Concealed Affliction (3 page)

“Make sure you keep it babe.”

I give him a squeeze before I ready myself to let go, but not soon enough before I hear a whiskey gruff voice behind me.

“Time to go, Elle.”

I know my time with Brock is not up yet. Or at least, not what I paid for.

Brock releases me from his hold before addressing Ryder, not aggressively, but enough to get his point across.

“She knows how to get ahold of me if she needs anything. I’m hoping she won’t, and I’m trusting you’re going to be the one to make sure of that.”

Ryder’s eyes get a little harder than they were after he witnessed our goodbye hug, not that he had anything to worry about. I don’t feel that way about Brock.

“I respect the fact that you’re worried about her Brock. I’m also glad she’s had someone look out for her while she was here. But bottom line, she’s my business, not yours. She feels the need to contact you, she will. In the meantime I’ll do my best to make sure that doesn’t happen. But again, she’s my business—not yours.”

If there’s one thing I hate (amongst a multitude of other things) it’s when people talk about me as though I’m not in the room. I could let it slip, but if I did I’d lose a part of myself that I worked way too fucking hard to get back.

“How about this fellas, Elle looks after herself. In the meantime, you both can mind your own damn business,” I reply.

I grab my bag off the floor and walk up to Brock, giving him a one armed hug.

“I don’t do goodbyes. So, talk to you soon.”

I give him a quick peck on the cheek before walking out of the building. I’m sure Ryder is still taking the gloves and tape off his hands. I don’t care, and I don’t wait for him. I push through the double glass doors and head out to my truck in the parking lot, thanking my lucky stars that I met Ryder at the gym.

He was still busy packing when I told him I needed to head into the leasing office before they closed. We agreed drive separately and meet back at the gym.

I decide to take my time heading home so I can cool off. It’s either that or unleash my endless vocabulary of profanity. Brock is off the hook because I’m leaving, and this could very well have been the last time I see him. As for Ryder, hopefully my delayed return home will teach the cocky bastard that I don’t like being spoken about as if I’m not there, especially when I’m standing three feet away.

Slamming the door on my black BMW SUV, I think back to the last time I had simple actions taken away from me, the days when I had to ask for things. The days when I was told what to do, and what to say. The dark days of my past still haunting my sleepless nights. I put the truck in drive and can’t help but let the bitter memories from almost a year ago take over my thoughts.

“All you had to do was say you were sorry, Jayne. Then I wouldn’t have to leave you like this.”

I watch Andrew from the small slit that will open on my left eye. The right one is still firmly shut. I don’t know what he’s talking about, his constant wanting for me to say sorry, but I keep my mouth shut. My head hangs low on my shoulders because I lack the energy to keep it upright.

“Look at you! You’re a fucking mess. All you had to do was apologize Jayne, then ask me nicely to go the bathroom. But you’re such a stubborn bitch that now you’ve gone and pissed yourself!”

His sickening laugh grates on my eardrums. I think I’ve been here for two days now. He controls when I‘m awake, when I’m allowed to drink (which so far has only been twice) and when I can use the bucket. I don’t know what time it is, or how long I’ve been unconscious, but apparently it was long enough for me—a grown woman—to piss herself.

The warmth is a stark contrast to the coolness of the concrete under my feet. I try to feel ashamed at what I’ve done, but I feel nothing. I’m covered in blood—dry, sticky and fresh. I haven’t slept or eaten in days. My wrists are raw from the frayed rope holding them above my head, and now I’ve pissed in the underwear I’ve been wearing since I left home on Wednesday afternoon.

I’m trapped in a basement with a psychopath—who I have no desire to please.

Not to mention my ‘give-a-fuck’ broke a long time ago.

Regaining my resolve, firm on the fact that I’ll never allow someone to dictate my life, I head for home.

* * *

I park my truck in the garage and turn off the engine. I know Ryder is already here because his truck is parked on the street. I grab the bag of Italian food I picked up off the passenger seat along with my gym bag before getting out of the vehicle.

I’m not two steps toward the connecting door leading into the house, before it swings open and angry black eyes stare back at me.

“Did you think to answer your phone while you were out joyriding, woman? I’ve called you ten times in the last hour.”

Ryder is about to learn a little lesson about who wears the pants in this household. As well as who can come home to it whenever they damn well please. I square my jaw and look him directly in the eye.

“Whose house is this, Ryder?”

Confused eyes stare back at my determined ones. I don’t give him a chance to answer.

“It’s my house Ryder. That means if I want to roll in at nine at night, or nine in the morning, that’s my fucking business. Now, if you’ll step aside my dinner’s getting cold.”

He doesn’t move a muscle.

Doesn’t blink.

Just stares at me.

“Let me tell you something, Elle. When I’m seeing a woman, when I care about that woman, and when I’m fucking that woman, I think that gives me every right to know where she is, and when she’s going to be home.”

I’m not sure whether I want to weep, or hit him.

Being as I do best when I hang onto my anger, I choose the latter.

