Page 103 of Cut Me Down

“Do you still want to be a virgin?” I ask curiously.

“No.” He says punctually.

“Then go with her.” He sharply nods his head.

“Ten-Four.” He stands up and turns to face her again. Standing tall and steady, trying to shake his nervousness. “I’ll show you to the farthest room.” Carter gestures to the stairs and she waits for him to get closer to her before she walks forward. They begin walking up the stairs together, and about halfway up, Serena grabs his hand and winks at me. Poor thing. He has no idea what he’s getting himself into. He’ll be more addicted to sex than Damien.

He'll probably be hungry when he gets back. I haven’t seen him eat today, and I’m sure after all of the excitement he’s going to be exhausted. That’s what a normal girlfriend would do when her boyfriend came home for work right? She’d make dinner. Who cares if it’s one in the morning or he potentially murdered a bunch of people? I feel like the base principles still apply. I get up and walk into the magnificent kitchen he has. Looking at it’s all black cabinets, counters, and appliances. The same forest green paint covers the walls, except for a beautiful copper and black marbled tile backsplash under the cabinets to match the countertops.

I walk over to the copper-colored sink and start by washing my hands. Well, not just my hands. I feel like a surgeon washing the blood off my arms as high as I can in this sink. A part of me is sickened, yet mesmerized as I watch the swirling red go down the drain. I never knew I was capable of doing that…killing someone…but if I could go back to that moment, I’d do it again to protect them, and that clarity helps settle my nerves and tears me away from the sink.

Opening the fridge, I see that it’s packed full of food. There are all sorts of meats, vegetables, milk, different cheeses, and anything one could need for almost any meal. He really wanted to make sure this place was stocked for us, and his thoughtfulness just has no bounds. I see down at the bottom, on the left shelf, he has strawberries, protein milk, bananas, a bag of granola, and vanilla yogurt all sitting next to each other. That’s what I make my smoothies out of, and he remembered that for some weird reason, I keep my granola in the fridge instead of in a dry cabinet. God, I'm such a bitch. I shouldn’t have yelled at him the way I did or have been so difficult over the past few weeks.

I walk back over to the kitchen island after grabbing the steaks and vegetables, and I go to rinse them off, but it just feels weird. I just washed blood down this sink. Does he have a special sink to wash blood off in? No, of course not. That’s ridiculous. He would just shower. Shit. Should I shower first? No. What if he comes home before I can finish the food? But I really shouldn’t be cooking in these bloodied clothes. I'll just steal one of his shirts. Maybe Carter should have shown me where his room is. His room? Our room? He did saywewere home, and thatwecould stay here from now on if I wanted. So yeah, our room.

I put the steaks back and make my way up the stairs to find OUR room. That’s so crazy to think of. Does he really want to share this magnificent house with me? Was he just saying those things? He seemed so content at the apartment, I had no idea he’d own a place like this. It’s beautiful. I’ve never even dreamed of something like this.

As I make my way to the top of the beautiful, open, iron staircase, I’m brought to the balcony on my left, and the normal hallway to my right. The same forest green paint follows the walls up here as well as the same beautiful dark hard wood floors. There are three doors on the balcony side, and four doors on the right, two being on each side, then what looks like another staircase at the end of the hall. I’ve never been in a house like this. Where would his bedroom be? These big houses have master bedrooms, right? Probably at the end of the hall? I should just ask Carter.

“Carter?” I call out quietly and start to walk down the hallway. A few steps down the hall, and I hear Serena’s moans come from the very end. Very pleasurable moans from what I understand. I can’t help but blush a little and feel a little awkward. “Well, never mind, and I’m definitely not going that way.” I chuckle to myself and then turn around to walk back.

I check the room directly to the left of the balcony, and it’s definitely a bedroom, but more like a guest room. The bed is completely made, and there’s a slight film of dust over all of the furniture. It has very minimal décor, and there’s no clothes or anything in the empty closet. I move to the door on the right of this room and my mouth drops. Talk about master suite.

It has a large…I’m not even sure what size bed this is. A large lake of a bed. I thought my queen size bed was big. Oh, my god. It looks so comfortable. It has a large black comforter, with six fluffed pillows, and they each complement the black bedding with different tones of grey, dark red, and black. At the end of the bed, I notice a big cube, and as I walk up to it, I see that it’s a large, king sized, fluffy blanket in a deep, dark rose color. Brand new and still in the packaging. He knows I love these blankets, and I like cuddling up with them when I watch movies. He bought me one in my favorite color, and the gesture causes my chest to swell.

Looking around the rest of the room, I see a laundry basket on top of his dresser with folded clothes in it. The stacks are surprisingly neat and sorted to not topple over, and the fact that my man knows how to fold laundry just makes him even better. I look through the load until I find one of his T-shirts. Lifting it to my nose, I take a deep inhale of his scent. Finding comfort in the soft material for a moment before I set it aside. I take off my dress and bra, which are soaked in blood, and just throw them away in the trash can at the edge of the room. I’m sort of aggravated that one of my favorite dresses is ruined, but it’s not like I had the encounter planned out.

