Page 57 of Mind

“Where’s Justin? I need Justin,” I whisper.

“In jail until I get your statement. Without it, he’ll be released.”

“You’re not getting anything from me. My boyfriend and I had sex. He didn’t rape me or beat me. Things got heated and after, I fell down the stairs. Now get out of here!” I scream.

The doctor rushes in. “I think she’s had quite enough. Gillian, get back in bed. We need to wrap your ribs and tend to your wounds. Detective, have you gotten what you need…” the doctor asks but she doesn’t answer.

Everything gets hazy, warps and fogs. A soft pinprick of light slowly opens at the center of my vision getting steadily bigger, bringing me back to a different room in the here and now. Arms are around me, a blanket covering my naked body. “Detective, have you gotten what you need?” Chase’s voice clears the cobwebs of the past. “Baby, you’re shaking. Was it another flashback?” he asks and I nod. “Okay, we’re done here,” he says to the detective.

“I’ve got everything I need. Gillian, I’ve got your statement recorded. We’ll have it transcribed and you’ll have to review it and sign it. It should be ready in a couple of days.” I nod and turn into Chase’s chest. For the first time I can breathe.

The detective leaves and Chase brings me to the bed. “I want to go home,” I tell him. “Take me home,” he nods and sits me on the bed. With great effort and extreme care, he puts one of his undershirts on me. I stand and he slips a pair of his boxers over my legs. Then he grabs a thick fuzzy robe from the closet and wraps me in it. He goes back into the closet comes out with pajama pants and a hoodie on, and my comfy slippers Maria bought me for Christmas. He bends down and brings each slipper to my foot as I step into it.

He links our fingers together, palm-to-palm and a sense of calm settles over me. Chase leads me out of the room. Jack sees us and grabs a set of keys. “Where to Sir?” he asks.

“Penthouse. My fiancée wants to go home.” Jack curtly dips his chin. I’m certain he doesn’t like this plan since the security at the mansion is much stronger but Chase is not a man you say no to when he’s made up his mind. Jack snaps at two guys. I recognize them as Maria and Kat’s bodyguards. “You two come with me tonight. I’ll have reinforcements sent over within the hour.” As we wait by the door, Jack goes over to Bree’s bodyguard. “Don’t let any of them leave until replacements have been sent. Got it?” he tells the tall beefy man. It dawns on me that I don’t even remember his name. Too many whacks to the head this evening.

The big guy nods but responds, “Why are you so worried? We got the guy tonight, right? He’s in jail?”

Then Jack says something that sends shivers down my spine and gooseflesh to appear on my skin. “We don’t know that Justin Durham is the stalker. After seeing the guy, I don’t think he is. Redding will know for sure by morning.”

Chase rubs a hand down my arm. I wince but I don’t tell him to stop. It’s comforting more than it hurts. Having his hands on me is the only thing right now that can take away the filth of Justin’s hands.

“Let’s go,” Chase orders as the two continue to argue about the stalker. I stop paying attention. There’s nothing I want more than to be home with Chase.

The car ride seems longer than normal. When we enter the Penthouse tears prick at my eyes. This is home. Not some pink room with ugly pristine decorations. Chase leads me into the master bedroom. Even though the room is musty from being closed up it’s still the best thing I’ve seen in a really long time.

“What would make you feel better, Gillian?” Chase asks softly as I scan our bed, the floor to ceiling windows, the decorations I haven’t had a chance to change yet. Still it’s more home than anywhere else. It’s where I first slept the night with Chase and where I want to spend tonight wrapped in his arms.

I look longingly at the bed but my skin feels itchy and crawling with Justin’s filth. “I’m dirty. Need to be clean,” I mumble. He leads me into our bathroom. He dims the lights down so it’s less glaringly obvious how ugly the marks are. Slowly he removes the robe then the shirt. I cover my battered breasts with one arm and tilt my head down. He carefully takes off the boxers and panties. Then he turns around and starts the shower, all without saying a word. I don’t know what he’s thinking or feeling and it’s making me sick to my stomach.