“Well here’s a little lesson for you Ryder Callaghan. When you’re with a woman, and you feel like you have rights over her, you best make sure you sit down and see if she’s ready for the same thing. You also might want to ask her if she likes to make her own life choices and speak for herself. Because that shit you said to Brock back there at the gym? Not fucking cool Ryder! I’m my own person, and I’ll be damned if someone will speak for me. So long as I’m walking, talking and breathing I will continue to make those choices for myself! And nobody on this green earth will ever make them for me. Do I make myself clear?”

Wisely, Ryder steps aside as I plow past him to the kitchen. My girl greets me on the way, so I set the bag on the counter and dig out the container of chicken parmesan I picked up for her. She wastes no time digging into her dinner while I lean against the counter, silently fuming.

I hear Ryder come up behind me, he’s quiet on his feet but the squeaky linoleum gives him away.

“Where’s all this coming from Elle? Not three days ago you gave me a part of you that I wasn’t sure I would ever get. You opened up for me babe, and I’m not just referring to your legs. So tell me, where’s this coming from?”

I take a deep breath before turning to face him. Deep down I know he means well, I’m sure he didn’t mean anything by what he did at the gym. It’s the caveman in him, maybe. The ‘me man, you woman’ thing that makes him want to look after me? The protectiveness that’s ingrained in his being not just because of who he is, but what he does.

The thing is though, I’ve come out on top more often alone than with someone by my side. I keep thinking about that load, my baggage, which I know he’ll help me carry. I know I need to remind myself that he has good intentions, but I also can’t help but want to feel like I’m the one with all the power here.

That’s the thing about having power stripped away from you. It was gone from me for three days, and I never in my life want to feel that again. That hopelessness. That feeling that there’s not a damn thing you can do without asking someone for it first.

So I’ve become even more independent, not ever wanting to ask people for help. Not wanting to ask them for
anything
. Even when you need to ask if you can have some slack on the rope keeping you bolted to the floor simply so you can piss in a bucket. Well, that’s part of what I like to call rock-bottom dependency. I’ll be damned if I ever need to be dependent again.

“You spoke for me. You didn’t ask me what I wanted, you didn’t ask me for my opinion, you didn’t talk to me at all, and you just went ahead and did it.”

He tilts his head to the side, staring at me, thinking about what I just said. It may sound ridiculous to him, and I hope I don’t need to explain it, but something tells me I’ll be doing just that.

“I apologize Elle, seeing you with Brock doesn’t sit well with me. I know you said you’re just friends, and he and I had a talk that night I found you at the gym. That guy loves his wife, I get that. I’m just not sure how I feel about him keeping such a close on eye on you. Especially when he has a wife at home. Not many men I know would put that much effort into looking after a woman he wasn’t fucking. More so when he’s not getting paid outside of the gym.”

“You idiot! One, I do fucking pay him. And two, did it ever occur to you there are some kind people in this world Ryder? Trust me, I’m the last person who would have ever thought there was kindness left in this world, but surely if I can stumble upon it, so can you. Nothing, not now, not ever, has happened or will happen with Brock.”

He shakes his head, not entirely agreeing with me.

“I trust you babe, just not sure I trust him.”

“Well that’s big of you Ryder—to
trust
me. But let me ask you something. If you trust me so much, why are you so worried about Brock? If you trust me, you know nothing would ever happen.”

“I don’t think anything would happen Elle, that doesn’t mean I have to like you hanging out with him. Regardless, we still haven’t gotten to the bottom of the issue here. Why did you go so off the wall because I spoke for you? I thought we were on the same page here babe, and that means when I spoke, I was pretty sure what I said is what you wanted; to be back in North Carolina, with me hopefully looking after you.”

I slam my palms against the counter.

“Goddammit, don’t you get it? I don’t need to be looked after Ryder! I’m not with you so you can ‘look after me.’ And for shit’s sake, don’t speak for me. Ever! I can speak for myself!”

Strong arms grab ahold of my shoulders. He puts his angry tanned face in mine.

“Why Elle? Why is this such a big deal to you? Tell me!”

Time to turn the tables.

“Have you ever been held hostage Ryder? Have you ever been taken into the hands of someone else and not been given the chance to make your own decisions? Speak for yourself? Have you ever had that taken away from you?”

“I was trained for shit like that, Elle. I’ve been put through the ringer-”

“NO! Talk about ‘training’ all you want! Have you actually ever, really been taken Ryder? Answer the question!”

“No! I haven’t, Elle.”

My voice is low and angry when I reply.

“Then you don’t
know.
You do not for one fucking second know what it feels like to not know what day it is, and not want to ask. You do not know what it feels like to want water, but not be able to ask for it. You DO NOT know what it feels like to ask for some slack on the rope that’s holding you off the ground. Slack on the rope that’s bolted to the floor and too far away from the bucket you were given to piss in.

“So until you know what it feels like, that you actually have to ask to take a fucking piss, you do not speak for me. Until you know how it feels to have your ability to make such small decisions taken away from you, don’t you ever speak for me. Because from today until the day I  die, I will decide when I sleep, eat and piss. I will decide when I need help, and who it will be from. Nobody Ryder, not even you, will be given the go ahead to speak on my behalf or make decisions for me.”