Elias woke at four in the morning Monday. Chelsea was trembling in his arms from the torments of some restless dream. He smoothed her hair, hummed, and gently kissed her neck. "It's alright baby, you're safe," he whispered.
She woke with a start and locked eyes with him, and then relaxed, gripping fitfully at his arm around her.
"Just a dream baby, just a dream," he soothed.
She turned into him and nuzzled his chest while gripping at his shoulders and replied, "I know, I know, but that's not what is hurting."
"What is it Chelsea?"
"You know so little about me, and you are doing so much, risking so much for me. I want to tell you, I really do, but I'm so scared, and it hurts so much even to think about. He's so mean, Elias. Meaner than you know. Really. You handled him well but only because he didn't expect to be ambushed like that. Next time, he'll be ready for you, and the way he gets ready for things is with overkill." She looked up into his eyes, "Please don't leave me, and give me more time. Please? I want to be worth it to you, but… I know I'm not. You just don't know, and it's tearing me apart."
Her tears glistened in the moonlight coming through the window, and he leaned down and kissed her gently. "I'm not going anywhere."
"You should. You should dump me back on the road, get on your bike, and never look back," she whimpered, and then she clutched at him. "But please don't."
"I'm not going to do that, and yes, I can wait," he told her, running his fingers through her hair, which was damp with sweat.
"But you shouldn't have to," she bawled. "You are risking your life, and the club, and Larry, and John, and men I don't even know. He's not alone. He has friends. Friends on the force, and friends off the force who are even worse than he is."
"You've met these friends?"
She shivered in his arms—deep, trembling shudders that came from her bones. "Yes," she whispered. "I've met them." And the degradation coming through her voice made him want to get his gun and start removing people from the sphere of her life.
"Do you know any of their names?"
She nodded, but didn't say anything.
"Even their names scare you?"
She nodded again, and then resumed trembling. "What scares me most, Elias, is what you are going to think of me when I finally have the guts to tell you what I should have told you before you risked your life today. I want so much for you to like me, to see me like you do now, but it's just not going to happen, and I know that. I'm a selfish bitch because I can't bear to let this go. To let this dream end."
Elias gently lifted her chin to look her in her tear-filled eyes. "If you never believe another thing from me, believe this—nothing you can tell me about your past is going to affect who I see you as right now. You are who I met at the bar, and who you have become to me now. You are the woman I ride with, and who I will fight for, and nothing in your past is going to change that."
"You don't know—" she started to bawl.
"You left that past," he told her, stopping her protests. "You had the strength to run, and to risk everything doing it. That's hard stuff. Many people, men and women, never have the strength to take that kind of risk, to run from hell, knowing hounds will be on their trail. That's what I know about you. That's who I care about. Who you were in hell isn't, and will never be, more important to me than who you are to me right now."
Her face flashed with a series of emotions, and then she broke into a keening wail of tears and sobs. "Fuck, Elias! Shit! You are tearing me in half!"
He kissed her cheeks, and her forehead, and then soothed her and caressed her with his hands, massaging her deeply, and pulling her into him. He petted her and cooed at her until she calmed down and began to kiss him back.
"Please make love to me? I need you Elias. I need to be the woman you see, because I can't stand the woman I see. Make me your woman, Elias. Make me believe I'm yours."
***
On the nightstand beside her she noticed a tall glass of orange juice and a folded note under it. She reached and took both off the stand. After a long drink she read the note. Good morning lover. You are my woman, it said.
Tears welled up in her eyes. "Fuck," she sobbed.
How could she tell him what he needed to know without telling him what she became? Yes, she did it to survive, and no, she didn't enjoy it. And yes, it wasn't her fault, but no, none of that really mattered. She wasn't even a whore. Whores get paid. She was something so much less. She felt so humiliated when she thought about Elias possibly being hurt because of her, and so deeply ashamed when he said things like he said last night. He didn't know who he had in his bed, who he was letting his heart care about, who he was calling lover.
"But he has to know. He has to know what he is risking, and what he's up against," she told herself as she wiped her tears from her cheeks with her palm. "I have to tell him. He'll leave me, or at the very least, he'll move me back into the guest room and never touch me again. But I have to tell him."
Just the thought of Elias never wanting to touch her again forced her to curl into a ball of sobs and moans.