Page 29 of Safer Together
~ Chapter Ten ~
Angela
We travel the distance home in quiet. He has just witnessed my wealth; the fact that I own an apartment in one of the most sought-after buildings on Central Park West must have come as a shock to him and yet he hasn’t said anything, no doubt thinking about how he can broach the subject. I, on the other hand, know that once we get home there will be a conversation about Dylan. Elliot places his hand on my knee shortly after leaving the front of my apartment building and it stays there until we pull into his driveway.
Elliot exits the vehicle and opens my door for me, offering his hand. We walk a few steps away from the car, and it pulls away toward the main house garage.
“Angie, I won’t push you. If you don’t want to talk, I understand. But I want to ask if we can we talk about what happened earlier.” I look up into his face and could see concern etched across his beautiful features. I knew he would ask, so it didn’t come as a shock and I had already decided I would tell him everything. I would stay calm and speak slowly, unfortunately that’s not how it happens.
“You remember how I told you once that I had a violent ex-partner?” I pause.
Elliot nods, “I remember.”
“Dylan is my ex, the ex who abused me. The one I have nightmares about. There is a restraining order in place that states that he cannot be near me. So, technically it was broken tonight, however he didn’t know I would be there and I sure as hell didn’t know he would be. I can’t be around him Elliot. I just can’t. So, I left as soon as possible.” I speak very quickly, so fast that Elliot might have missed some parts of that outburst. I can hear myself speak with venom in my tone.
I look down at my feet, let go of Elliot’s hand and start to walk toward the guest house, a few tears rolling, unwelcome, down my face. I had only taken three steps when Elliot spoke “Angie, baby, are you okay?”
As I keep walking towards the house, I hear his footsteps coming up behind me quickly. I make it to the door before he reaches for my hand; capturing it he pulls me towards him. I keep my face down, not wanting him to see my tears. He places his other hand under my chin and lifts my face gently, lifts it ever so slightly. I lift my lids and look into his eyes.
I can’t hold the tears back anymore, so I don’t. I grab the key out of my bag, turn back to face the house and unlock the door, walking straight in, Elliot right at my heels. I place my clutch on the kitchen counter with his keys and then lean against the countertop for support. Elliot wraps his strong arms around my waist and moves his head, so it is sitting on my shoulder.
“It’s okay, honey, I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.” I turn around pressing myself against his body, crying into his chest, his hands rubbing circles on my lower back, while he was gently kissing my hair. I’m not sure how long we stay like this, but he doesn’t say anything else, he just lets me get it all out of my system.
Once the tears stop falling, I pull away, seeing the mess I made of his shirt “My heavens, I thought I had ruined your shirt earlier. It’s nothing compared to what it looks like now. I’m so sorry, Elliot.” I put my unsteady hands to his top button and undo it.
“Baby, like I told you earlier, I don’t give a shit about my shirt. What I care about is you. You’re hurting and I can’t stand it.” He grabs my hands in his, stopping them from undoing his buttons, and kisses them.
“Dylan told me you knew each other. He said you were friends in high school, but you lost contact. I didn’t even for a second think that he was that asshole who hurt you.” His grip on my hands tightens.
“Elliot, you’re hurting my hands.” I tug on my hands for him to release his hold and he does.
“Shit, I’m sorry, baby. Are you okay?” I nod, clenching and releasing my fists, getting the blood circulating.
I walk away and sit on the couch, leaving Elliot at the kitchen counter. I decide it’s time to tell him everything. He can then make his decision about me, whatever that may be.
My voice is barely above a whisper, but since it is so quiet in here, I know he can hear me. “It was horrible seeing him there tonight, Elliot. I haven’t seen him since our last court appearance. I’m still scared of him. You don’t understand, you couldn’t understand. The fear he instilled in me while we were in a relationship. All I had to do was look at him the wrong way and he would fly off the handle and take it out on me. Physically, he beat me Elliot, not just with his fists. He kicked me, he punched me, he hit me with objects lying around the house. The last time, he broke my leg and several of my ribs with a baseball bat. If the neighbor hadn’t heard all the commotion and phoned the police that night, I don’t know what other injuries I would have sustained.
“When the police arrived, I wasn’t conscious. They woke me, and two paramedics arrived shortly after. I came to for a short time and I saw him in handcuffs sitting beside the front door with a policeman standing over him. I don’t recall much from later that night, but I remember my injuries: fractured cheek, broken left leg, three broken ribs and a cut lip. My recovery was long and hard, but I did it. I survived, Elliot”.
“How is he not in jail?” he asks
I shake my head. “I have wondered the very same thing. I have the protection order, but as far as I know he never served any jail time.”
Its something that has always bothered me. When I asked the Assistant District Attorney who was prosecuting the case, she told me his legal council was very good at making people think in different ways. In other words, he made people believe Dylan’s side of the story instead of my own.
I sit still on the couch not saying another word. Wanting to show him proof, I lift my dress slightly and look at my right leg. The scar is still evident above my kneecap where the bone had stuck through from that worst night of my life so far. A reminder of what I have been through and survived. I close my eyes and run my fingers over the scar absentmindedly.
I feel the depression of the couch beside me as Elliot sits down. I open my eyes and see his hand reaching out to touch my scar, his eyes filled with pain, “Is that from him?” he asks softly.
“Yes, it’s a daily reminder of what I have suffered.” he runs his index finger over the scar and then bends down and kisses it, as he pulls back. I can see his eyes are moist; he buries his head in his hands. Seeing the scar must have been too much for him, “Hey, don’t cry,” I say, reaching out to touch his shoulder. He slowly raises his face to look at me, and our eyes lock in place.
Without breaking eye contact, his hand finds mine and he holds it in his own. “I will never, ever hurt you. I will never raise a hand against you. I will never willingly cause you pain. I want to look after you and care for you and make you feel safe when you’re with me. I never want anything to happen to you,” he takes a breath. “I’m not a violent man, Angie, I never have been, but I have to admit that hearing what he did to you makes my blood boil. I want to show him what it’s like to be on the receiving end of an attack like that.” He looks down at our hands that are intertwined and he raises them so he can kiss my hand. He then holds it against his cheek.
I reach out with my free hand and stroke his other cheek with my thumb. I don’t know what to say in response to his heartfelt speech. I did, however, want to reassure him, so when I speak, it is a simple “I believe you, Elliot.”
After what seems like a long time, Elliot slides off the couch, standing before me, pulling me with him. We are standing close together, our faces only inches apart. I want to kiss him so badly. After all that has happened tonight, I want him to reassure me, I want to feel that spark is still there between us. So, before I can second-guess myself, I reach out my hands, landing on his waist, slowly sliding up along the planes of muscle underneath his tearstained business shirt. I feel the heat of his skin coming through the fabric. I continue the slow journey up, slipping my fingers onto his jacket, coming to a stop when I have the fine wool blend lapel between my fingers. Then without hesitation, I pull him toward me, pressing my lips to his and I kiss him. It isn’t a soft and slow kiss; instead it is a hard, fast, and passionate kiss.
It only takes a couple of seconds, but Elliot wraps his arms around my waist and pulls the lower half of my body closer to him, pressed against the firmness of his muscular body. He opens his mouth to grant me VIP access. Our tongues meet each other and dance, a dance they are getting very good at. I let go of his lapel and slip my arms up further, my hands clasping around the back of his neck, I bite his bottom lip gently and he responds with a deep throaty moan, which kick-starts my libido.
