Caged (9 page)

The reality of what had just happened suddenly hit me and a sob bounced up my throat the same time as I tried to gulp at more air. The effect of that wasn’t good, but Ben managed to jump to the side when vomit hurled from me, everything I’d managed to eat in the last thirty minutes now a useless, wasted heap of food I could never get back again.

Ben winced, looking at it then at the melted chocolate in my hand. Frowning, he stood and walked into the pantry.

“Jesus.” The word was spoken quietly, but I heard the volume of disgust in it.

I couldn’t look at his face when he stood staring at me from the pantry doorway.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice broken.

“No you’re not, Kloe. Or you wouldn’t do this.”

“It’s… it’s not that easy. Not for you Ben. You don’t… you don’t know. You couldn’t ever know.”

“Then tell me. YOU TELL ME!” he cried, his fists clenching hard by his sides. “Make me understand.”

Shaking my head as dry tears rolled from me, I shot up, flinging my hand over my mouth as my stomach forced out the fear and the pain from inside me. Ben didn’t follow me when I made a run for the bathroom. But the look of disgust in his eyes haunted my broken heart all night.

When I emerged an hour later, the party still in full swing, people too drunk to know what had happened to their host sixty minutes ago, Ben and James had gone.

And I walked back into the pantry.

16 cans of spaghetti hoops.

21 cereal bars.

28 tins of marrowfat peas.

38 gravy cubes….

“‘C
AN
I
HAVE THE RED
ball?’ Biff asked Chip. Chip… pic…picked up….”

I couldn’t hold back my huge smile as I listened to Anderson reading from where I stood in the shadows, trying to stay out of sight so I didn’t interrupt him.

As if he sensed me, he stopped and turned towards me. “Kloe.” His smile was as large as mine.

I’d called in sick for three days and it was my first day back. I still wasn’t sure what I was going to say to James. I had tried to bury it with all the rest of the shit in my head, just put it down to him being pissed, yet that didn’t help my nerves when I walked into Seven Oaks that morning.

“You came back,” he added quietly, almost as if he was telling himself that.

“Of course I did. I will always come back.”

Placing my bag down on the side, Margaret, Anderson’s tutor, gave me a smile and packed up her things, leaving us alone.

“You promise?” Anderson asked. He wore a frown as he waited for my answer, his eyes nervous but hard while he watched me slip my coat off.

“I promise,” I confirmed with a firm nod as I turned to hang my coat onto the hook beside his door.

I sucked in a quick breath when I was suddenly spun around. Anderson’s sharp, angry eyes blazed into mine when he suddenly trapped me against the wall. Every nerve ending in my body shot to attention, his unique scent of sage body wash he had chosen out of our supplies and his morning minty breath assaulting my senses. My heart rate peaked with both adrenaline and fear, and my legs wobbled with panic.

He appeared to be struggling with his emotions, his jaw trembling as his head shook from side to side. His beautiful green eyes swirled with rage, the tiny blue flecks glinting with warning as a wild snarl rattled in his heaving chest.

“And..Anderson?” My voice was breathless, shock making it that little bit higher than usual.

His stare slowly moved from my eyes, travelling down my face and coming to an abrupt stop on my neck. Like a reflection of his eyes, his hand moved upwards and very gently he trailed his fingers over my throat. The touch sent a ripple of goose bumps skittling across my skin, my breath deciding it didn’t like its chances and ricocheting straight back down my throat.

Shit!

“It’s okay, Anderson,” I stammered quickly, reaching up to put my hand over his.

His teeth sank into his bottom lip, the flesh popping under the sheer pressure of his fury. “Who did this?”

“It’s okay,” I tried again. I should have worn a damn scarf. I was stupid!

He shook his head wildly. “No.”

“I just….”
Shit.
Think! “Uhh.” I laughed. “Walking Dave. He has this ball on a rope.” I rolled my eyes dramatically. “Threw the thing and it got caught on my wrist. Flung back at me and wrapped itself around my bloody neck.”

