The weeks progress, bringing Dean and me even closer, more so than when we were kids. I’ve done nothing but fantasise about kissing him, wanting to feel his mouth on mine and to taste him. I’ve never wanted a man’s touch the way I want his, but since the morning we left the mountains, he still hasn’t made a move to kiss me.
Whatever is stopping him from kissing me is something only he can sort through himself. And I know for a fact he wants me too; his erection pressing against my stomach whenever we’re close is evidence of that. I’ve wanted to make the first move so many times, but my insecurities and fear of rejection stop me from making a complete fool of myself.
We’ve spent so much time together over the past few weeks, including time with Lily, Mark, and the twins.
Lily and Mark have taken us out to dinner a few times or invited us over for dinner. It was nice getting out of Cabin Lake, but I still felt like I was constantly looking over my shoulder, wondering when Rick would turn up. Thankfully Mark and Lily have kept me busy, letting me help with the cabins, even if most of it has involved cleaning. Not that I minded, as cleaning helps me relax.
Dean has also kept me busy, always finding something for us to do. He even took me to Brooke’s Books, where Brooke and I got to know each other well. We’ve become fast friends.
My first impression of the sweet woman was correct because she’s everything you could possibly need and want in a friend. We spoke for so long and found ourselves finding more and more in common with each other.
Even our upbringings, although under different circumstances, were the same. We were both raised by our grandparents, but whereas I lost my parents tragically, Brooke had been taken away from hers after social services found them physically abusing her. Her story, although heartbreaking, was really inspiring. She grew up with very little, coming from nothing―her words, not mine―but still managed to make something of herself. She’s worked hard every single day of her life to achieve her dreams, proving to herself that she’s nothing like her parents.
It was also good to be filled in on things I missed about Dean, stuff he hadn’t shared. And now I can see why. Apparently, Dean has a string of ex-girlfriends, none lasting more than a couple of weeks before it ended. Hearing this would normally put me off any male, but for some reason, I can’t help but be thankful he never settled down with any of them. That thought alone shocked the hell out of me, but I’ve found thoughts like that one have surfaced quite a lot lately. Because let’s face it―I have the hots for Dean and not even coming from an abused relationship is stopping me from wanting to explore that.
I know a lot of people will judge me and wonder what the hell I’m thinking, but I’ve tasted the hate and evil, been subjected to live with it for years. Dean is pure and good, someone I already treasured and love, and I’m going to snatch that up. Any woman would, and if they understood what it’s like, they’d understand my want and need for Dean. He’s good, caring, kind and generous. He sees the real me and hasn’t judged me once.
However, the main thing to happen over the past few weeks was that Jeff's daughter agreed to meet up with me. When Dean got in touch with Jeff, explaining my situation, he was more than willing to help. He also made Jeff agree not to talk to anyone about me or my situation because I didn’t want Lily or Mark finding out.
Blaire arranged to meet me at Brooke's Books after Dean suggested being in familiar place, one that was calm. His choice was perfect. Although I was still nervous, I felt more at ease there than if we had been in a cafe. I’d have spent the whole time wondering if people could overhear us and get paranoid, thinking people were staring.
Blaire told me everything about her ex-relationship. Some things she said surprised me, while others I already knew through Dean. I was shocked and happy to hear that she’s now happily married. They’re also expecting their first baby, due in August.
She told me she didn’t think she’d ever trust another man again, but her dad helped her see that not all men were the same. He was a walking advertisement that there are good ones in the world, and I really have to agree. My dad and granddad were―are―good men. They never treated a woman badly.
She spoke briefly about how badly she first handled getting into her relationship, and how it wasn't till her dad sat her down and told her to stop looking for signs that he was bad that she began to relax with her partner.
The first thing she did after their talk was speak to her partner, telling him why she was behaving the way she was. He never knew the full extent of her previous relationship, not until then, having presumed she was just cheated on and had trust issues.
She gave me her number, as well as another number I could call for someone to talk to, someone professional. It was a relief when she said I could keep my identity anonymous. She gave me guidance on what to expect, letting me know I could call the helpline any time I wanted to talk until I felt I was ready to take the next step. She told me none of them would ever judge me or make me feel like I was being judged.
Calling the helpline was easier than I thought it would be. Dean had given me his phone to use for every time I felt like I needed to talk someone. He’d give me privacy during the phone calls, but as soon as they were over, he was there for me.
