Page 90 of Poetry By Dead Men
"You've got some guts, girl," he says, and it’s enough encouragement for me to keep my head high until I step foot off the bus. But the moment the door closes behind me, my knees give out.
With shaking hands, I touch my swollen eye, smearing blood across my face. My skin is hot and sticky, and the way it pits under my fingers is so sickening, it makes me dizzy.
Patrick lowers me to the ground, pulling his phone from his pocket and reaching out to hold my hand.
I can barely breathe, the air entering and leaving my lungs in shallow wheezes. A panic attack, I think.
"Bobby," I hear Patrick say through the fog. “You need to get back here. Yes. Right now.” I hear Bobby’s concerned voice on the other end of the phone, the tone forceful and demanding, but I can’t make out what he's saying. I focus on my breathing. In, out. In, out.
"She'll be okay, but listen, son,” Patrick says, “I need you to stay calm when you get here."
In the moments before darkness claims me, before I pass out from the agony pounding in my head, I send up a prayer that Harrison’s gone by the time Bobby arrives. Not because I care what happens to him, but because I’m certain that if Bobby sees him, he’ll kill him with his bare hands.
"Where is she?" Bobby asks, his furious voice floating through the open windows before he even walks through the doors.
Johnny's been waiting for him outside, likely to prepare him for what he's going to see. "She's on the couch. Paramedics have already checked her out and stitched her up. She's fine," he says.
"Wha—she fucking neededstitches?" Bobby's voice is as hard as steel. "I'm going to rip his fucking head off—"
"You need to calm down, man," Johnny says, dropping his voice to a soft whisper. “The police arrested him for assault and battery, and the paramedics have cleared Beth. She has a concussion and a pretty wicked black eye. Some stitches in her eyebrow and elbow. But she's going to be fine."
I hear a thump, the sound of something light hitting the ground, and I imagine Bobby throwing his hat in anger and running his hands through his hair.
"Let’s get Dr. Meadows here. I want him to check her out, too. Make sure she doesn't need to go to the hospital."
"Already done. He'll be here by three," Johnny says.
There's nothing but tense silence for a moment. "Okay," Bobby finally says.
"Take a breath. Go check on her," Johnny tells him. "I'll wait for Sam to get here."
My stomach drops at the mention of Sam, Bobby’s head of security. He's a huge man—an ex-cop who's been with him since the beginning. If Johnny thinks we need him here, he must think Harrison is still a threat.
Footsteps thump on the stairs, and I force a small smile for Bobby, but it doesn't help soften the blow of my injuries. Bobby flinches when he sees me, his breath leaving his body in a whoosh as his eyes widen and his fists clench.
"Jesus, Beth." He's kneeling in front of me in less than a second, his palms gently cupping my cheeks, his thumb caressing my eyebrow.
"I’m fine," I say, despite the throbbing in my head and my completely shattered heart.
"I’ll kill him," Bobby says, his eyes darker than I've ever seen them before. His jaw is tight, and his hands are shaking.
"No, you won’t." I take his hands in mine, and he stares for a long moment before flipping them over. He grits his teeth, looking at the blood the paramedics missed when wiping off my elbow.
"I’m sorry I wasn’t here," he presses a kiss to my palm, and just that small bit of contact makes my heart slow.
"This isn’t your fault. This isn’tanyone’sfault but Harrison’s."
And maybe a little bit mine,I add silently, biting my lip to keep the tears at bay. My fault for lying for so long.
For letting myself get in this situation in the first place.
"I know what you're thinking," Bobby says, pulling my lip out from between my teeth with his thumb. "And you couldn't be more wrong.Noneof this is your fault. I should have stopped it. I knew what he was the second I met him. I should have seen this coming."
"I wouldn't have listened. You flat out told me what you thought of him, and Ididn’tlisten.”
"Then I should have tried harder. Men like Harrison get into your head and mess with you, clouding your judgment until you do this. Blame yourself. But I want you to hear me. There isneveran excuse to lay a hand on a woman. Let alone one you claim to love. Never."
The tears in my eyes spill over my lashes, stinging and burning the swollen skin, but I can’t stop them. Iwantto cry. I want to wash away every bit of this day with fat, salty tears.