When the water is the right temperature, he opens the door and leads me into it. I step under the warm spray protecting my chest and the raw flesh. Shivers wrack my frame until the most comforting arms in the universe encase me from behind. I lean into the naked chest of my man and close my eyes taking the comfort he gives just by holding me.

For long minutes, we stand there. He holds me until I wiggle and turn around chest to chest. It throbs when my breast hits his chest, but I don’t care. Nothing could prevent me from being in his arms, hearing his heart pound in my ear, feeling his hands rubbing my back.

“I’m going to wash you now,” he pulls back and grabs my bodywash.

“No, yours,” I say teeth chattering. Being surrounded by everything that is Chase is what I want right now. His scent makes me feel even closer to him. I want it flooding my senses. The shaking and chattering continues. It’s as if I can’t get warm enough. I turn around and set the temperature hotter. When I turn back, Chase is pouring the soap into a washcloth. “Hands,” I say as his eyes meet mine. He nods stiffly. I put my hand out to have him squirt it into my hands. He looks at me, his eyes filled with hurt, anger, and sorrow.

He shakes his head. “I take care of what’s mine,” I shake my head hastily. He grips my hand with his, “Baby, I have to,” his voice is horse and unsteady, full of raw need. I close my eyes and wait.

He lifts my arm and slides his hand up and over the limb, briefly washing over the bruises on my biceps and wrists. I’ve got the other arm over the wound on my chest. He rubs his hands over my clavicle making his way to the other arm. I switch arms so fast I’m certain he didn’t have to see the worst of Justin’s tirade. Chase lifts the arm and uses his hands to soothe up and down, effectively washing away the memory of that horrible mans’ touch…at least for the time being.

Chase turns me around, pulls my wet hair into one long rope and sends it over my shoulder. He squirts more liquid into his hands and washes my back, down my bum and along the back of each leg and back up. I inhale at the familiar caress knowing it’s Chase, the man who loves me and would never touch me in anger. When he makes his way all the way back he leads me to the water letting his hands follow the suds down my skin and to the floor. From behind, he leans forward and places his lips against the giant mark Justin left on my neck. He runs his tongue over the bruised flesh then kisses it no less than twenty times in soft baby pecks. “Still my spot,” he murmurs and I choke back a sob, putting a hand out to the cold tile to hold me up as I nod my head so he knows I couldn’t agree more.

With light fingers, he spins me to face him. Then he grabs the bottle of men’s shower gel, adds another dollop, rubs his hands together and crouches low. He grabs a foot, smoothes his hand up one leg making sure to wash it completely, then repeats the same action on the other side. Every muscle is finally relaxing, turning to jelly under his comforting ministrations. Chase has always known exactly how to touch me. From the very first time until now, he just instinctively knows what’s best for me.

He stands and squirts more gel on his hands and then looks at me sternly. “Remove your arm, baby.”

“No, I don’t want you to see what he did again.” I allow all the emotion, shame, and disgust to fill my words.

“Every part of you is beautiful. Every inch of you perfect, and all mine. I’m taking back what he touched.” His words brook no argument. “Non-negotiable,” he uses the word that never ceases to make me smile. He’s such a broody, but demonstrative man, and I love every inch of him.

“Only if I can touch you, too,” I say.

“Always, I’m yours. Every atom, every muscle, every bit of skin and bone, it’s yours for the taking.”

Tears slip down my cheeks adding to the water already coating our bodies. On a deep breath, I move my arms from my chest and place my hands on his abdomen. The thick muscles bunch and tighten under my hands. I don’t look down at his manhood because I don’t want to know that he’s disgusted with me, that my naked body right now isn’t going to excite him, turn him on. I’ve never been naked in front of him without seeing his reaction to methere, virile and prevalent between his thighs.

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