Page 10 of Finding Limits

“It’s too late now, little dove. You belong to him. I just hope you survive it.” He kisses my forehead before clamping two heavy shackles around my wrists and leaving me in the dark

I slam my journal closed and clutch it to my chest. My pulse is beating far too fast as those memories swirl around in my head like a tornado dragging me into its center.

“You okay?” Josie looks up from the magazine she’s reading.

“I’m fine, just a little, ummm…” I can’t put into words what’s going through my mind. Digging up old bones has made me feel as if I was there again, living it all over, and yet at the same time, I’ve freed up some space in my head by getting the words out.

“Is that the journal Samantha gave you?” Josie gets up from the couch and moves toward me, and I clutch it close to me to guard it.

“Yeah.” I nod.

“I think it’s good that you're using it.” She sits beside me and gives me that sad smile again. “Can I be honest with you?” Her head tips sideways as she lets out a deep breath.

“I’d like that.” I smile back at her.

“I never know how to be around you, or what to say. I know a little about what you’ve been through, but not the whole story. I feel as if me, just acting normal around you after all you’ve suffered, is insensitive.”

“Thank you.” I smile at her.

“For what? Being awkward and useless?” Josie laughs.

“For being truthful, and for coming here almost every day to keep me company despite not knowing how to act. I’ve never once thought you were insensitive,” I assure her.

“You wanna know another secret?” She leans in closer. “This place is much more peaceful than the ranch. I don’t mind at all.” She winks at me, before getting up and heading back to the couch.

Josie leaves a little before Mitch is due to get home. Each day when he walks through the door, those butterflies that stir in my stomach seem to get stronger. After the way his arm wrapped around my body, and his rough hand so tenderly stroked my cheek yesterday, I’ve been obsessing over him doing it again.

“Good day?” he asks, hanging up his hat the same way he always does.

“Yeah, me and Josie ended up making a casserole— What happened to your hand?” I freeze when I see the bandage wrapped around his palm and the blood soaking through it.

“It ain’t nothin’, just tore it open on a loose nail. I’ll get it washed up and pour some alcohol on it.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal but I quickly fetch a bowl, filling it with warm water, before I place it on the table.

“Sit down.” I look around the kitchen, knowing for sure that there's a first aid box here somewhere. I put it away myself when I reorganized the cupboards last month.

“You don’t need to make no fuss.” He shakes his head as I reach up on my toes into the cabinet above the refrigerator and locate it.

I wait for him to sit down before I take the seat beside him and unwind the bandage from his palm. The cut looks nasty but not deep enough for stitches. Taking his wrist, I gently lower his hand into the warm water so it can soak. I don’t look up at him but I can feel his eyes studying me the way they always do.

I often wonder what he’s thinking when he does that. It’s intense and a little overbearing but I like it all the same. I like that this man takes an interest in me. I like what he said to me last night about how he feels coming home, and I like that it’s always his voice that guides me out of my nightmares.

“That’s feelin’ better already.” He smiles at me when I lift his hand out and gently pat it dry with a towel. I stroke over the uninjured part of his palm with my finger, appreciating his rough, overworked skin, and when I’m brave enough to look up at him he’s frowning at me in confusion.

“You good?” he checks.

“You have hard-working hands.” I smile at him. Abraham and Solomon's hands were so smooth, and always felt so slimy on my skin. I imagine it would feel very different to be touched by hands like these.

“They’ve seen their fair share of work over the years.” He laughs, then flinches when I dab the open wound with alcohol. I make sure it’s clean before taking a fresh gauze and rewrapping it with a new bandage.

“There.” I smile proudly. It's nice to feel like I’ve helped him, after all he does for me.

My hand lingers over his for longer than it should, maybe it’s because I enjoy the warmth of his skin, or because I’m proud of myself for pushing my boundaries. But there's a niggle inside me that tells me it’s something different. Something that makes me want to cry again just so I can have him wipe away my tears.

“Thank you,” he tells me in that low, husky voice. His injured hand lifts up and strokes my cheek, pushing back my hair as his fingertips brush over my skin like he can sense it’s what I need.

He looks nervous and unsure, so I rest my head a little into his palm to let him know it’s okay.

A loud thud interrupts the moment and Mitch suddenly pulls back. It’s followed by another loud bang and I stand up, staring at the door, trying to control the panic I can feel taking over all my senses.

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