After a week of phone calls, I made the choice to meet up with someone from Women’s Aid, which is why I’m sitting in Brooke's Books.
After filling Brooke in the other day about my past, she kindly offered to let me use the bookshop. She’s been really understanding about the whole situation, becoming one of the bestest friends I’ve ever had. In fact, she’s the only female friend I’ve ever really had.
The knock on the door startles me from my thoughts. As I turn, I find a woman standing in the doorway, smiling. I motion for her to come in and I stand to greet her.
“Hello, I’m looking for Miss Lawson. Is she here?” she asks, softly spoken as she eyes the store in awe, the same expression I wore a few weeks ago when I first entered.
“I’m Miss Lawson, but please, call me Lola.” My palms begin to sweat from nerves so I wipe them down my jeans.
“Hi, Lola, I’m Julie Franklin from Women’s Aid. I’ve come for the assessment as to how we can help you. Please don’t feel nervous.” Her voice is soothing, and I’m not surprised she can see how terrified I am. “I’ve been where you are now and know how scary it can seem at first, but I promise you that you have no reason to be scared or nervous. You don’t have to answer anything you’re not comfortable with and can pass to another question at any time. There isn’t a right or wrong answer, okay?”
I feel myself relax at her reassurance. Julie is a larger-framed woman with dark brown hair and a beautiful heart-shaped face.
She eases my mind with each question she asks, never pressuring me into answering any of them. She does ask a lot of random questions and some downright disturbing ones, but assures me that it’s all for the procedure.
After explaining to me that she and another colleague will be going over my answers to establish what sort of help I’ll need, she moves onto more personal questions.
Some are hard to hear but even harder to answer. Thankfully she’s patient, assuring me that I’m in a safe place and if I wasn’t ready, we could move on.
Going into detail about what happened in my relationship feels weird, as not even Dean knows the full extent of my abuse, but talking to a stranger who knows nothing about me has made the whole process a lot easier.
It also feels great taking this first step, and there’s no denying the fact that this has done me some good. It’s given me back some confidence and control.
She tells me the different types of help she can offer me, and I choose to go to an open group that starts in November, thinking it could be beneficial to have a group of women to talk to who have been through the same.
“After hearing everything you’ve had to say I would recommend having a panic button installed,” she tells me, and when I go to interrupt, she holds up her hand. “Let me explain first.We offer up a large range of help to survivors. We can arrange to have regular uniformed police officers and community work officers knock on your door for safety checks, but you’re already in a safe place with no immediate danger. You’ve taken the biggest step of all Lola, and you should be really proud of yourself. But a panic button will be wired up to dispatch police officers to you once that button is pressed. It’s a safety measure most survivors who are in immediate danger take. It can be near your bed, near a phone or by a door, and it doesn’t have to be visible. But I can also understand why some don’t take the option.” She smiles as I think it over but no matter the pros and cons, one thing remains the same.
“I can’t. I won’t feel safe with them there. I know it sounds stupid, but having that button will just be a constant reminder of why it’s there, that I’m not safe. I’m fed up of feeling frightened, and as scary as it is to know that you feel I need one, I’m going to have to kindly decline,” I tell her, feeling my cheeks heat. I don’t want her to think I’m not taking this seriously, that I don’t want her help when I do.
“It's fine, Lola. You can decide which precautions you would like to take. We’re here to listen, to help in any way we can and make sure you stay safe. I do advise that you have your phone on you at all times, and recommend strongly that you talk to the police about getting a restraining order against him, but if you’re not ready, we can talk about it later,” she tells me, writing something down on her pad.
“I’ve got to get a new phone, but I promise to keep it on me at all times. I’m not sure about the police yet. It might give him an indication as to where I am,” I explain, and I know she can tell I’m thinking of the main reason. Rick is friends with some of the police officers in our town; one favour and he could find out everything.
“I’m going to leave these with you.” She hands me a little gift bag full of leaflets and other items. “There’s a key ring inside that has a barcode on it. Make sure you attach it to your keys as soon as possible. It has our emergency line number on it. It’s an easier way of keeping our number without someone knowing you’re in touch with us,” she explains, finishing her cup of coffee.
“Do you have any questions?”
I think about it for a second or two when a thought occurs to me. “Do you think I’m safe enough to use my bank cards? I mean, I have a little cash on me, but I want to know if I’m safe withdrawing it from my account.”
