Rose, Page 4

  I hear the confusion as she repeats her request. “Band-Aids?”

  “Oh yeah, sorry,” I mumble as I jump to action. “I’ll just get me some—I mean you, not me. I’m obviously not getting any—because I don’t need it, right?” Dear God, just shut the fuck up. Dude, you’ve seen a naked woman before. What’s the problem? You’re making an ass of yourself. She’s going to call a taxi and run as far away as she can from you.

  I walk toward the closet in the hallway where I keep my first-aid kit. She follows behind me, making my skin tingle. “Is everything all right?” she asks hesitantly.

  Giving her an embarrassed laugh, I grab the plastic kit in one hand and clasp her fingers in the other, leading her to my kitchen. I pull out a chair from the table and she sinks down onto it. Too late, I realize I should have gotten her a T-shirt or something else to wear. You’ve got this. Just imagine she’s someone else. Maybe Lia. No, that’s not gonna work. You don’t need to picture your friend’s wife in only a towel. That’s all kinds of wrong.

  I grab another chair and sit in front of her. I take an antiseptic wipe from the case and begin carefully going over her scrapes with it. Her hands and knees by far got the worst of it, and she hisses as I touch them. I find myself blowing on the injured flesh, trying to ease the burn. I’m sweating profusely by the time I’m finished, and it has nothing to do with the temperature in the house. Since the first time she touched me, every time Rose Madden was near, I’ve gone up in flames—and today is no exception. I want her so badly my teeth ache. Something about her soft, fragile look now has me in disarray. Vulnerable is not a word I would ever have used to describe her, but that’s exactly what she is tonight. As much as this new side of her entrances me, I can’t help but miss the devilish twinkle in her green eyes and the sassy pickup lines she uses so effortlessly. I find myself determined to do whatever it takes to get those things back. She’s not the kind of woman who was meant to look so defeated. The way I feel right now, I’ll fight whatever battle or war needs to be fought to save her. “What happened?” I ask softly as I begin bandaging one of her knees.”

  She’s silent for so long I don’t think she’s going to answer me when she finally says, “I’m going to work with Lia.”

  I nod my head. “Yeah, she told me that. Sounds like an amazing opportunity for both of you.”

  “It is,” Rose agrees, but her voice is flat and lifeless. “I told my parents about it earlier this evening when my father demanded I move back home now that I’m finished with school.”

  “And how did that go?” I prompt when she doesn’t continue.

  Glancing up, I see her pull a shaky hand through her hair before a bitter laugh escapes her. She looks down the length of her body and then back at me before raising a brow and saying, “Not too well, I’d say. At first, we argued, and then my father abruptly backed down. That should have been my first clue that something was wrong. But foolish me thought that he actually respected me for being independent and was proud. That warm, fuzzy feeling lasted until I got to my apartment and the manager told me that my father had terminated my lease since it was in his name. He’d literally moved me out in an hour. Then I left the building only to find that my car was no longer where I parked it. I couldn’t fathom that it had been taken so I circled the area, thinking I’d forgotten what space it was in.”

  By this point, I’ve given up all pretense of doing anything other than staring at her in horror. Surely, there must be some mistake. What kind of man would do that to his daughter? “Honey, have you spoken with him? Maybe—”

  She holds up her hand, stopping my flow of words. “He sent me a text while I was looking for my car and told me that he’d done it all. Said since I was now self-supporting that he’d taken the liberty of removing all of the things from my life that were a burden. He also mentioned that my cell phone would be shut off within the hour and my checking account had been closed. So essentially, he took everything from me in just an evening. The sad thing about it is that I sat under his roof and played fucking bridge with my mother and her friends while he was pulling the strings that would make his daughter homeless.” She stops, closes her eyes briefly, and then inhales a deep breath. It’s as if the utter cruelty of her father’s actions are truly hitting her. She shakes a little and I so desperately want to hold her. Before I can, she continues. “He kissed me on the head like he was proud of me, all the while he was sticking a knife in my back and laughing his ass off.”

  “Oh baby,” I choke out, “I’m so sorry that he did something like that to you.” I hear my words and know they’re completely inadequate. Hell, I’m in too much shock to formulate flowery speeches at this point. I point at her knee and ask, “How did this happen?”

  In a small voice, sounding so very much like a child, she says, “I didn’t know where to go. I was going to call Lia but remembered she is out of town with Lucian. I was wet and cold, so I just started walking. The rain was really coming down, and I saw a store with an awning, so I ran for it. I wasn’t looking where I was going, though, and tripped on the sidewalk. I went down pretty hard.”

