Chapter Thirteen

Cutter

 

 

 

 

I think I’m going to throw up. Sitting here, trying to hold my shit together, is one of the hardest things I’ve done.

Hearing her tell me what happened when she tried to leave, knowing what he did to her just to scare her into staying . . . it makes my fucking blood boil. Men like him deserve an unimaginable death. I wanted to find him before—now I want to find him and torture him until every ounce of life leaves his body.

I look into Jasmine’s wide eyes, her lower lip quivering. I want to take that look away. I want to erase all the pain from her past, all the damage he caused her.

“Turn around.”

My voice is measured as I try to hide the anger behind it. She looks like she might question me but then does as I’ve told her. My hands itch with a burning need to touch her. I slide the T-shirt she’s wearing up her back and my breath hitches. Beneath the fresh bruises of the other day, white scars cover about seventy-five percent of her back. Hearing what he did to her was bad enough; seeing it is ten times worse.

Before I can stop myself I lower my head, my lips touching the puckered skin. She shudders but then stills. With her silent permission I do the same to the one next to it.

And the next.

And the next.

Each of these marks are full of fear and pain. I want to erase the memories associated with them and give her something good to think of when she sees them. As I move from scar to scar Jasmine’s shoulders drop. Color returns to her skin. Her breathing levels out.

This woman is so strong. People look at women who have been abused and presume them to be weak. It takes a strong woman to survive, and that’s what she’s done. She has survived hell, and now I am more determined than ever to bring her back from it.

When I slide her shirt back down, she doesn't move.

"Turn back to me."

She listens immediately and it makes me sick. I can't read the look on her face. I don't know if I scared her, or if it was a comfort.

I want to say something but I have no idea what. She isn't ready to hear how I'm feeling about her. She certainly couldn't handle being mine. And so we sit there, just looking at each other; a silent conversation between two people who have so much to say but can’t bring themselves to utter the words.

My phone buzzes.

Whip: Lucy asked if you want her to come over and hang out with Jasmine during church tomorrow.

I let him know that'd be great. Putting my phone back in my pocket, I look back up to Jasmine, still in the same position. She's looking at me as if she's waiting for me to tell her how to fix everything. Waiting for an answer. The thing is, there isn't one. There is no right way to put yourself back together after you’ve been shattered.

I tried to force my mom into being herself again and it only made things worse. She has to find the strength within herself to survive. It’s not something I can give to her.

“Let’s get to bed. It’s been a long day for both of us.”

She nods and stands up, following me to my room. While she lingers in the corner by the window, I grab a change of clothes from my dresser and head into the bathroom to get changed. I’m gonna let her take the bed. I’ll sleep on the couch. As much as I'd like to have her in my arms, I don't want to put her in a position where she's uncomfortable.

I want her to trust me.

“You can have—” The words catch on my tongue, completely shocked to find her naked on the bed. Her head is dipped and her eyes have the blank look I hate.

"Jasmine, what are you doing?"

She looks over to me. “You said we were going to bed. I just wanted to be ready for you. I’m thankful that you helped me. I have to show it.”

She has to?

With my eyes on the floor, I move around the bed to grab her clothes. I hand them to her but freeze as I try not to notice the different scars that litter her chest because if I look beyond the cuts and bruises, she’s gorgeous. Full breasts, narrow waist, curvy ass. Everything in me wants to slide under the covers with her and make her mine. But that isn’t what she needs, and if I do want her, that will ruin us before we ever start. “Put your clothes on.”

I turn away from her before I do something we both regret. The bed creaks and I turn back toward her. She’s tugged her T-shirt over her head and pulled the sheets up to cover her waist. Tear streaks stain her cheeks.

Fuck.

This could be the entirely wrong thing to do but hell if I know what else to do. I sit down next to her, lifting her chin so she’s looking at me. “Why the tears?”

She hesitates.

“Tell me.”

She exhales. "Nothing I do is right. I can't please you just like I couldn't please Dylan. I try, but I always seem to get things wrong." Her voice breaks as she spews out the confession.

I run my fingers through my hair, needing to do something with my hands, but it’s useless. Before I can stop myself, I pull her onto my lap.

"You're wrong. I didn't tell you to get dressed because I don't want you. I told you that because I want you more than I can stand." My voice is a strangled moan as her eyes lock on mine before traveling down to my toes. I'm hard as a rock, and I'm sure she can feel it, too. "Having you here today has been great. I want you to stay, I want you here. Don’t doubt that again, do you understand me?” I harden my voice on the last sentence to make sure she knows I’m serious.

I stand up and walk toward the door. “I need to get to bed, and so do you.”

“Where are you going?”

“The couch. I wanted to give you your space.” She looks around the large room. Her hands clutch the sheets and her teeth bite at her bottom lip. “Did you want me to stay?”

She tries to process what I’ve just asked her. I’m sure it’s the first time she’s been asked her opinion about what she does for a long time.

“Yes—I mean, if it’s okay.”

Everything in me screams that this is a bad idea. That I’m about to fuck up. But surely part of her recovery is leaning on someone, and if that someone is going to be anyone, it’ll be me. I walk over to her, standing in front of her so she looks up at me.

“Anything you want I’ll give you. You just have to ask.”

On the spur of the moment, I lean down and place a kiss on her forehead. I know it’s wrong but I can’t resist. I lean closer, my forehead resting on hers and, fuck, if the smell of her doesn’t overwhelm me.

I pull away before I’m tempted to do any more and she turns her back to me, bunching the sheets up under her chin, her hair splayed over my pillow.

Raising my eyes to the ceiling, I take in a deep breath before I climb in next to her, my back to hers, hoping with everything in me that I can pull her out of this sooner rather than later.