Page 49 of To Have and to Hold

But no one came. No cars, no people. Nothing. I was pretty sure we were the only patrons in this entire motel, only the attendant for company. So, still one ear out for any nefarious traffic, I turned and faced my sister. She was already asleep, so beautiful, her face relaxed except for the ever present tension in her brow.

Rescuing her had been inevitable. From the split second I slipped inside her on her wedding night, it was locked in.

I watched her, frozen, remembering the moment I found her swinging from that fucking meat hook. I’d been sure she was dead, was prepared to grieve, to go with her, but then she lifted her head up. So beaten, bruised. Whipped, slashes of red across her entire abdomen. Blood pooled beneath her, running down her legs from various places. Her lips looked chapped, crusted over with blood and spit and fuck knows what else. That fucker and his friends had battered her to within an inch of her life.

It devastated me to realize it was because she wasn’t falling pregnant. I’d caused it. Somewhere along the way, it was my fault. At least partially.

And now, there she was, peaceful, asleep in my clothes, her marred body on display. My t-shirt had ridden up as she plonked herself down, and I could see the angry whipping marks screaming at me for help. Puffy nipples, raw and red, slashes across her stomach and thighs, bruises and cuts and smears of blood and bodily fluids. But she was relaxed. That orgasm I gave her sending her into a dozy state, one I wanted her to stay in until she was fully healed.

I would teach her to love her body again, to enjoy sex and touch. She wanted it, me, I think, so I would help. Anyway she desired me. Gratitude made my heart swell. We were together. Alone.

But for now, I needed to clean her up. Heal her. Make her mine and take care of her. Make her confident in me, that I would never waver.

What we had was wrong, but I wouldn’t hurt her. With me, she’d be safe, protected, loved. I didn’t give a damn anymore. We would manage the consequences when we had no choice but to. Maybe never.

I moved to the small bathroom, soaping up a damp hand towel and bringing it back to her. Over what felt like hours, I wiped away the blood from her skin, cleaned off the semen from the many men who’d hurt her and dabbed at each of the wounds, removing dirt and debris as carefully as possible. I didn’t want her to wake up or learn what I was doing. I wanted the next time she saw her body for it to be free of any sign of what had happened. It wasn’t feasible to remove the injuries, but I could clean her up. Wipe off the evidence of those men.

When I pulled down the boxers, bracing myself for what I might find, nothing could have prepared me. Her vulva was redand puffy, swollen, like it had been beaten. With a fresh soaking of warm water, I dabbed the cloth over her labia, her clitoris and with gentle swipes over her hole, dabbing and wiping along her thighs and down to her rear. A word was carved into her skin, harsh and weeping, the flesh around it angry.

My heart shattered each time my eyes fell on a different part of her, but I was determined. This was my job, not hers. Put her back together as best I can, step by step, from the minor scratches to those deeper wounds, the ones I couldn’t see.

When I decided there was nothing to do for her hair, I re-dressed her and rinsed the hand towel out, leaving it to dry over the bath. She never woke through it all, she was floppy, content in my company. It was beautiful.

Tired, but wired from everything going on in my brain, I sat next to her on the bed, my back on the headboard, and tugged her head onto my lap. Looking towards the door, letting her sleep safely while I kept watch seemed like the right move. Still, my fingers drifted into her matted hair while I waited, for what, I didn’t know.

I was competent, but unprepared for this. I’d run on a whim, the only supplies what I already had in a go bag in the trunk of my car and a two second whizz around the kitchen. We needed more cash, a place to hide out while she recovered, a plan to get abroad. Maybe head back to the UK, maybe somewhere more remote. Where no one would look for us.

I needed to think.

I watched the door until it blurred and turned into two doors, then three. I fell asleep.

WhenIwoke,stiff-neckedand groggy, Violet was gone. For a split second, my heart lurched, panic wracked through my fogged state, then I heard the shower running. Straightening out each joint one at a time, I debated giving her privacy, but when I remembered the catalogue of injuries, I decided against it, rising from the bed, scooping up the medicine bag and barging into the unlocked bathroom.

Violet was sitting in the bathtub, curled up with her head resting on her knees as the hot water streamed over her reddening skin.

“Oh, baby,” I sighed, racing to reach her, climbing into the bath in all my clothes and sinking down to yank her closer to me, hissing at the heat of the water beating down on us. The puddle filling an inch of the tub burned too, but I ignored it.

She let loose a sob, bursting over and onto me, clawing at me to drag me against her bare body. The water beneath her tinged red despite how much I’d cleaned her up, but she wasn’t reacting to what must sting a bitch, she just needed me. Needed me with her.

“It hurts so much,” she told me. “I can feel him all over me. I hate it. Hate it.”

“Shh, sweetheart,” I muttered, stroking her hair, holding her. I reached up behind me and scrambled for the knobs for the shower, fiddling until the water cooled.

“Don’t turn it off,” she cried. “I need… I need to scrub it all away. All of it. Inside and out.”

I took a steadying breath out, ready to go back and stab Rafe in the fucking throat until he was nothing more than a mangled mess of viscera.

“Let me,” I told her. “Let me do it. Let me help you. Please, baby.” I kissed her head, pressed my lips to her hair and didn’t move them until she responded.

“Okay,” she said, her tense muscles relaxing just a fraction. “Please.”

So I did. First, I pulled off my clothes so I was as naked as her, then I continued what I’d started on the bed, soaping up my palms and running them over her body. When I washed her tits, she gasped, and her nipples stiffened. Though they were red, sore, she was so sensitive, responsive. Even now. I bit my lip and carried on, watching where my hands roamed as they drifted down her ravaged skin.

She whimpered when I brushed my soaped up fingers over her clit. And seeing it. Seeing her, not just touching her through fabric and darkness, broke me anew. But the way she responded, opened her legs for me? I rubbed. She’d told me, over and over, that she wanted something good to replace the bad. The touch of a man that loves her to wash over the ones from those demons who hurt her. I could be that.

And when her hand drifted to my cock, I let it stay there. I listened to her pleas to replace her memories of Rafe, to override the last touches and sensations with something positive. So I let her hand drift up and down my cock until it was hard, aching, pressing towards her back.

She sighed, and I saw a smile on her face. It was a tentative thing, but I leaned over and kissed it, anyway. Her lips tasted minty, delicious.

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