Daisy leaves the room and I quickly lock the door behind him and sink onto his bed with his clothes clutched in my hands. A ragged breath escapes me, and I pull my knees up to my chest and rest my chin on them.
What the hell am I doing here? I’m so out of my depth. The guy from the gate scared the hell out of me and now Daisy’s overwhelming me too. His kisses scramble my brain and somehow instead of running away from Archer’s Creek as fast as I can, I’ve agreed to stay, at least for tonight.
Daisy is so potent that I can’t help being drawn to him, but I don’t want to pull him into the mess that is my life. The man is a whirlwind and even though the violence of his anger scares me, the peace and calm I feel in his arms is so tempting that I’m struggling to say no.
It’s the first time since my sister died that anyone in my life has offered to protect me and the idea is so unbelievably enticing, that I want to agree and stay shielded in his safe, warm arms. But this isn’t his mess, it’s mine and I won’t put him, or his friends in the middle of it.
Resolved, I drop my feet to the floor and stand up. Daisy’s offer of a shower sounds wonderful and I cross the room to his bathroom and close the door behind me. The small room is surprisingly clean. Reaching into the shower, I twist the lever that brings it to life and steam quickly fills the small space.
Stripping out of my clothes, I place them neatly on top of the counter and then step into the shower. The torrent of scolding hot water hits my naked skin and I shriek, jumping out of the water’s reach. Fumbling with the lever I try to turn down the heat, but the water changes from scolding hot to freezing cold. I twist the lever the other way, testing the water with my hand until finally, I tentatively move my entire body back under the shower spray.
I moan in pleasure when the warm water hits me and the knotted muscles between my shoulders gradually start to relax. My eyes fall closed and I tip my head back under the water. All I can hear is the noise of the shower and the racing of my own heart. Breathing becomes hard and my sinuses sting with the onslaught of tears. I’ve held myself together all day, but here, naked in the shower of a virtual stranger, I fall apart. Grief, fear, and anger consume me and sinking to the floor of the shower I sob uncontrollably.
The hot tears that run down my cheeks are immediately washed away by the deluge of water that’s pouring over my body. I allow my despair to engulf me for a few minutes, and then I force all of the emotion into a box in my brain and lock it tightly. I can process my father’s betrayal another day when I’m far from his grasp and no longer under his control.
Pulling myself together, I rise from the floor and turn my face under the water to wash away the remnants of my tears. I sigh as I remember that my shower things are still in my backpack. There are bottles stacked neatly on a shelf to the side of the shower, so I reach out and grab his shampoo. Squeezing some into my hands, I lather up my hair, breathing in the clean soapy smell that is masculine but not unpleasant. Returning the bottle to the shelf I find a shower gel and wash my body quickly as the water starts to cool.
Turning off the water, I reach for a clean towel and wrap it around my wet body. The mirror above the counter is covered in a layer of condensation and I lift my hand to wipe it away then pause. I don’t want to see the fear and uncertainty that I’m sure will be obvious in my eyes, so I lower my hand and leave the glass hidden.
Quickly drying my body, I wrap the towel around my wet hair and pull Daisy’s t-shirt over my head. It falls almost to my knees. The fabric smells delicious and I lift the cotton to my face and inhale deeply. I pull on his boxers, but they immediately fall to the ground. The waist is far too big for me and I try rolling the fabric of the waistband to make them tighter, but as soon as I release them they fall straight down again. Giving up, I grab them from the floor and add them to the pile of clothes in my arms as I re-enter the bedroom.
My eyes fall to Daisy who is sat on the end of his bed. I’m barefoot and only wearing his t-shirt. Feeling uncomfortable, I pull at the hem of the shirt hoping to somehow make it magically longer.
He looks up and his eyes narrow. “What the fuck happened to your face?”
For a split second I just stare at him. What’s wrong with my face? Realization dawns on me, he can see the remnants of my father’s punishment. My face is a mess of bruises and I just washed away all of the makeup that was hiding them. The after effects of my father’s temper are never talked about. Mama was so good at her makeup that I only ever suspected what it hid and whenever he hit my face we never talked about it. His abuse was the eternal elephant in the room, constantly present but never acknowledged.
