Mercy's Angels Box Set (30 page)

“You only grabbed pajamas and sweats,” she murmured.

I nodded because, yeah, I realized that. What did she want? Those sexy as hell dresses and a pair of heels? “I was thinking of comfort, not fashion.”

Rebecca shook her head with frustration. “I know and I’m just being stupid.” A tear slid free, just one, lonely fucking tear. “I mean, you’re right, I feel like a Mack truck hit me and I’m upset that I don’t have my normal clothes. I don’t know why, I can’t explain it.” She sank into the chair beside me.

“Rebecca, it’s normal to feel this way, you’re out of sorts, out of your comfort zone. Your clothes make you feel comfortable so it’s perfectly natural that you’d want them,” Mercy said quietly from beside us. She leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to Rebecca’s forehead. Fuck, I hadn’t even thought about that. As far as I was concerned all she needed were loose fitting, baggy, comfy clothes.

“I’ll stop by your place today and grab your shampoo and some more clothes,” I offered. Rebecca looked up at me with a shy smile playing on her lips. Just seeing that smile, as small as it may have been, made me feel ten fucking feet tall. I helped create that smile, I brought her that moment and I’d be damned sure it became my number one priority to create more of them. “I know you’re probably not hungry, but try and eat something, then you can take one of those wicked little pills and zonk out for another twelve or so hours.” I gave her a wink.

“I don’t want any pills,” she growled defiantly. There was the Rebecca Donovan I remembered.

“It’s not permanent, Rebecca, it’s just for a little while. It’s normal to have trouble sleeping after you’ve been through a traumatic experience,” Mercy reasoned.

Rebecca’s eyes were filled with stubborn determination. “I just slept an entire day and then some, I’m pretty sure I’ll be fine.”

“Make you a deal. We’ll try no pills first, but if you have trouble sleeping then you have to take them, without me or Mercy having to hold you down.”

Rebecca grimaced and eventually relented, “Fine, but I won’t need them.”

The look on Mercy’s face suggested otherwise. We already witnessed one nightmare and it wasn’t pretty. As Mercy had already explained, Rebecca would probably be plagued with plenty of nightmares, flashbacks, and a bucket loads of tears. There was a time when such things would have sent me running for the hills, but not anymore, not with Rebecca. I’d endure anything for this girl, I’d take her pain, her nightmares, and her fears in a heartbeat. If only it were that easy.

The thing about Charlie...he was always right, and damn it, it pissed me off. I have no idea why something so small was making me so angry. Over the course of the next few days, my life had become a Charlie Cole I-told-you-so merry go round. Mind you, he never actually said I-told-you-so, but I knew when he was thinking it. Even if he was nothing but patient, understanding and charming. Thank God Mercy has been there to smooth over my tantrums. We tried it my way—without the sleeping pills—and it didn’t work. I was plagued with nightmares which led me to do everything humanly possible to try not to fall asleep. The getting to sleep part wasn’t the problem, it was once I was there. Almost immediately I would transport to a dark familiar room, my bedroom—a room that had once been a sanctuary of comfort and peace—and then he would appear, hovering over me with those cold eyes. I would be pinned down, unable to move, his hands roaming freely over my body. I would wake up screaming and sweaty. On one occasion, I vomited everything that was in my stomach all over Mercy’s floor. Humiliation filled my heart and soul. On top of losing my mind, I felt as if I had also lost my dignity. Charlie had brought me more clothes, my usual clothes, and I tried to wear them, but I felt silly sitting around in pretty dresses and pencil skirts, so sweats became my begrudging fashion choice. The swelling in my face had started to go down, and though my face no longer looked like a swollen elephant, it had gained some curious coloring. I still looked like a Mack truck had done a number on me. My ribs still ached, and I had frequent headaches that throbbed. I was going stir crazy sitting around Mercy’s all day and night. All of this free time had me thinking too much, I needed to keep busy. Part of me wanted to be at home, that was the old part of me, pre-assault Rebecca. Post-assault Rebecca was terrified of returning to the scene of my assault. What if I could never return? I’d have to sell the house and the thought made me feel even worse. To lose the cottage would mean losing a part of me, and in the last few days, I had already lost too much of me to risk losing anymore. Staying at Mercy’s has been comfortable and Charlie has been here every night. I would get anxious and restless when he went off to work during the day, but as soon as he got back for the evening, I would immediately relax. I was such an idiot, after all, hadn’t I chalked Charlie Cole up as my one big mistake. It was one night that tilted my world off its axis—he did things to my body that still made me blush an entire year later—but a mistake nonetheless. Consequently, I had joined the vast collection of notches on Charlie Cole’s bed post. Finding comfort in his presence seemed like such a mistake, but at the same time it felt curiously right.