His furious expression didn’t ease with my lie, the tangle of emotions he was feeling bursting in his eyes and in his trembling body. Yet, conflicting, he softly traced each bruise on my neck with the back of his fingers, his eyes tracking his movements as he studied the purple skin. His touch sent heat through me, scorching every part of me that he stroked. Breathing became difficult, each raspy breath coming in sharp pants as my heart clattered against my ribcage.

Another growl escaped him but this time it was with a completely different tone. The aggression was still there, but the rage and the anger were gone. Instead, there was a hunger, a desire that raged like a storm across his face.

His chest pressed against mine when his breaths came in perfect sync with my own, each quick, short but loud gasp for air a recital that echoed around us in rhythmic perfection.

His hand moved from my throat, up and over my chin and then across my cheekbone until he slid his palm into the side of my hair and bunched it in his fist. A whimper ripped from me, but it wasn’t in fear.

He secured me in place in every possible way. His tight hold, his fierce glare, his press against me, each one held a piece of me in the palm of his hand. I couldn’t move. And I didn’t want to.

“Kloe.” The roughness with which he said my name sent a shiver up my spine.

His face came closer, the tip of his nose a hair’s breadth away from my own. His breath caressed my lips as he very softly rested his forehead on mine. I was locked in the brilliance of his eyes, in the raging emotion that he couldn’t get a handle on.

“It’s no rope. There are finger marks.” As if to prove his point he placed his free hand across my throat and pressed his fingertips into each burst of blue circles. “Finger – marks, Kloe Grant.”

I wanted to squeeze my eyes closed, hide from him, but I couldn’t. He could see me whether my eyes were open or closed. “It’s…” I had to suck on my tongue to wet my mouth enough to speak. “Just… some scumbag after my bag. But I’m okay.”

He narrowed his eyes on me. His grip was still in my hair, his forehead still pressed to mine but his heavy breathing became even deeper, a softer growl making me gulp. He could see my lie; he could read it. Something dangerous glinted in his eyes and my knees buckled, my legs giving way underneath me. Anderson moved quickly, his arms coming around me before I hit the floor and he scooped me into his chest.

Carrying me quickly and effortlessly across the room, he then lowered me onto his bed. Confusion and concern erased the terrifying look that had crossed his face seconds ago.

He sat beside me, his eyes hard on me. “Did they hurt you?” His eyes dropped back to my neck. “Any more?”

“No.” I shook my head quickly and took his hand into mine. “Honestly. It’s nothing. I bruise easily. I’m fine.”

I flinched when he brought his hand to my face. He growled yet again, thinking my fear was directed towards him. But it wasn’t. Softly he traced the pad of his thumb over my right eye, and then over my left. His face was intense but his gaze had softened. “These,” he spoke softly. “Your eyes tell me you’re not fine. They show me you’re hurting. And not because of these,” he added as he yet again traced the edge of the bruises decorating my otherwise pale skin. Then his hand moved down, over my neck and came to rest between my breasts. “Here,” he whispered. “In your heart.” The touch of him, his soft fingers against my chest made my breath hitch. His eyes blazed when he caught the shift in my heartbeat.

“I…”

“Don’t lie, Kloe. Not to me. For so many years all I had were my senses, my instincts. They taught me many things and I came to learn to trust them.”

I nodded. It was useless lying to him. I knew it was. But I still couldn’t give him the truth.

We both jolted when a small knock came to the door. Anderson jumped upright, stepping away from me when Paula, my colleague, strolled in casually. The look on her face told me she’d witnessed the last few minutes through the small window to Anderson’s room.

She looked at me with caution in her eyes. “Boss wants you.”

My body tensed and I gritted my teeth when my hands started to shake as anxiety shot through me. Nodding, a little too wildly, I clambered off the bed and turned to Anderson. “I won’t be long.”

He stared at me with a small crease on his forehead as he studied me, but he nodded. “Yeah.”