“Angel.” His voice is a low growl and I instinctively drop my eyes to the floor and stay quiet. I flinch when his fingers lift my chin, and I force my eyes to meet his. The anger in his gaze is palpable but as his soft fingers trace the bruises on my cheekbones and around my eye it turns to sorrow. Each emotion flares so vividly across his beautiful face that I stop breathing for a moment.
“Angel, who did this to you?”
Telling him the truth will only pull him even deeper into my life and I can’t allow that. Instead I reach up and lift his fingers from my face. Taking a step back I turn and walk away from him.
“What the fuck happened to your legs?” He roars.
I spin around, clutching the clothes to my chest and hiding my bruised and battered legs from his eyes. Daisy strides toward me and I back away. “Daisy, no,” I cry.
Ignoring me he pries the clothes from my fists and drops them to the floor. Firm hands wrap around my waist and lift me to stand on the bed. “Daisy,” I shout and try to move, but his unrelenting grip on my waist stops me.
Careful fingers lift the hem of his t-shirt, exposing more of my abused skin. “How far up do they go?” his voice is quiet, barely above a whisper.
I sigh. “To the base of my spine.”
“Belt?”
I nod.
“Your dad?”
I nod again.
I feel, rather than see him drop the hem of the shirt and walk away from me. Shame fills me, and I want to curl in a ball and hide from the mortification of admitting that my father did this to me.
Holding the hem of the shirt I silently step down from the bed and hurry to my backpack. Pulling out a pair of clean panties I glance at Daisy, his prone figure is facing the door with his hands braced on either side of his head.
I step back into the bathroom, remove the towel from around my head and pull on my panties. The wounds on my legs are sore, but until Daisy saw them I’d forced the discomfort to the back of my mind. The first time my father punished me this way I had allowed the pain and agony to show. That had only angered my father further and I quickly learnt to pretend I was fine.
Reluctantly, I open the bathroom door, expecting to find the bedroom empty. Instead Daisy stands a few feet away, waiting for me. His eyes blaze with fury and sorrow and some emotion that I can’t quite identify. I wish I could ask what it was. I don’t want his sympathy and my stomach churns at the thought that he might feel sorry for me.
Stepping into the room, I fight the urge to lower my eyes. Ignoring my years of conditioning I strive to accept his gaze and offer him mine in return. My insides quiver; I should cower from him, to submit to his anger and protect myself. But despite the fury that’s so evident in him, I don’t fear him.
My father shows the world his mask of cordiality and affability, but the real Mayor Jefferies is cruel and heinous with no regard for right and wrong. I wonder how many of his friends and constituents would believe he beats and abuses his wife and daughter?
We all wear a mask; mine hides both the crumbled ruins my father’s abuse has created and the strength and resolve I’ve had to suppress to survive. I want to see beneath Daisy’s mask. He told me I make him feel and even though he tries to hide his emotions, right now I can see them all too clearly.
“Come here.” His words are softly spoken but resolute, and I cautiously step closer to him.
“When did he do that to you?” He asks.
My voice is barely above a whisper. “Four days ago.”
Daisy audibly pulls in a ragged breath. “Because you snook out?”
I nod.
“Motherfucker,” he cries.
My insides quiver in the face of his anger. My mind starts to retreat to my safe place, but I shake my head and pull back my shoulders. Steeling myself, I lock my chin in place and force my eyes to stay focused on his.
“Is this the first time he’s done that to you?”
I maintain my eye contact and silently shake my head. I’m not looking for his pity; this is my life and though I may cower, I’m not broken.
The roar that escapes from his throat is animalistic and grabbing the chair he threw earlier, he swings it against the wall, hitting it over and over against the brick.
My resolve to be brave lasts until the wood cracks. The noise splinters something inside my mind and without realizing I’m moving, I back into the corner of the room and sink to the floor. I fold my head against my knees and close my eyes tight, silently humming the melody that allows me to separate my mind from my body.