After we got settled at Mercy’s the day after the attack, Charlie wanted to call Ella and Jax immediately, but Mercy and I persuaded him not to. They were having the vacation of a life time in Hawaii, and there was absolutely no way was I getting in the middle of that. Ella would freak out, like ballistic freak out and insist on coming home early. No way was I okay with that. So instead, Charlie called Dillon Montgomery and his cousin, Braiden Montgomery, who have recently set up a second office for their security company here in Claymont. Dillon and Braiden were like ninjas of the security world. While Braiden was apparently sprucing up my non-existent home security system, Dillon was looking into the police reports to see if he could work his own case behind the scenes. I don’t even know if that is legal, but to be honest, I don’t care. The more people out looking for the fucker who turned me into a damn skittish meerkat, the better. I had become so nervous and anxious. I was paranoid, too—I had the feeling as if someone were watching me—it felt like there was a constant prickling at the back of my neck. I hated that feeling. I hated the dark now—waking to a room shadowed in darkness made me feel physically ill—I had to sleep with the constant glow of a lamp to guide my nervous thoughts to calm resolve in the middle of the night. I have never been scared of the dark, not even as a child. But this was my life now: fear and trepidation.

Luke Hollywell had a good alibi. After I left him at the restaurant, he proceeded to order a steak, well done, a side of fries and a salad. He then left for a club where he was filmed on CCTV footage getting into a brawl somewhere around two that morning. My attack was said to have happened between one and two. Luke couldn’t have made it to my house in that time. Anyway, Luke had an endless supply of women coming and going. One failed date didn’t seem like it would have rattled him at all. To think someone like Luke Hollywell didn’t see me as a challenge or suitable conquest, sat uncomfortably in my stomach. I really shouldn’t have cared, after all it had been me who had rejected him. But I couldn’t stop the nagging feeling of self-doubt that insisted on being noticed, desired. Charlie hadn’t wanted me, and apparently not even the dregs of Claymont wanted me either. What was wrong with me? I’ve never lacked confidence, until now. Now I was second guessing myself, doubting my choices, and doubting my self-worth. I sat on the back porch, watching the stars twinkle in the clear sky. I felt like drifting up there to join them, where nothing could touch me or hurt me; where my worries would cease to exist. Being surrounded by a void of nothingness seemed so appealing right now.

“Jill, I’m sorry,” came a hushed voice from the doorway beside me. Charlie slipped out and stood on the porch with his cell phone pressed to his ear. He didn’t seem to know I was there. “Sorry, Jenny,” he seemed to wince, “I had shit to deal with Saturday and I had to bail early.” My stomach dropped. “Yeah, I had a great time, too, and I’m sorry I had to sneak out.” He was quiet for a moment. He had shit to deal with Saturday? Was I was his shit? “Look,” he scratched his head in what appeared to be aggravation, “Jenny, I did have a great time, hell, I had a fucking fantastic time, but that’s all it was, just one night of fun. I think it would be best if we just left it at that.” Another long pause and I felt ill. I wondered if I could sneak away without him noticing me. I carefully stood up. “I’m not sure when I’ll be back at the gym but I’m sure I’ll see you around.” I took a few steps towards the door, his back was to me now. I thought I had it in the bag, until I stubbed my toe on Mercy’s damn doorstop.

“Shit,” I hissed.

Charlie swung around and spotted me, the regret in his eyes tangible. I didn’t want that:  his regret, his pity. I scowled at him then turned to limp back into the house, all attempts at stealth gone.

“Jenny, I have to go. I’ll see you around.” He hung up and followed me into the house. Mercy was at the shelter tonight so it was just the two of us. Dave would be home tomorrow. “Betty Boop, are you okay?” he called out from behind me. As I made a bee-line for my temporary bedroom, I remember the first time he had ever called me that, how I had swooned under the endearment that he coined just for me. When he used it a few weeks later at the Claymont Christmas tree lighting, I wanted to knock the bastard out for it. Kind of like I wanted to right now.

“Fine, I just stubbed my toe. I’m sure I’ll survive,” I grumbled.

“I wasn’t talking about your toe,” he murmured from across the room.

I pulled off the blanket that had been draped over my shoulders and threw it over the back of the sofa as I passed by.

“I have no idea what you are referring to. I’m fine,” I said through gritted teeth.

Charlie shook his head in frustration. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

I stopped fleeing and turned to face him. Pissed off, tired, emotional with a dash of PMS to boot, I was not in the mood. “What for? You didn’t kick my toe.”

“Not for your damn toe, for that phone call. I didn’t realize you were out there, I didn’t really want you to hear that.”

His frank admission made my blood boil. What? Did he assume that I thought he was some sort of saint? That he didn’t hook up with every vagina in Claymont? Or perhaps he didn’t want me to hear that he referred to me as his ‘shit he had to deal with’. I clenched my fists wanting to pound them into his sheepish face.

“Who and what you do in your spare time is none of my business, Charlie. You don’t have to sneak outside to make phone calls for fear you might upset little ol’ me. I could care less.” That was a big fat lie. I cared a lot more than I was entitled to. My words seemed to piss Charlie off.

