Page 83 of Rush of Jealousy

An ugly cry.

I weep for what could have been.

“Oh, sweetheart…”

Graham. He showed up. He always shows up. Even when I push him away, he knows exactly what I need, and that is to not be alone right now.

My eyes blur with my tears and the water pelting down on me. He is at eye level, kneeling at my crumpled up body, ready to be of service to me—just like he was when I was mad at him for his betrayal. He is with me. He is always with me. Even when we are separated by distance, my heart still carries the memory of him.

His gentle hands tug me closer, placing me on his lap.

“I just…” I don’t even know. I feel so broken inside that I doubt I can ever be pieced back together again.

“Let me take care of you,” he says simply.

I nod. I can’t get my mouth to form a word, my throat is quivering too much. We stay like this, glued to one another on the tiled shower floor, while the water pelts against us. He kisses my neck and wraps his hands into my hair, cradling me to him like a fragile child.

I feel small in his arms. Like if I move too much or breathe too deep that I will shatter.

After my fingers have already pruned, Graham helps me stand and then as if asking for permission, starts to slide up my soaked shirt. I lift my arms, granting him access. One by one, I am shed of each article. I do the same with Graham’s clothes.

He hands me the soap. I take the white bar into my hands, starting at my stomach. Graham’s hand covers mine, and together we run the soap over every inch of my body, cleansing me of Mark’s sinful touch. The water tinges brown as it washes off of me, mixing with the tainting of blood from the incident. I can only pray that the memories branded into my brain from tonight don’t haunt me forever.

Like they are haunting Penny.

So many girls could have been hurt worse.

Resa.

And Monica. Tracy.

At least I am aware of what I went through tonight and hopefully can continue processing it. Penny is still dealing with the unknown. And at this point in time, I’m struggling to determine which is worse.

“I am sorry about Penny,” I whisper.

“I know, baby. And I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure you both aren’t victims again.”

As Graham washes my hair, I release all of the tears that I have accumulated inside. The only sounds I hear are my own sniffles, the beating spray of the water, my staggered breathing, and Graham’s soft words of comfort.

I turn toward him so we are face-to-face, mouthing the words, “I’m sorry,” so softly that the only sound that exits is that of labored breathing.

His hands rest at the small of my back, so feathery light that I may just be imagining them there. “We are going to get through this together.” He places a kiss to my forehead, and I take a step closer to hug myself around him.

“I sure hope so,” I choke out.

Graham turns off the shower and exits first to retrieve some towels. I have completely lost track of time. I walk into the plush cloth he opens for me, allowing him to wrap me in its warmth. His care for me makes me feel even more vulnerable and exposed. He dries my hair, while I brush my teeth. Just my reflection in the mirror causes me to wince. Purpling skin. Swollen eyes. And an expression of defeat.

I walk beside Graham into the bedroom to find a long-sleeved set of pajamas laid across the bed. “You always think of everything.”

“I’ll always take care of you, sweetheart. Every want. Every need. Every desire. Let me be the man to give them all to you.”

My eyes fill with tears over his tenderness. He can be such a rugged and demanding man, yet be so soft and accommodating. I stretch up to kiss his lips, feeling the pain bite at my lip from where I was slapped.

Sensing my discomfort, Graham pulls away. His thumb gently grazes over my bruised skin, as if he is trying to erase my pain—and the memory of it—from my body. He slips into a pair of black pajama bottoms and then helps me into the softest cotton pair of pants and shirt. I rub the fabric up on my cheek and revel in the feel of a luxury thread count. Graham has a way of spoiling me and making me appreciate designer clothes. As much as I have resisted before, I know deep down that I could get used to this level of pampering.

“I’ll be right back,” he says, helping me get settled under the fresh linen-smelling covers.

I lay under the weight of the blankets, staring up at the ceiling. It is in the quiet that I can decompress and think about what happened tonight.

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