“Lola, I’m not certain what connections your ex has to establish whether or not you’re okay to withdraw you’re money. In my opinion, do what you feel is best. Don’t let that man rule your life anymore. My ex-husband was the same until I ran away, just like you did. I had no one to run to and no one to help me get myself better, emotionally or physically. I couldn’t sleep because I was so scared.
“I lived in a women’s shelter for a while, and they helped me so much. I can’t describe the strength of some of the women I met. They inspired me so much that I went to the police. Granted, it took me a while to go, but I did, and it was the best day of my life. I’m not going to lie and say it’s as simple as going to the police. They’re just the first steps, but I had an amazing group of women at my back. After months of court he was sentenced to prison,” she tells me, smiling sadly. “You’ve done the hardest part by leaving him. Most women can’t bring themselves to get that far because they’re too frightened. Everyone’s relationship and story are different, so it’s only natural that we all cope in different ways too. You can only do what you think is best.”
I run over everything she’s said, understanding that, if I can’t move forward, Rick is still winning, still having that control over me. He wants to keep me isolated, scared and lonely, which he’s still managing to do even though he’s miles away. I can’t let him take anymore away from me. I need to take control of my own life.
“Thank you,” I tell her, feeling a lot lighter now that I have a goal. My eyes water, not because I’m sad but because I’m happy, elated that I’ve taken this step.
“The first meeting can always be overwhelming.” She hands me a tissue, giving me a small smile.
“It certainly is.” I chuckle through my tears, wiping them away. “Thank you again, for everything. I’d been so worried and scared, but it’s helped, more than you know.”
“It’s my pleasure, Lola. I need to get going, but you’ve got my number. You can call me any time you like.”
“I will,” I promise as we stand, walking to the entrance of the store.
“Goodbye.” I wave as she steps outside.
“Speak to you soon, Lola. Take care,” she says before leaving.
*** *** ***
“Hey, Lola, are you in here?” Brooke shouts, stepping into the store.
It’s a few hours after Julie left. I’ve been watching the store for Brooke, which I’ve done a few times since we become friends. I love it here, love being surrounded by the smell of old and new books and the silence. There’s nothing else like it.
I’ve never really thought about what I would do once I left Rick, but helping out Brooke has become one of my anchors, one of my new favourite things to do. I love how lost I get in my work, and the peace and calmness. It’s my new safe haven, along with Dean and the rest of the Salvatores.
“Hey, I’m in the back,” I shout back as I hear the door shutting behind her.
She smiles as she walks in, laughing when she sees me surrounded by piles of books. She had a bunch donated and brought into the store, which she sells to raise money for the community school or church, so I offered to help her sort through them. I didn’t know at the time that she hadn’t had the time to empty any of the bins, so when I got a look at the hundreds and hundreds of books, I nearly passed out. I’ve been sorting them out into genres, and it’s taken longer than I had originally thought it would. I’ve been at it for hours, yet I’m still shocked at how much progress I’ve made. I didn’t even think I made a dent in them.
“Hey, look at you, Miss Book-worm. I didn’t expect you to get this far,” she says, eyeing the piles I’ve stacked around me, taking up every available space I could find. I laugh, having just thought the same thing. “I'm sorry Lola, but I’m going to have to kick your ass out of here. There’s a sexy-looking dude waiting out front, and I think he’s here for you,” she teases with a fake pout, and I know she’s talking about Dean.
“Sexy-looking, huh?” I ask, tapping my chin like I’m thinking that over. “Well, it can’t be for me. It must be for you Brookey.” I smirk, using the nickname I heard Dean call her. “It could be your Prince Charming coming to whisk you away. Plus, from what you said, he’s no Shrek.” I wink, using the term she used to describe the bloke that asked her out on a date last week.
Shaking her head, she laughs, stepping over a pile of books to get to the table.
“Nope,” she says, popping the P. “He’s definitely not Shrek, and you, sweetie, sure aren’t Fiona. So get your sexy ass outta my shop before I bar you,” she scolds playfully.
“This isn’t a pub, ya lush.” I giggle. She goes to order me out again, but I wave her off, standing up and stretching my sore, aching muscles. “Fine, I’ll go. I know where I’m not wanted,” I pout. “I’ll go and never, ever return. Well, until tomorrow. I’ve still got a ton of books to get through.”
