Same/Difference (The Depth of Emotion #4) (14 page)

“But I don’t think so.”

He swung around so fast that I didn’t realize what was happening and, as he pivoted, his fist connected with my jaw. My vision splintered into fragments as I crashed, face first, into the mirror. My reflection exploded into shattered grains of silver and my world upended. He tore at my hair, and once he had a handful in his fist he pulled back with a ferocity that guaranteed my surrender. I screamed a nightmare as a flood of black terror swallowed me. He pulled my neck back brutally. I landed against his chest with a thud so hard it winded me like a punch to the gut. Blake’s forearm tightened around my neck until I was so immobile I couldn’t breathe. Life drained out of me in puddles of terror as he bit the back of my neck, sinking his teeth in ravenously until I felt the tender skin give way to blood that trickled from my violated flesh. He was a madman.

There was no one to hear me cry. I had two choices. Surrender or fight. In desperation, I whipped my body back and forth in a tragic dance, hoping to break his hold. My vision was so distorted that I couldn’t focus. Deep in the bowels of desperation I blindly bit and clawed at anything on him that I could reach. Still he refused to let me go, using my head as a battering ram against the fortress of my sanity. I shook so hard that I thought fear would break my bones, but it wasn’t strong enough to break his grip. The carpet raked my skin when he threw me on the floor. He kicked me and I felt the contents of my stomach rise in my throat. One more kick and I rolled to my side praying that I was quick enough to keep my bones from being broken.

“You’re nothing but a goddamn cock tease.” He spat at me, the slimy excretion landing on my throat as I coughed and gagged from his brutality. The unmistakable sound of a descending zipper ripped me apart with misery as I heaved scattered memories on the floor. I’d been betrayed by his friendship, deluded by his normalcy, and violated by his inhumanity. Of all my tormentors, he would be the one to break my body and set my soul free.

Tears stung my eyes and a knot formed in my stomach when I thought of the people who loved me. When I kissed and hugged them goodbye I never thought it would be the last time. I might not come out of this room in anything other than pieces. At best I’d be raped, at worst I would die, but I knew that no matter what happened I would never be the same. I couldn’t help but think of the people I loved, now collateral damage to a madman.

Blake bent over and made two ropes of my hair. He used them as a painful hoist to raise me to my knees and then he pulled my face to his crotch. His legs were spread and his hardness repulsed me. I tried to turn away but he held me tightly in his grip.

“Open your mouth damn it!”

For one hopeful moment clarity presented itself. I realized that my hands were free. I thrust my hands up between his legs and, using my fingers, I grabbed his sack in a death grip and twisted with all of my strength. An ungodly scream escaped him. He let go of my hair and pushed at my head with his fists.

As he doubled over and fell to the floor I scampered back until I gathered the strength to stand. I tried to hop over him, but he caught my ankle in midair. I kicked at him with my other foot but, even injured, he was stronger than me. He pulled me down and rolled me under him while he slithered over me like a snake. His hips were even with mine once he subdued me. He straddled me and slapped me so hard my ears rang. Two hits—forehand and backhand.

“You’re going to pay for that!” He growled against my ear. With the last of my energy I bucked my hips up but I couldn’t move. Violently, he ripped the delicate material of my dress and bra and I was smothered by the reality of my circumstances. With a meaty hand, he pulled downward and the ravaged material fluttered over my breast. Sadistically, he exposed me, unveiling a lifetime of disguise with one, brutal motion. Staring at my uncovered flesh, he paused. His mouth twisted and a sadistic sneer appeared.

“Well, aren’t you just full of surprises.”

His words stabbed at me with a thick and impaired tongue, but he poked at my tender skin with a pointed finger. I felt my throat close up as fresh emotion choked me. I began to sob.

“Blake. Please…”

He sat back on his haunches, laughing in great rolls and harshly jabbed my scars.

