Page 45 of A Dark Duet

“Let’s get you bathed and to bed, baby,” I whisper into her hair. I get her up and walk her to my room.

She stiffens when I place my hand on her lower back.

“I will not hurt you, trust me,” I say softly.

Running the bath, I undress her slowly. Making sure I don’t freak her out or touch a part of her body that is tender or sore, knowing I need to help her.

She is like a fragile piece of glass you’re trying to piece together but can easily come apart in a million pieces, and then you have to start over. I remove the high-necked leotard and peel it off slowly over her head as she raises her arms. When it’s completely off, I hold my breath when I see her neck, angry with bruises, purple and blue wrapped around her delicate skin. They are in the shape of two hands that gripped her so tight, it’s a miracle she is still alive and breathing.

That asshole was choking her while he was raping her, so she wouldn’t scream. I look down her legs and between her thighs, more bruises of fingers and hands where they were holding her legs open.

My eyes fill with moisture. I have never shed a tear since I watched my lifeless mother on the floor being beaten and battered by my father’s hands while I silently cried, peeing my pants, looking through the crack of the doorway from my room. I blink so she can’t see the tears in my eyes or the rage inside me at having to wait to seek my revenge.

They touched my girl. They fucking broke her. All they left was a shell. I place her in the bathtub and slowly use my hands to clean her skin with the softest touch. I want my touch to be the one she feels washing her clean of the filth she keeps feeling.

She stares blankly at the wall and stays silent, and I know she is screaming inside. I know what that pain feels like when you feel you have nothing to live for. I wash her thoroughly, slowly, and when I get to her neck, I give her soft kisses and wash her, as she doesn’t move or flinch. She just sits there, empty, and I hope she can feel my touch and my caress. It’s amazing she can still dance, she must be taking the painkillers they gave her.

I let her go to the dance studio, just getting my bag out of the trunk of my car, not wanting to argue with her. She was so closed off and I wanted to give her space, but I heard the music so profoundly. I had to at least catch her dancing even if, at the time, I thought she was mad at me for how I had treated her or for what Jaden had said to her.

My team was waiting and followed me into the dance studio, and what I saw there almost brought me to my knees. Watching her dance so passionately with the pain that was radiating from her, with tears falling on her beautiful face. I knew it wasn’t what I did. I knew she was shattered and broken. Someone had taken something from her that couldn’t be replaced. My team saw her pain, and Jaden and I recognized it and knew what it felt like. Her soul, lost and broken, screaming in silence as she danced in sorrow, broke me. My ballerina was broken. I felt powerless, and I knew in that moment that someone had damaged her. She didn’t need to say it or tell me that someone had hurt her. It was there, in the song, in her dance, in her movements, and in her silent tears glistening down her face. My team witnessed it all. None of them could look me in the eye after she finished and after I wiped her tears.

Thinking back when I made it to the gym, after witnessing her dancing in sorrow, Jaden assured me he would find out what happened. He was as determined as I, knowing what it felt like. The pain, the fucked-up kind that never makes you whole again. When she looked at him, he saw it in her eyes, the pain and sorrow, even when he tried to tell me that everything would be fine. “It’s probably not that bad,” he had said, but we both knew that was bullshit, as he uttered the words from his mouth.

I dry Giselle and dress her in one of my white T-shirts and place her in my bed. She doesn’t protest, just lying on the white sheets, staring at the wall. I quickly shower and slide in next to her, wearing boxer shorts. Usually, I sleep naked but I don’t want to freak her out. Wrapping my arms around her and breathing in her sweet scent, I close my eyes.

“I have nightmares, too,” I whisper. I know she can hear me because her breathing changes when I speak. “No one knows except Jaden. It’s why I don’t sleep with anyone in my bed, why I’m alone in this cold house. You’re the first I have allowed to be by my side. I’ve woken up in pain every night since I was a child.”

I kiss her temple softly and hold her, hoping she can hear me and understand the reasons for my behavior. The reason why I shut her out.

I’ll be here waiting for her nightmare to come, because I know she is just as damaged as I am. One thing she isn’t, is alone. I close my eyes, ready for the demons waiting, but what I have now that I didn’t, is a reason. Something I didn’t have before… Her.

Giselle

Iwake up and I don’t remember where I am at first. I can feel a warmth on my back, a hand circling my waist, and my memories come back. Nate bathed me, dressed me, and took me to his bed. Falling asleep with me after he told me he’d been having nightmares since he was a child. That I was the only person he had ever slept in a bed with, promising me that he would keep me safe, and let no one hurt me.

Can I trust him?

He said I was his before, then he rejected me, sent me away, told me to make sure I didn’t fall pregnant, dismissed me, and hurt me. He says one thing, but does another.

It shouldn’t matter now, I am damaged. Who will want me with all my emotional baggage, anyway? It doesn’t matter. I don’t matter, he can treat me however, and I won’t care. I feel disgusting. Who will want me when all I can remember is their nasty hands bruising my body, tearing my insides, the feeling of agony, my body in pain, blacking out, in and out of consciousness, counting until I could come back, and when the pain was excruciating, the blackness would take me under, suffocating me along with Brie’s muffled screams.

Remembering the smell of the trailer and stale cigarette smoke from Jack’s breath makes me want to vomit. I get up and run to the bathroom, dry heaving as the memories come rushing in, trying to empty the contents of my stomach, but there is nothing, just saliva stringing from my mouth.

Suddenly, hands are grabbing my long hair, pulling it away from my face, and holding it. I can feel Nate rubbing circles on my back with his hands. “It’s okay, baby, let it out. I’m here.”

He helps me off the floor and to the sink to brush my teeth, the mint of the toothpaste welcoming as the scent fills my nose, replacing the memory of the horrid smell. I brush my teeth and I realize that all my toiletries are in his bathroom.

When he feels I can stand on my own, he leaves me alone to get ready. I stay silent and close the door, locking it, needing a sense of security. I know he is stronger than me and if he wanted to, he could do whatever, and no one would find out.

Nate is quiet and can be cruel, but he isn’t a rapist. When I danced privately for him and I told him to stop, he stopped and didn’t demand or force himself on me. It’s silly that I locked the door when I just woke up from the same bed we slept in, but I can’t take the chance of him seeing me scrub my skin raw when I’m taking a shower. I need to feel the pain the scrubbing of my skin provides so I can feel.

After a while, scrubbing my skin makes it feel raw and tender, the pain that ensues awakens a need to feel alive. I’m on the shower floor after scrubbing, using a small hand towel to do the job. I would have honestly preferred a soft scouring pad, that would have sufficed, but I couldn’t find one. Nate knocks on the door and when I stay there for a minute or two, he picks the lock and opens it to find me on the shower floor with my knees bent and my head resting on the tiles.

“Giselle?” I just lie there with the water falling on my face and don’t answer. “Look at me, baby, please.”

I turn my head and see his muscular thighs in his shorts, but I don’t look up to meet his eyes. He shuts off the water and carries me wrapped in a white fluffy towel that is so soft, or maybe it’s because my skin is red and tender.

“You’re going to have to trust me. I am going to touch you, okay? It will help, but you have to look at me and know it’s me.”

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