Snatching up my bag I gave him a forced smile and followed Paula out.

Rounding the corner of the corridor, she halted and grabbed my wrist. “What the fuck are you doing, Kloe?”

“What?”

“Don’t
what
me. You know damn well what I mean. What the hell was that in there?”

“I don’t…”

“He’s dangerous,” she warned, not waiting for me to give her another lie. “Dangerous. He doesn’t understand his emotions for one. His moods will be everywhere. Don’t misinterpret his reliance on you for something else. You should know this, Kloe.”

“I’m not misinterpreting anything, Paula. He’s a closed door, and if the only way to get him to open up is allowing him closer then that’s how it has to be.”

She shook her head, her eyes narrowing on me. “And you’re an open door, Kloe. You’ll end up getting hurt.”

“Paula, there’s nothing…”

I shushed when James came out of his office door and stood watching us both. My body stiffened with unease, my heart galloping. “Can I see you for a moment, Kloe?”

Paula, expert at reading people, slowly turned her head from James to me then back to James. There was a question in her eyes when they came back to me. “Everything okay?”

“Sure.” I sighed, braced myself and followed James into his office.

His smile was too wide, and his eyes mirrored that, glinting with something undecipherable when he saw the bruises on my neck. There was that hindsight to wear a scarf again.

“Sit down, Kloe.”

Without speaking, I did as he asked, sitting on the edge of the chair. My nerves were making my stomach bubble, acid and bile causing me to feel nauseous.

“Are you feeling better?”

I frowned.

“You’ve been off ill.” He lifted a bushy eyebrow. I imagined blowtorching the fucker off.

“I’m fine.” My tone was as harsh as my glare.

His eyes narrowed and he nodded slowly. “I am pleased. I was a little concerned.” He paused. “After our…
misunderstanding
on
Saturday night.”

“Misunderstanding?” I scoffed. “Misunderstanding?”

His face hardened. Swallowing heavily, he exhaled long and slow then sat back in his chair. Steepling his fingers he brought them to his mouth and cleared his throat. “I’ve decided not to press charges.”

I froze. Nothing moved, not even my heart as I stared in bewilderment. Blinking, I coughed away the lump in my throat. “Uhh, what?”

“Against your husband,” he drawled, his callous eyes watching me closely as a smug smirk curled the corner of his too-thick lips. “I mean, the last thing you need right now – with your record…”

“My…my record?”

“Well, yes.” He looked at me like I was stupid, and also with a malicious glint of self-satisfaction. “I mean after Dr Krum made a complaint…”

“What?” I wasn’t aware Krum had complained about me. I knew we’d had our disagreement but I didn’t think he’d gone that far.

“And then the whole episode with your negligence leading to the assault by one of our patients…”

“But I didn’t...”

“Like I said, Kloe. This really wouldn’t look good for your career if we add assault, even if it wasn’t you personally…”

Shooting upright, I banged my fists on his desk. “Ben should have broken every one of your damn fingers!”

James remained quiet with just a small quirk of his eyebrow and a light tilt of his head. “But why?” His smile was viscous. “All I did was try to help you, Kloe.”

“You’re fucking insane!”

“I was just concerned about one of my staff. I understand your
problem
…”

“My problem? What problem?”

His lips lifted higher and a small chuckle echoed tauntingly from him. Reaching into his desk drawer he pulled out a file and slid it across the desk to me. Vomit rolled up my throat and I struggled to breathe when a stack of papers with my current photograph and one aged nine, my broken and beaten face mocking me, attached by a paperclip, stared up at me. Behind the pictures were three or four psych assessments with the word ‘Confidential’ struck through in red letters. Behind that three or four newspaper articles and various medical reports.

“You bastard.”

He scoffed. “I do also think it quite concerning that you chose to deal with your past by means of food dependency, Kloe. It is obvious you’re physiologically marred, and that does raise some concerns when you’re working closely with emotionally repressed individuals.”