Page 405 of Rage

One by one, I will take them down.

And I will use their bodies to build you a sanctuary.

My breath caught in my throat as I realized someone knew of my past and cared enough to... what? Do me a fucked up favor?

I was scared, but a part of me also felt... protected. My ex was an evil man and I was surprised that I didn’t feel bad about the fact he was gone. I felt… relief.

God, what was wrong with me? Too much, apparently.

Whoever this was seemed to want to exact vengeance on my behalf. But who?

I couldn’t shake the feeling that the man from the club was somehow behind it. Had he been the one to send me the roses? If so, how had he found out where I lived? And why would he go to such lengths?

I wanted to bring it up in group therapy but stayed quiet. For a few weeks, I didn’t do much besides pretend to listen and stare off into space as I contemplated what was going on in my life at the time. When I couldn’t stay cooped up in my apartment any longer, I returned to the club the following week. I needed to work out the confusion and frustration that had been building up inside me before I drove myself insane. I went to the anonymous encounter room, my pulse quickening as I anticipated seeing him again.

And there he was, waiting in the darkness. I recognized his touch, the way he moved as if he knew every inch of my body and wanted to worship it with his hands. He took his time, caressing and exploring with his gentle and possessive touch.

It was him. The same man.

I had no idea who he was or why he was doing this, but I didn’t care at that moment. All I knew was the comfort of his touch, the feeling of being cherished and avenged all at once. So I let him hold me, let him take away the pain, just for a little while.

And then I went back again the following week.

I felt him before I saw him, an electric charge in the air that crackled with familiarity. His presence filled the space, reassuring yet unsettling. I could barely make out his silhouette as he moved closer, but I could sense him.

“Thought you might not come back,” he murmured, his voice low and inviting.

“I had my reasons.” My voice came out steadier than I felt, laced with a mixture of defiance and curiosity. I didn’t even care that we were breaking the ‘No Talking’ rule.

“Yeah? What kind of reasons?” He stepped closer still, his breath warm against my cheek.

“I don’t know who you are,” I reply, the words tumbling out before I can stop them. “Or why you sent those flowers.”

“Flowers?” He chuckles softly. “Did they scare you?”

“Scare? No.” The lie tasted bitter on my tongue.

He reaches for my hand and guides it to his chest. My fingers brush against something hard—a nipple piercing-- before my hand rests above his heart, which is pounding in time with mine. “What if I told you I’m coming here to help?”

“Help?” The word felt foreign, like a pebble lodged in my throat. “You think showing up here is helpful?”

He pauses, his silence heavy with intent, and his hand releases mine while I still keep my own pressed against his chest. “I think I’m treating you better than the rest of the men you’ve met here. You deserve better than what they did to you. And you have to stop seeking out pain in a way to try and erase your trauma. New trauma is not going to do anything but set you back.”

I pull back slightly but don’t drop my hand.

“What do you know about it?” I press, searching for answers hidden behind the veil of darkness around us.

“I’ve been watching.” His words fell like stones between us, heavy and unyielding, and his arms encircled my frame and brought me flush against him.

“Watching?” My body stiffened, but not from fear–from awe.

“Yes,” he continues, voice steady yet laced with emotion. “You don’t need to be alone anymore.”

I can’t decide if that promise soothed or rattled me more. The heat from his body wrapped around mine, and our breathsmingling in the confined space didn’t help my mental state either.

“What do you want from me?” The question escaped before I could stop myself.

“I want you to trust me. I know you have no reason to after what you’ve been through, and my promises are nothing compared to the hurt you have to go off of from the past. But I would rather slit my own throat than cause you an ounce of pain. And if you won’t trust me–trustthat.”

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