't you shower and get dressed. I have to walk back to get my car. But I can drive back and we can get something to eat?"
I hesitate.
Not because I'm scared of him anymore but because my emotions are frazzled. I really need to lie down and try to process how I feel. But, as if on cue, my stomach growls again. He glances to my stomach-again-and gives me a pointed look intended to make me laugh.
It works.
"Look, I know a really good place we can go that's quiet. Right in the middle of town." He offers as if knowing exactly what I need. Quiet but not entirely alone with him. My rumbling belly convinces me that self-reflection and planning out what to do from here can wait until I get something to eat.
I couldn’t get much processing of emotions done on an empty stomach anyways.
"Ok." I agree with an ease that surprises me. It seems as if Max is full of surprises. I'm so intrigued by him and I don't want my time with him to end just yet. His presence is calming and soothing. "I'll be ready in about twenty minutes?"
"Sounds good. I'll be back by then. Meet me downstairs."
"Ok."
"If you don't come down in the next half hour I'll know you changed your mind."
He’s giving me an out and my heart clenches in affection at the gesture. He isn't being pushy about spending the evening with me. I can't even begin to imagine why he would want to after I acted like a frigid bitch and then got him punched in the face in the same night. But his interest and concern seems so genuine.
He seems genuine and I can’t quite form the words to send him away just yet.
✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧
I go inside my bathroom as he lets himself out of my apartment with a solid plan to meet back in the parking lot in under thirty minutes.
I strip off my clothes, deciding to throw my panties in the trash. They're stained in blood and semen and the sight makes me queasy. I could never stand to wear them again after the memories they’re tied to.
I turn the water on scalding hot and wait for the mirror to steam up before climbing in. I let the water burn my skin as I carefully clean myself from head to toe, relishing in the burn.
Thankfully it doesn’t look like I’m bleeding anymore. My washrag no longer comes back with blood on it so I must have scrubbed the remaining dried blood from my skin. I scrub harder into my skin one more time, still feeling dirty and used. The soreness between my legs seems as if it's going to linger for a day or so, constantly reminding me of what happened.
As if I could ever forget.
I stand under the hot spray of water for so long my fingers and toes prune. I’m hoping the steam can clear his touch from me, to cleanse my pores of his scent. I know I have to get dressed and head downstairs soon to meet Max so I reluctantly turn off the water, wrap myself in a fluffy pink towel and riffle through my dresser for the ugliest period panties I own and a plain grey sports bra.
I decide on an oversized RVU Bears sweatshirt and simple black leggings, wanting to cover myself completely. I don’t want to be remotely attractive. Don’t want to risk drawing the slightest bit of attention to myself.
I take the time to blow dry my hair so I don't get sick and check the time on my TV, already feeling like an invalid without my phone. By now I'm sure David has found my purse on the floor of his apartment and smashed my phone to pieces. I’ll have to buy a new one tomorrow if I have enough in my checking account to cover the replacement. I didn’t have insurance on the phone despite my mom insisting I needed it because I wanted to save the fifteen dollars a month.
My cheapness was coming back to bite me in the ass.
Max is already waiting for me by the time I get outside. I'm surprised to find him leaning against the passenger side of his black Dodge Charger. I hadn’t paid much attention to his car the first time I saw it. I had been too concerned with whether or not he was a sadistic, kidnapping murderer to take the time to admire it.
When I get to the bottom step he offers me his keys, giving me a meaningful look. "You want to drive?"
I receive his unspoken message. He doesn't want me to feel trapped in the car with him. Out of control. He's offering me the ability to take back control of my night and I gratefully accept.
"Thanks." I smile, taking the keys and hopping into the driver’s seat.
His car is spotlessly clean inside with slightly worn black leather seats and the faint scent of new car smell. I smile as I notice the air freshener hanging from the a/c vent. If he saw the inside of my car with its thin sheen of dust covering the dash and discarded fast food bags littering the floorboard he might have thought twice before letting me drive his.
I can tell he takes good care of the car. He’s probably one of those guys that loves his car more than any of his friends or family. More than any woman. Meticulously cleaning it and waxing the paint every weekend. The rims are clearly custom and I notice hints of custom additions as I look around inside too. The gear shift is a chrome skull and a touch screen radio.
"So…Where are we headed?"