“You’re fucking hideous!” He cackled while a tar pit of dark memories suffocated me with sticky fingers. It stole any breath of sweetness that lingered that struggled to stay alive. His enjoyment at my expenses was a familiar asphyxiation as hurt upon hurt reemerged only to anchor around my feet. I felt myself pulling away. It was over. I fought the thickness of cruelty for so many years that there was little left inside of me. Although I fought to stay afloat, so much time had passed that I was out of practice. I felt myself sinking.

“You son of a bitch! I’ll kill you.”

A sob of relief caught in my throat as I recognized the unmistakable reverberation of Falcon’s roar. My eyes were blinded with tears as the pressure lifted from my chest and I watched Blake go airborne. Falcon’s fist was a blur of motion as it sailed through the air and Blake’s face crumbled. His aggression toward me was only dwarfed by the ferocity of Falcon’s fury.

I tried to move.

My mind said to stop them.

My body refused to listen.

Falcon dragged Blake out into the hall and the door would have slammed behind them if not for my shoe. It came off sometime during the attack, but I just stared at the red sole blocking the entrance. Threads of anxiety pricked me and pulled at my skin in a toxic needlepoint. My vision grew cloudy and my hearing became muffled. Tears washed my face in the salty wetness that dripped from my chin and bathed my chest. My mind screamed at the surrealism of the situation while the rational part of me was judiciously kidnapped.

She
came back. This wasn’t my fault. I wasn’t me.

She
was.

She
pounced on the fortuitous opportunity. I floated above as I watched
her
.
She
tried to hide, but the spotlight shined painfully through the Swiss cheese insecurity that was thicker than the scars. The resolve I’d so bravely developed through the years came crashing down horribly. Blake’s attack had fractured the spirit of the girl who lived inside me and
she
had come forth for an occasion to exact
her
revenge. He was worse than the juvenile torturers. Theirs were only vicious words. His fists stroked the immature accusations and stabbed the broken girl until
she
screamed to be set free from her cage within my scarred flesh. What was left of my senses and me was shut down and mangled leaving me fractured into two, separate victims.

I couldn’t help the one.

I couldn’t fight the other.

F
alcon examined his fist as he rode up the elevator and back to Paige’s floor. The blood on his hand wasn’t his. After getting in a few good punches to Blake’s, much too pretty, face, he took him downstairs to the hotel security office and asked them to call the police. He could only supply them with a brief rundown of events because he wasn’t aware of all of the facts and he wanted to get back to her.

He hated leaving Paige by herself but, at the time, there was no other option. The minute he got Blake into the elevator he smelled the reeking alcohol. He didn’t care if he was drunk, nothing could excuse the fact that he put his hands on her. Now, all he wanted to do was get back to her. As far as he was concerned, Blake could spend the night in jail until Paige went down and pressed charges. For now, he would insist that she let him take her to the hospital. The criminal charges, and Blake, could wait.

He saw her shoe. Kicking it aside he pushed the door open. His heart slammed to a stop. Paige’s posture was crumpled and the contents of her stomach were spilled out on the floor. She seemed to be in a trance. Facing the corner of the room, she stared blankly and slowly rocked back and forth. He moved closer to her for a better look. His heart shredded. Although he was right in front of her, her vacant stare indicated that her focus was hidden inside. She was locked into some kind of isolated torment; a soft pile of crème and coffee colored threads lay feathered in a nest on the floor.

She was pulling her hair out.

The altercation between Blake and him had fought off any lingering effect of the alcohol he’d consumed earlier. Seeing Paige like this sobered him even more. Seeing such a beautiful woman lost in a PTSD nightmare pained and unnerved him. She looked so fragile, and she was unraveling right before his eyes.
Damn that son of a bitch!

Her cheeks were wet with silent tears and the inaudible sound broke his heart. He probably should have been knocked out, but even in her brokenness she was beautiful. It shook him to see her in this quiet distress and his heart ached. Her long fingers were threaded through the thick waves that were pulled to the side over her shoulder. Over and over she ran her hands through the tresses as if she were brushing it—and then she tore the strands out one by one.

