“Order up, sweetheart,” the old fry cook hollered, dinging the bell. I laid the silverware I was rolling up to the side, walking over to the window.
“Thanks, Joe.” I smiled sweetly, my face hurting from the gesture. Some days, I wondered how long I’d be able to hold up this fake sweetness before I cracked. By the end of the day, I’d walk home exhausted and want nothing more than to hide under my covers, pretending this wasn’t my life.
But Maddox wouldn’t let me.
He was both saving and drowning me. I didn’t know which I wanted to win.
Sighing, I grabbed the food and walked it over to the table. “Here you go, sugars. Y’all be sure to let me know if you need anything else, okay?”
A hand started to roam up my backside under my uniform, and I froze for a second, the feeling making me want to hurl. The dark part of me snapped, reaching down to grab the hand that thought it was okay to touch me. Twisting the wrist, I pulled it free, raising it up over the table. The man winced, crying out.
“I’m not on the menu.” I threw his hand back at him, turning to leave. I’d wanted to make him hurt worse, but the second I let go, reality crashed in, and I was on the verge of falling apart.
Making it to the bathroom, I locked the door behind me, and sank to the floor. Tears cascaded down my cheeks, and I scrubbed my hands on the apron I wore. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop crying, the feeling of his hand left an imprint on my body.
Why did men think they had the right to touch me? Did I have a look about me that said they could?
A soft knock had me bolting up, wiping my face. “Darcie, sweetie, you okay?” Jodie asked.
“I’m good. Just a minute.” I sniffled, wiping my face. I turned to the mirror, cursing my choice to wear makeup today. Splashing some water on my face, I sucked in a breath, holding it until I had to let it go. My hands shook as I tried to dry them.
Pulling my skirt up, I took my flesh between my fingers and pinched the area on my upper thigh. My legs were riddled with bruises. I knew I should stop, that it wasn’t a healthy way to cope. But the pain was the only thing that helped me center myself, reminding me I was still here.
Once the bite of pain lessened, I let go, rubbing over it softly. Fixing myself, I held up my chin and headed outside, hoping I could make it through the rest of the day.
* * *
Another month passed, and things weren’t getting easier. I woke up screaming, thrashing out as I tried to get away from my attacker. Maddox no longer slept in my bed when we moved into the tiny house we rented. He opted to sleep on the sofa, but he was always there to calm me when I woke in a panic.
Needless to say, we both looked like shit, neither of us getting any sleep.
He rocked me back and forth, smoothing my hair. “I’m sorry, Maddox.” My body shook, and I whimpered as the tears fell. I hated feeling this way.
“It’s okay, Princess.”
“It’s not, though. I’m tired of feeling this way. Make it stop, please.”
I turned, cupping his face. Slowly, I leaned forward, touching my lips to his. He stayed frozen, not wanting to spook me. In the time since we’d been on the run, we hadn’t kissed again. I’d thought about it, but each time I’d remember what came after a kiss, and I’d freeze up, not ready for it.
But maybe I’d been going about it all wrong? Darla had said something at work the other day that the best way to get over someone was to get under someone new. She was with a new guy every week, so maybe there was something to it.
I pulled back, staring into his eyes. “Will you,” I swallowed, “will you give me a different memory? Please?”
Maddox froze, looking at me. “What?”
The response hadn’t been what I expected, so I pulled back, feeling rejected. “Never mind. It’s stupid.” I turned, pulling the covers to crawl under them and die.
He touched my hand, stopping me. “Don’t hide from me, Princess. Let’s talk about this. It’s a big deal, and I just want to make sure you’re ready.”
I turned back, some excitement filling me. “I just figured if I had another experience, maybe I wouldn’t have as many nightmares. That the way to heal is to get back on the horse, so to speak.”
He snorted. “Don’t think I’ve ever been referred to as a horse before.” He scrubbed the back of his head, running his palm over his hair. He blew out a breath. “Everything in me feels like this might be a horrible idea.”
“Why?”
“I dunno. I don’t want our first time, my first time, to be because of him,” he whispered, dropping his head. I realized then what I was asking of him.
“Shit. I’m sorry. I just didn’t think it would be your first. That’s all.”