She laughs at my serious expression, throwing her head back. “Lola, who wouldn’t want you around? Seriously, I’ve known you, what, four weeks? Three?” she asks, and I nod, holding up four fingers. “See, and I already feel like I’ve known you forever. Guess who else I’ve known forever?” I shrug as I grab my bag off the table. “Dean! And you know what Dean looks like outside?” I shake my head. “He looks nervous as hell, so go put that poor man out of his misery.”
I giggle, knowing what she’s referring to. She seems to think I need to be the one to make the first move. She’s been pestering me about it ever since I opened my mouth and told her everything about Dean and me. Now she’s got it in her head that I need to be the one to… well, in her words, “jump him.”
“Goodbye, Brooke. See you tomorrow,” I call out, ignoring her comment with a heavy heart when all I want to do is kiss and hold him again.
“Goodbye,” she hollers back.
I smile, giving her one last wave before stepping outside. I find Dean leaning against the shop window next door. He’s wearing denim jeans, ankles crossed, with a crisp white shirt that fits his muscled physique perfectly. The muscles in his arms flex in just the right way under the thin material, showing off what I think are his best features. They’re big and strong and sure know how to make me feel safe and cocooned.
“Hey,” I greet, feeling nervous, especially since I can’t read his expression, due to the pair of mirrored Ray-Bans he has on. God, he’s mouth-watering. I can’t help but fantasise about leaning into his body, tracing my tongue across his neck, exploring and tasting every inch.
“Hey, beautiful,” he calls back, a huge smile on his face. Even with his eyes covered I can still feel them running over my body, my skin heating. He must read the need and lust I feel for him in my eyes because he gives me one of his knowing smirks, making me blush.
That smirk has me squirming, my thighs clenching together, but it’s the look in his eyes as he pushes his sunglasses on top of his head that has my throat drying as dangerous, dirty thoughts run through my mind.
“You look good,” I croak out. “Real good.”
His smirk and wink make me blush harder. “Well, thank you, my lady. So do you. I’ve prepared a beautiful dinner out on the lake for us. I know it’s getting late, but Brooke said you hadn’t eaten since she went out on her errands this morning. I thought we could eat together,” he offers, and my heart melts at his sweet gesture.
“Sounds amazing. It’s a date,” I grin, then realise what I just said and groan.
“C’mon,” He chuckles, thankfully not mentioning my date comment―although his eyes say it all.
*** *** ***
Night has fallen by the time Dean stops the boat, leaving us floating in the middle of the lake. I lean back onto the pillows he brought along for us and gaze up at the stars. They seem to be shining extra bright tonight.
My mind drifts to Dean and all the sweet gestures he does for me, sometimes without even realising it. Like the time he gently grabbed my arm, helping me down a rocky step, so I didn’t face-plant to the ground, or when he bought me some flower seeds to plant in the front of the cabin after I mentioned it needing brightening up. The little things make me open my heart up for him more and more.
Dean hands me a baguette and lies back against the pillows next to me, getting lost in the stars. He’s been uncharacteristically quiet tonight, and it’s beginning to worry me.
As I chew on my baguette, I glance at him, gauging his reaction. He seems lost in thought, and I know something is deeply bothering him. It’s written all over his face. His features are all scrunched up, and his body is incredibly tight.
“Dean, have I done something wrong? Or have I said something to upset you?” I ask him, so nervous my hands start to shake. I have to put down the last half of my baguette, my appetite gone.
Maybe he regrets our time together up at the mountain. I’ve been obsessing over it, the thought plaguing my mind.
He shakes his head at my question, giving me no words or answer. Pain fills his features, like whatever is bothering him is physically hurting him and either he doesn’t know how to tell me, or he doesn’t know how to approach the subject. Knowing him, he’s most likely trying to protect me.
“What is it, Dean? You’re scaring me.”
I will not cry!
Not when I need to be strong for him, for me, and for us. I need to show him I’m strong enough to handle whatever he’s about to throw at me.
When he finally looks up at me, his eyes are filled with pain and despair. My heart breaks from seeing him like this, and I desperately wish there was something I could do to make this better. But I can’t do anything to make this better if I don’t even know what’s wrong.
“There’s something I need to tell you, and you’re not going to like it. I just want you to know before I tell you that I’m sorting it all out. I promise you,” he says, his eyes sad and haunted.
Why do I feel like my world is about to come tumbling down around me?