Page 78 of Rush of Jealousy

“I’m not Tanner, dammit!” he snaps. He shakes me. Jolts me.

A scream bubbles from deep within the pit of my stomach, unleashing into a fiery blast out of my mouth. The sound scares me so much that it feels like my body detaches from its soul.

I blink, and there, sitting underneath me, is the man that saved me. The man who prevented me from getting—

My body goes limp as the flood of anger rushes through me, causing me to deflate into a shriveled up ball of emotion. Quivering, my voice trembles out the words, “I…hurt you.”

It is like the life is sucked out of me, and the only thing left is a shell of the person I used to be. How will I ever be the same again when I can’t even stand to be with the person I have become?

“Oh, baby, please don’t cry.”

But I can’t stop it. I wail and quake with every fear that I experienced in the hotel room at the forefront of my brain.

Helplessness.

Immobility.

Violation.

Every time my mind is idle, it seems to drift to Mark. His nasty hands on me. The way he found pleasure in my pain.

“He…” My lips shake. “He…”

Graham’s arms hug me to him, embracing me in a cocoon of warmth. “You are safe. I will always keep you safe.”

Tears continue to fall, soaking into his hoodie. I clear my throat of the sobs racking through my insides, wave after wave. I can’t seem to make them stop. His hands rub at my back, one under my shirt and the other over it, drawing circles. When I stop shaking, I lift my head to look at him. Under his left eye, his skin appears to swell. Mark got a good hit on him when he was distracted with me.

With one hand, Graham traces over my wound on my cheek and my lip, trailing his fingers gently over the tenderness. We don’t talk. Instead, we just melt into each other. It’s as if the weight of the entire evening has finally taken its toll on our shoulders, and we are unable to bear any more without leaning on each other.

We stay interlaced for some undeterminable amount of time. Once I have fully calmed—and am too exhausted to move—Graham puts me back on my side and snaps my belt into place. His ability to hand select which rules to follow and which ones to break is confusing. He acts like he doesn’t just own the law, he creates it for his liking.

We ignore each other for some amount of time. I count the mile markers on the highway that we merge onto. Graham goes back to stewing on his side of the backseat. I focus on my breathing and another plan out of this mess. Graham taps his fingers against his knees. Neither of us are at peace. No. We are highly strung and ready to bite.

“Claire is going to wonder where I am.”

“I notified her.”

My eyes snap to his. “Notified her of what exactly, Graham? And when are you going to allow me to be privy to all of this information?”

His teeth make a grinding sound, he is pushing them so tightly together. I imagine the bones turning into powder at the fierceness of his rubbing. “You need to trust me that I know what’s best for you right now.” He removes his ball cap—I didn’t even realize he’d put it back on—and runs his hands through his hair. “I could have been too late tonight. And the image I’ve created in my mind of what could’ve happened will haunt me for the rest of my life.”

We are both traumatized by what happened in that hotel room for different reasons. But I just want to go home. I want to shower. And cleanse the repulsive feel of hands from my body. I still feel grossly naked despite being clothed from head to toe. I want to be alone. Breaking down and reevaluating my priorities does not require an audience.

My eyes well with tears, and I look pleadingly at Graham for any indication that he will fulfill my wishes. But I am met with indifference.

His hand reaches for me, and my vision fogs. As if stuck in a horrible nightmare, his face morphs into Mark’s, and I scream out in fear. “Get away from me! Don’t hurt me!”

“Fuck!” he bellows, grabbing my wrists between his strong hands, immobilizing my upper body.

I twist and turn and knee him with any force I can muster up from my lower half. A hand gripping my wrist loosens just enough for me to wrestle it out of his hold, throwing myself full force into my attack—while still confined by my seatbelt.

“Dammit, Angie!”

The fog lifts, and I see him.

Devastated.

Hurt.

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