Page 67 of Together in Harmony
“Yep, it’s 500 miles, so that’s easiest. You know, at some point we need to show Harmony she doesn’t need to hide anymore. That we can, and will, always protect her,” I say. “She is with us now. We will always keep her safe.”
Though, if Danny McDare is interviewing us, we might need someone to keepussafe.
HARMONY
Ilet the hot water stream over me.
It drums into my shoulders, but doesn’t ease the tension.
All my cats are out of the bag, and I don't know what is going to happen next. And I am so behind with work. It seems absurd to worry about spreadsheets piling up in my email inbox, when I've just shared all my biggest secrets.
But I have to keep Einstein in cat biscuits.
Rinsing out my conditioner, I wonder what Screech will tell the world about me now.
The guys don’t understand. Screech won’t be scared off, he’ll see it as a challenge. Screech is like a professional spin-doctor—but all his spin is stuff to make me look terrible.
I know him. He is already out there, doing damage.
He feeds off seeing me in pain.
I’m due to call Sheila today, but I'm going to put it off. I don’t want to tell her about this. She doesn’t need the extra worry.
For the millionth time I ask myself why he hates me so much? I have nothing he wants. Not even my father’s attention or love. I don’t threaten his life in any way. He just wants to
torture me. Like pulling wings of a butterfly.
It makes me despair. The last four years of peace are all gone.
I could disappear again, change my name. But I don't want to. I like Harmony. I like my life with these beautiful men. Even though we’ve never talked of the future, I know them. They want me in it.
I am not a toy to be discarded, even though I worried about that in the beginning.
I’m just afraid of what is going to happen next.
The glass door of the shower slides open and Lennox steps in.
“Wash your back?” he says. He says it without the usual Lennox innuendo. He says it softly and full of love.
I nod and turn around.
His strong fingers massage silky body wash into my back. He kneads the muscles in my shoulders, either side of my spine, around my scapula.
“Oh, yes! There.” My mid-back, between my shoulder blades, feels like it is made of concrete. “Lean forward against the wall, baby,” he tells me, then digs in his strong thumbs. I can feel the muscles crackle and pop under the pressure, the pleasure is almost orgasmic.
“I can do this for hours,” he whispers in my ear, “drummers hands. Happy to keep going as long as you want.” I let him work on my muscles until eventually they begin to relax. He feels the change.
“That’s it, good girl.” As the muscles release and let go, so do my tears—again.
He reaches around and pulls me to his chest, the water showering down on both of us now. Lennox nuzzles his face against me, and rubs my back in circles as I cry. When the tears begin to slow he starts talking again.
“I have this masseuse come to the house back in LA,” he tells me. “Jergen is Swedish, and man, he gives Asa a run for his money in the Viking warrior department. But Jergen is also a bit of a…what do you call them? Shaman? Witch doctor?
Anyway, he believes that all the trauma of our lives is held in our bodies, especially the muscles. Jerg will work on an area for a whole afternoon, like the back of my neck, or my thighs…”
I know Lennox is telling me a story, but I can't help but picture a big norseman kneading Lennox’s thighs.
“You like that eh?” It's like he’s reading my mind, but then I realize my nipples have stood to attention.