Some part of my brain registers when the noise stops. It registers the gentle hands that wrap around my waist and the cool air that brushes across my skin as I’m lifted from the floor and held tightly in warm arms.
“Angel.”
I fight to stay hidden in the safe place my mind has created to deal with the darker side of my life. A voice begins to entice me back to the present, but I don’t want to live in the present. I want to stay safe and cocooned in my warm and fuzzy subconscious.
“Angel, please?”
The voice calls to me and the blackness starts to recede. I hum the tune louder in my head. I squeeze my eyes shut tighter and I hold my knees even harder to my chest. No. I’m not ready to go back yet. I want to stay here, safe and protected.
“God. Fuck. Angel, I don’t know what to do.”
The voice is low and so full of pain that I stop humming. The blackness recedes, and I start to feel my body again. I examine my fingers first, mentally checking them for sensation. I move up to my wrists and into my arms, waiting for the pain to hit me.
I tense and un-tense my shoulders and neck. No pain. I pull in a silent, shallow breath. No pain. I start again at my toes and move to my ankles. No pain. The pain hits me when I get to my knees, but it isn’t the usual searing agony that I expect; instead it’s a dull burn.
I assess my entire body and when I realize that I’m not hurt, my mental barrier drops, and the world rushes back in. I’m filled with an explosion of emotion and with a gasp I pull in a ragged breath and snap my eyes open.
“Angel, oh thank fuck. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Daisy cries.
His voice is close and his warm breath whispers across my neck. His arms tighten around me and he pulls me closer to him. My arms are still banded around my knees but as my muscles relax, I melt into him and let my head rest against his warm chest.
The memory of his anger flashes into my mind and I stiffen and push at his chest. “Let me go,” I mumble. Daisy hears me and releases his hold. I scramble off the bed and back away until my legs hit the dresser on the other side of the room.
I look from him to the door and back again. His eyes are wide, and his chest is rising and falling almost as wildly as mine.
“I’m sorry, Angel,” he says, his voice full of anguish. “I would never hurt you, Angel. Fuck, not just you. I mean I’d never hurt any woman ever. I’m only angry at myself. I thought maybe he was hurting you and I just let you go back there.” Dropping his chin to his chest, he blows out a labored breath.
“You had no way of knowing what he would do. We’ve only known each other a few days and I’m not your responsibility,” I say.
“I knew something wasn’t right,” he argues.
I sigh. “My father’s been hurting me for years, Daisy. I don’t need you to protect me. I need to be strong enough to protect myself. I don’t want to live in fear anymore. But it’s fine. I’m fine”
“You’re not fucking fine. What the fuck was that, Angel? You were catatonic. Did I do that to you?” He asks, fear and pain so vivid in his eyes that tears start to pool in my own.
“You started hitting the chair off the wall and you scared me. I reacted.”
Should I be scared of him? He’s had two violent reactions already tonight, but neither of them were directed at me. As I watch him react to my words, something in my gut tells me that he won’t hurt me, at least not the way my father does anyway.
“I don’t ever fucking want you to be scared of me, Angel. I’m so fucking sorry. It’s no excuse but I just reacted to my anger. He hurt you. He marked your skin and made you bleed and that is so fucking far from okay. I hate that this happened to you. I hate the fact I can see the scars from where he’s done it before. I want to kill him. But I never want to make you afraid of me and I’m sorrier than I’ve ever been, that I made you react that way. Seeing you huddled into the corner, curled into a ball and completely unresponsive. God. I’m just so fucking sorry.”
His voice breaks and his eyes are begging me to believe him, to forgive him, and as stupid as it might be, I do. I nod, a single acceptance of his apology, and his shoulders sag in relief.
“Can I touch you? Is that okay?” His voice is shaky, and I stare at him unsure what he wants.