As she decimated each follicle, the long stands fell gently to the floor. She held her hand out delicately after she ripped the strand from its life source. She wiggled her fingers in a tortured tango and the lonely lock fell. Various pieces went rogue and kissed her breast, stomach, and thigh on their way to the multi-strand grave.

Falcon waited her out. He’d only had limited experience with the PTSD that soldiers experience, but he knew enough not to startle her. Her clarity was obviously lost within her emotional pain so he approached her with expectant caution. He wanted to touch her gently to let her know he was there and had reached out his hand to touch her when he saw the first scar. Red semi-circles marred her skin from, what could have been a fingernail, and he realized her pain was not limited to tonight’s event. It was both emotional and physical. Slowly, he pulled back and watched for some signal when he could break her concentration and guide her safely back to reality.

He wanted to pull her into his arms and slay whatever dragon gave her such torment. Her battle-scarred expression was one of anguish and loss. All her concentration focused on her hair and she rocked as she pulled it from her head. Finally, she let out an exhausted sign and her gaze went to the pile beside her. He stooped, lowering himself behind her. His voice against her ear was a comforting whisper.

“Paige.”

Her hands stilled and her expression fell, a defeated look now arresting her features. Her face was etched with shame. He slowly anchored her to himself by placing his chest to her back.

“I got you, baby.”

She didn’t move.

He placed his hands on her shoulders as delicately as one would touch a butterfly’s wing. His hands warmed her as he brushed across her skin. Slowly and tenderly, he stroked, soothing her as his hands traveled down her arms and back up again. When he finally felt her relaxing, he entwined their fingers, his hands over the back of hers. She surrendered, relinquishing control over the motions. Her breaths reduced to a much calmer pace. He held her tightly as she was embraced in his arms. She was heavy with exhaustion and sighed deeply as he leaned her against the edge of the bed. He disappeared into the bathroom and when he returned, he wiped the vomit from around her mouth with a warm cloth. He used a cooler one to wipe the perspiration from her face and neck but she was too drained to notice. He raised his voice to a deep, soothing baritone.

“Paige, I want to get you out of these clothes. Help me if you can.”

She moved with the hesitancy of someone in pain and robotically did what she could to assist him. She didn’t have the energy to lift her arms all the way up and he provided the help she needed. Underneath the torn dress she was still wearing underwear and he felt a small rush of relief. Her hair was sticky against her neck and he wiped it with a cool cloth. He wasn’t sure if she shivered from the cold or his touch because it happened as he brushed over the scar.

“Don’t.”

The word strangled in the air as she tried to cover it with her hand. She swayed against him and he guided her to the upright pillows. Her footsteps were labored as she blindly followed his lead to the bed where he pulled her between his legs. He cradled her and tucked her head beneath his chin. She wilted lifelessly into his embrace. With gentle fingertips he lifted her chin, rotating her head until he looked into her eyes. His heart skipped a beat as awareness seeped back into her eyes.

“I got you, beautiful.”

She was beautiful even in her pain. He hugged her against him and pressed a kiss into her hair. Goosebumps erupted on her skin and he pulled the covers up and around her shoulders and he held her as she fell asleep in his arms.

Falcon was convinced that there was more to this than an unfortunate run- in with Blake, although what little he saw of that encounter would have been enough to push anyone over the edge. Conflicted and curious, he lifted the blanket slightly to get a better view of the scar. White, shiny, and tight; it appeared to be from a burn. He followed the trail down her chest and saw where it spilled onto her breast. In shades of white and pink, it decorated her milky skin then disappeared underneath the damaged bra. He wanted to see how far it went and shifted to get a better view. She turned in her sleep and he moved to make himself more comfortable, and the combination of both provided the opportunity to satisfy his curiosity. The covers fell back and exposed another scar. Her positioning gave him a view of the injuries in their entirety. There were more of them than he was prepared to see, but at least they weren’t fresh and looked like they happened long ago. Now he knew why she always dressed so conservatively.