The bathroom door by the trash can grabs my attention, and the room is about as magnificent as the bedroom. It has a large copper colored, jetted tub, next to a large glass enclosed walk-in shower with copper fixtures. It's all black tile floors and walls compliment the dark wooden cabinets. One on each side of the beautiful black marbled countertop. Streaks of copper and gold run around on the surface underneath his and her copper-colored sinks. I search the tall cabinets for a washcloth and, thank God, all of the towels are black. I suppose with all of the blood he deals with, white is not a good choice.

Once I wipe myself down and put on the T-shirt, I throw my hair up with one of the hair bows he put in a drawer in the bathroom. Along with hairbrushes, a toothbrush, my favorite body wash, and shampoo and conditioner. This sweet man thought of everything. Even down to the brand. I can’t help but shake my head lightly. Disappointed in myself that I was even slightly surprised.

I go back downstairs to start dinner. Not oblivious to the fact that I need to make enough for four. From the moans and screams coming from down the hall upstairs, I imagine it’s safe to walk around only in his t-shirt and my thong. His shirt covers my ass completely, anyway. Stretching halfway down my thighs. So, on the off chance that Carter is leaving that room tonight, he wouldn’t be able to see anything.

Looking over the refrigerator one more time, I rethink my earlier thoughts of cooking steak. I'm sure with Damien’s muscles he eats a lot of red meat, right? I remember he said something about wanting to take me out to eat steak once, so I'm assuming he likes it. He does seem to have some type of meat with whatever meal he eats, but he's never really seemed that obsessed with what he puts in his body. So, I grab the steaks again and get the right ingredients to make a warm, comforting meal.

After about forty-five minutes it’s almost ready for him, and as I slice the steak, all I can think about is how he fucking fileted that guy earlier. He was protecting me. Again. Well, I would say that was a little more than protecting. I imagine his anger took over for him in that moment, much like it did tonight, but on a weird level I understand it. I mean, I did the same for him moments before he gutted a man alive. I need to learn to protect myself physically, so I don't keep getting him into this shit. He has so much to worry about, the last thing he needs is to be paranoid about my safety. Hopefully he can come home tonight and relax a little.

But, what if he doesn’t like what I made? What if I’m a shitty cook? That could be the first thing he doesn’t like about me. Well, there’s probably plenty of things, but he hasn’t told me any, and he probably never would. I’m positive my cooking skills are nothing compared to his, but I’m sure it’s at least edible.

As I pull the last pan out of the oven, my attention is drawn away to the door leading to the garage opening. I tense up. Unwillingly and unexpectedly. A million thoughts run through my mind in only the span of a few seconds. Is he really alright? Was Carter lying? Is he upset with me? What happened out there that was so bad that Carter couldn’t tell me about it? Damien was in a mask of rage when he left, and I can only imagine the carnage he left behind.

He walks through the door looking no worse than he did when he left. His clothes are still covered in blood, but it’s now dried, and I can see where he’s wiped it off his face and neck. There doesn’t appear to be any other bruises or cuts than he had previously, and as he walks in, it doesn’t look like he’s hurt anything else. I feel the relief wash over me like a hot shower, and my body instantly releases a tension I didn’t know I was holding.

Thank. Fucking. God.

I inhale a sharp, deep breath as tears sting my eyes. He home. He's actually here, and he's okay. Without thinking, I throw the oven mitt off of my hand. Not paying attention in the direction it falls and sprint to him. Throwing my arms around him, burying my face in his neck, and holding on to him so tightly that I’m not sure he can breathe. He drops not only his duffle bag, but the bag I packed earlier, and wraps his arms around me. Holding me just as securely as I’m holding him.

“I’m sorry.” I say through my tears. My voice coming out soft and ragged. The pitiful sound muffled by how deeply my face is submerged. “I’m so sorry.” He shushes me quietly. Pulling away before closing the distance and kissing me. Pressing his lips to mine so passionately that I can feel the longing he’s felt since he left. He pulls back and kisses my cheek before he speaks.

“You don’t have to be sorry, baby. I get it, I do. I'm sorry too.” I can’t help but conceal my face in the crook above his shoulder again. Cradling the back of his head in my hand, I can’t resist the compulsion to scratch his scalp as I breathe him in. Letting his scent and presence seep into my soul. “I’m okay. We’re okay.” His grip on me tightens, and I feel his desperate breaths make their way down my neck. After a few moments, I finally release him, before he’s ready for me to, I think, and then he shoots me a confused look. “What is all of this?” A smirk sprouts on his face as he looks to the kitchen, and back at me, looking me up in down in his shirt.

“Oh, I-I made you dinner. Or breakfast? Whatever you want to call it. It’s two in the morning. But either way, I figured you'd be hungry. So, I made food.” Why am I rambling? Why am I so nervous? It’s food. It can’t be that bad right?

“You didn’t have to, baby girl. You're going to need sleep with what we have planned today.” He starts running his hands over my hips and lower back as he continues to look me over.

“You really think I could sleep after you stormed out like that?” I snap at him, and he just tilts his head and smiles at me.

“No, I guess not.” He says softly and my chest swells with it.

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