Chapter Six
Twyla had to get up, or at least had to get to her room so she could barricade the door with her dresser, hopefully hold Wade off for tonight at least, although he’d come in her window before. She wished she’d thought to get the information Dr. Eric had given her from Mr. Fox before he rang the doorbell and knocked, but it was too late now. She’d be fine. She’d gotten hit and beat up before and she’d always been fine.
She’d started to crawl down the hall since she didn’t want to stand up and fall over or worse, attract Wade’s attention when Wade landed behind her, hard on his ass, holding a hand to his nose which was bleeding.
What the fuck?
And then Mr. Fox was in her house, standing there all tall and golden and clean—he stuck out like a sore thumb in this place. He didn’t belong here.
He strode toward her and before she could argue, he was holding her in his arms again. She knew she should argue because he was going to get in trouble for this, so bad, but between the relief she felt and his orders from earlier not to argue with him, she didn’t protest. No, she wrapped her arms around his neck and clung to him, so glad he’d come for her and half-believing that this couldn’t be real.
She was clearly passed out on her floor because no one would ever stand up to Wade for her. No one had ever seen her as a damsel in distress or if they had, they’d never bothered to rescue her.
Mr. Fox was a real live hero, even if he wasn’t her Prince Charming.
“You’re coming home with me, Twyla. It’s not safe for you here. We can discuss it later.”
She didn’t want to discuss it. She wanted to go to Mr. Fox’s cute little cape and have him tuck her into bed. Would he let her sleep as long as she liked? Mr. Fox probably had fresh food in his fridge, maybe some pasta or soup in his pantry she could heat up. She wasn’t good in the kitchen but she could learn to be. If he wanted her to.
Mostly she wanted to wrap herself up in a soft, sweet-smelling blanket and cuddle up next to him on the couch or maybe he’d let her sleep in his bed and hold her all night.
Twyla let out a soft huff because she couldn’t let herself dream those kinds of big dreams. Those things didn’t happen in real life at all, or if they did, they definitely didn’t happen to girls like her. She’d just have to grab whatever small kindnesses she could, tuck them into her mouth and suck on them long after they ought to have been gone like those butterscotch candies her gram used to sneak her when she was little and her mom hadn’t married Wade yet and the world seemed like a much nicer place.