“She was just a friend,” he said, irritation clouding his too handsome features.

“Charlie, it doesn’t matter. I told you I don’t care,” I snapped. “I’m only sorry that my drama interrupted your evening.” Charlie’s eyes burned with fury and his anger made my heart pound with fear. He looked livid and that’s all it took to push me into an anxiety attack. Ordinarily I would be getting ready to sucker punch the asshole, but now, timid scaredy-cat Rebecca Donavan was sweating over nothing.

“You were not the ‘shit I had to deal with’, it was just an excuse I gave Jill because I couldn’t very well say, ‘I snuck out because I was desperate to get away from you’.”

Well, that sounded a little better, but I was still pissed off and uncomfortable with the anger in his eyes. I couldn’t stop the reflexive step away from him. “Her name was Jenny, and, like I said, whatever, it’s none of my business.”

His eyes flared with fury and I took another hesitant step away from him. Before this could turn into an ugly screaming match that would only result in me balling my eyes out like a two year old, I turned and quickly locked myself away in the spare bedroom. I could hear Charlie muttering and cursing, but at least he made no attempt to come into my room. I sank down on the bed and lifted my knees up under my chin, hugging them close to me. I hated this, I hated everything about this life I was suddenly living. As lovely as Mercy’s home was, it wasn’t my home. I hated the tears that seemed never ending, I hated the nightmares, I hated the pills I was taking, and I hated the fear. But most of all, I hated the trepidation I had just felt towards Charlie. I knew he would never hurt me, but I was officially no longer in control of my emotions. And now I was fucking crying, again. I cried so hard and long it made me feel sick and my eyes were stinging with the force of my tears. I didn’t even stop crying, I just drifted off to sleep with my cheeks still damp.

When I woke the next morning, Charlie had already left for work and Mercy had just gotten home from the nightshift at the shelter. She looked exhausted, which made me change my mind about what I had planned to ask her. I woke up this morning with my mind made up, staunch determination flooding my foggy brain—I needed to go home. I didn’t want to go home, but I needed to. I needed to face my fears and be on my home turf again. I needed a ride though, but Mercy looked so tired I wasn’t about to ask her to turn around and drive me back to the other side of town. As soon as she retreated to her bedroom for some shut-eye, I grabbed a pen and wrote her a quick note so she wouldn’t worry. I packed my few things and called a cab. It arrived twenty minutes later and I climbed in, giving the driver the address to my house. The whole way there I nervously bit at my sore lip. My injuries were healing quickly, most of the swelling was gone, and the bruising had morphed from bad, to worse, to not so bad. My ribs were still sore and would likely take another couple of weeks to repair. It was my head that needed to be worked on now. I needed to cleanse the asshole who had attacked me from my thoughts. I needed to fight the nightmares away, but I had no idea how. Facing my first demon, my home, was my first priority. I didn’t want my home to be a demon, I didn’t want to be afraid of my one safe place.

As we pulled onto my street, my heart started beating like an irregular drum, and my palms were sweating. I moved on autopilot as I paid the driver and climbed out of the cab. Now standing in the front yard of my little cottage, the double story monstrosities that surrounded it made it look even smaller. It looked just the same as always: light, cozy and homey. I stood there for the longest time, telling myself I was simply admiring the familiar structure, when in fact I was just delaying the inevitable. I picked up my bag and nervously strolled toward the steps that led up to the small porch and the quaint wooden door. Right now would be a great time for a neighborhood emergency that required immediate evacuation of the area. Maybe I should go check out Bouquets first? Problem was my car keys were sitting in a bowl on the kitchen counter. Don’t be ridiculous, I am Rebecca Fucking Donovan, I am not scared of my own home. With my shoulders back, I walked up the steps and approached the front door. I knew there was a keypad on the other side now that required a PIN access code to disarm my new, state-of-the-art security system that Braiden installed. The PIN was written on the inside of my wrist, and all I had to do was open the door and punch it in. It occurred to me that I had no idea how much this new security system had cost me; so far I hadn’t paid a cent.

I dropped my bag and stood staring at the front door, rubbing the new key for the new lock in my fingers. My hand raised to the door and I hesitated when I saw it was shaking. “Shit,” I whispered, pulling my hand back. I tried again and found myself unable to even touch the door. “Fuck it,” I sobbed, and the tears began once more. I leaned against the door, and closed my eyes—big mistake. I was flooded with images from the last time I was here, on the other side of that door, fighting for my life. His hands on me, in me. I cried hard and slipped down to my knees, my breathing became erratic and out of control. What the hell was wrong with me?

“Rebecca?” a familiar voice penetrated the haze and watery tears that obstructed my vision. I leaned even harder against the door trying to force myself to calm down. “Take a deep breath, breathe with me, long deep breaths, in and out.” I found myself obeying the gentle voice at my side, and when I finally settled down enough to glance in that direction, the damn tears started all over again.