“I just want to hold you again, just for a minute. Wait. No. I’m sorry, that’s stupid. I just scared you into a catatonic state, of course I can’t fucking touch you.” His fingers bury themselves into his hair and he pulls at the strands in aggravation. He turns to face the opposite wall and I watch the muscles in his shoulders contract as he drops his face and cradles his head in his hands.
“You can hold me,” I speak the words without thought and then watch as he slowly turns to face me again. His hands fall from his head and his arms hang loosely at his sides.
“What?” he says.
“Y- You can hold me. I- If you want,” I stutter out nervously.
Daisy takes a tentative step nearer to me, and then another. Between each step he pauses and looks at me. Two more steps bring him directly in front of me and I pull in a shaky breath and tip my head back to look at him.
“I don’t want to scare you again, Angel. So how bout I just lift my arms up a little and then if you want to, maybe you could come to me?”
His voice is cautious, and I feel tears pool in my eyes. Nibbling on my bottom lip nervously I nod my head. My eyes scan his face for a second. I like this boy. If my life was different right now, I could fall hard for him.
He isn’t moving, and his arms lift from his side in a non-threatening stance. I step into him and wrap my arms around his waist, burying my face into his chest. Who am I kidding, I’m already falling for Daisy.
His chest hitches when our skin touches, but his arms don’t wrap around me in return. A single tear escapes from my eye and rolls down my cheek and onto his chest. I hold him tighter and close my eyes. I don’t understand why I feel safe in his arms; he’s violent and unpredictable. But even though he scared me in the moment, I’m not frightened of him. “You can hug me back,” I say, my voice muffled in his chest.
He audibly sighs and his arms wrap around me, holding me tightly. His head drops to rest on top of mine and his lips whisper. “I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry,” over and over against my hair.
Daisy falls silent and we just stand, holding each other. I pull away first, reluctantly stepping out of his embrace. His arms fall to his sides and he closes his eyes for the briefest of moments before coughing to clear his throat. Daisy’s gaze locks with mine again, the emotions that had been so obvious in his eyes have disappeared. His mask is firmly in place.
“Prez wants to talk to you.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Cause he’s the president of the club and you’re mixed up in a whole heap of mess.”
I nod and then glance down at myself. I can’t wander around in just a t-shirt in a building full of bikers. “I need to get dressed,” I say, heat pooling in my cheeks.
Daisy’s eyes drop to my bare legs and then move back up to my face. “I’ll grab you a pair of my sweats to put on,” he says with a wry smile.
I open my mouth to tell him they won’t fit but he’s already opening a drawer and pulling out a pair. I wait for him to hand them to me but instead he kneels at my feet and holds the pants open for me to step into. I falter for just a second and then rest my hand on his shoulder and carefully step into the fabric.
Daisy’s eyes purposely lift to my face, as he works the pants up my bare legs. He never touches my skin and his gaze never leaves my face. Rising from the floor he works the sweats over my butt, carefully making sure nothing touches the raw skin on my legs. Once the waistband is in place, he pulls the drawstring as tight as it will go and ties it into a bow.
He carefully pulls my t-shirt from inside the sweats and then drops back to his knees to roll up the legs where they sit on the floor. By the time he rises from the floor again, my heart is racing. He leans forward and places a gentle kiss on the corner of my mouth. “Better,” he whispers against my cheek.
I nod. The sweatpants are still far too big, but they’re secured on my hips and the bottoms are rolled up enough so I can walk in them. My eyes and throat burn with the need to cry. His touch and the way he dressed me was so reverent and so careful. I try to remember the last time anyone cared for me in that way.
My mama loves me, and I love her, but her constant justification of my father’s actions has forced a distance between us that neither of us can find a way to lessen. She always takes care of me after an incident with my father, but other than that I take care of myself.
I want to ask him why he’s behaving like this, why he’s being so kind to me, but I don’t get the chance. His hand lifts, palm up and he smiles at me. “Come on, Angel. Let’s go see Prez then you can get some sleep.”
I stare at his offered palm for a second, then place my hand in his and let him lead me out of the room.