Page 73 of Cry For Mercy

Chapter Twenty-Eight

JULIE

I shouldn’t have said that. He looked embarrassed. And that’s with so much of his face bruised, or covered with bandages.

“Sorry, that was rude.” He snorted.

“Look, I get it. Right now I look like all I do is get punched by people I’m supposedly on the same side as, but I swear that’s not the case. But I really want you to stay here, rather than get a taxi anywhere on a Friday night. Can you do that for me?”

I wanted to, so badly.

Because you’re a whore, who wants to spread her legs for him.

Ugh. I couldn’t even do anything about the voice right now.

“I shouldn’t. It’s not right.”

He offered that little grin, that made me want to let him do absolutely anything he wanted to me.

“Do you have a spare room? You must have, right?”

He looked at me, offended. “If I had ten spare rooms, I’d still only be willing to let you sleep in mine. With me. Is that not what you want?”

Of course it is, slut. You’ll be sucking his cock by midnight.

I pushed up from the sofa and paced, my coffee discarded. No. It’s not like that.

“Julie? Please don’t run from me. You know I can’t follow right now. And if I try, I’ll hurt myself. You’re working so hard to look after me, so I know you don’t want that to happen. Please, sit with me. Talk to me. Didn’t it help, knowing that your friend is okay? Things are looking up, right?”

I stared at him, feeling conflicted. “I’ll help you to bed, but I’ll stay down here.”

He tried to move, groaned, and gave up. “Julie, what’s changed from last night? Last night we slept wrapped around each other, and I don’t know about you, but I slept better than I ever have. Why now, is it not appropriate? I feel like we know each other better than we did last night.”

I paced the floor, trying to work out what to say. How to not sound insane, or broken.

“What you saw… in the shower…”

He nodded; his face suddenly incredibly serious. “Yeah, please let’s talk about that, because that scared the hell out of me.”

I sat on the floor, opposite the sofa he was on, below the wall-mounted TV.

“I don’t have to do it often, but it helps. Focuses me.”

“Jesus, Julie. There were a lot of scars. How long have you needed to do this?”

I liked the way he said that. He said need. He didn’t say it like it’s some bizarre reckless habit. He can see what it truly is.

“My parents.” I blurted suddenly, seeing his face darken with anger.

“They hurt you? What did they do?” He tried to sit forward on the sofa, and let out a string of curses, when the pain reminded him of the reason he was supposed to stay still.

I hugged my knees to my chest. “Nothing was ever good enough for them. I wasn’t smart enough. Wasn’t good enough in school. Didn’t get good enough grades. Chose the wrong subjects to focus on. Didn’t go into something prestigious like law, or being a doctor. I work in accounts, for god’s sake. They think it’s some stupid menial job. And it really isn’t. It’s complex, and organised, and structured, and I love it. I’m in control when I’m at work. Because I know the job inside out, and I’m good at it. But they’ve always made me feel worthless. A disappointment.”

He rubbed at his face. “I really wish you’d sit with me while we talk. I want to be comforting you. I need to be.”

I stared at the floor. “When I lost my virginity to a boy they didn’t approve of… when I was fifteen… that’s when they really started to hate me. Because only a dirty slut sleeps with someone before marriage. And only a filthy whore does it with someone the family didn’t choose. So, you see… I’m capable of making really poor decisions, and shaming my family with every single one of them.”

He took a breath. “Fuck it. If you’re not coming to me, I’m coming to you.” He started to push himself up, his face screwing up with the pain, and I couldn’t let him do that.

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