  I swallow around the huge lump in my throat and quickly finish patching her up. I see a shiver go through her small frame and extend a hand to her. “Let’s go find you something to wear and get you into bed. Um—the spare bed,” I add quickly, wondering why I can’t keep my foot out of my mouth tonight. Her unexpected presence has me so rattled I’m making a fool out of myself.

  She takes my hand and stands beside me before giving me a look filled with sadness. “Trust me, I know you don’t want me anywhere near YOUR bed. You’ve made that more than clear in the past.”

  Congratulations, Max, you’re an asshole. Even though I hadn’t meant my words the way she’d taken them, I still feel like shit. I’d simply been attempting to reassure her that she was safe with me. I hadn’t wanted her to think she had to sleep with me. In my rush to tell her exactly that, I’d made a mess once again and only ended up hurting her. “Rose, that’s wasn’t what I meant—”

  “It’s fine—really. I appreciate all that you’ve done, believe me. So if you could show me where to sleep, that would be great. I’m exhausted.” She yawns as if to prove her point, although she’s careful not to make eye contact.

  One thing is becoming clear to me during tonight: She’s more upset about what happened—or didn’t happen—between us than I’d realized. Other than a few glimpses I’d convinced myself I didn’t actually see, she’s been very blasé about our encounters. At times, I’ve thought she might care for me, but I’ve never been able to get a true lock on where she was in her head. She used our sexual attraction as both a distraction and a way to keep an emotional distance between us. And I’d been more than happy to let her because I was no more ready to commit to a real relationship than she was—or so I’d thought. But where had the hurt in her eyes come from? This is exactly why you didn’t want to get involved. I’d been devastated by love before and damned if I ever wanted to repeat it. Rose had complicated written all over her, and it fucking scared me to death. She also drew me in like a moth to a flame and that was even more terrifying. I didn’t want to be with her—but I couldn’t stay away. Where did that leave us? Eventually, you either made a decision or life made it for you as it had tonight. She shakes my hand, and I realize I’ve been standing here in the spare bedroom staring off into space. Real smooth, Decker. “Um … I was going to—?” My last word comes out as a question because I have no idea if I missed something.

  “Get me a shirt?” she says slowly, no doubt thinking I’ve lost it.

  While I zone out, she’s still in a wet towel after being up all night. Perfect. “Sorry,” I mumble before jogging back to my room and pulling a Carolina Panthers T-shirt from one of my drawers. I give it a quick sniff before taking it back to her. I have no idea why guys always check to make sure their laundry doesn’t smell. Probably a leftover habit from my college days when I’d wear clothes several times before taking t
he time to launder them. The smell test was a necessity back then. “Here you go,” I say as I hold it out to her. She mumbles her thanks, and then shifts awkwardly. “I’ll, um, just be down the hall. You should have everything that you need in the bathroom. If you don’t, just let me know.”

  “All right.” She gives a brief smile. “Thanks.”

  And with that, I’m out of reasons to stay. If things were different, or maybe if we’d had some type of closure to our flirtation, we possibly wouldn’t both appear so uncomfortable right now. After the evening she’s had, I wish I were free to sleep with her and offer her the comfort she must surely need. Instead, we’re acting as if we’re little more than strangers. She’s had her hand on my cock and I’ve had my fingers inside her, with my tongue down her throat. But you’d never know it now. If one of us made the first move, then the other might relax enough to reciprocate. It’s clear, though, from her earlier comment that she won’t be doing that. She feels rejected by me. She called me to help her, but it’s like she still thinks she is a burden. Her eyes, when she told what her father had done, were so defeated. Hurt. Pained. Does she really fear I’d hurt her? That I’d turn her away?

  Before I can do something that I might regret, she takes the decision from my hands and walks toward the bathroom, shutting the door softly behind her. I sigh, before leaving to make sure the house is locked up. I’m grateful tomorrow is Saturday and I have nowhere to be. I generally work from my home office for a few hours, but I am free to sleep late. I hope that Rose is able to relax enough to as well.

  Surprisingly, I’m out soon after my head touches the pillow. Visions of the broken woman next door to me haunt my dreams, as does the realization that tonight is the start of something that neither of us may be prepared for. We've danced around each other for nearly a year. I've been attracted and drawn to her natural charisma and sassy attitude from the beginning but have been determined not to get involved. Seeing her so despondent tonight hasn't changed my opinion of her. She's still incredible. Is tonight the start of something for us? Should I be running and screaming, "Danger, Will Robinson?" I'm not sure I'm ready to trust a woman with my heart again. Perhaps after dealing with her father, she can't trust hers either. A perfect storm can’t be stopped, though. You can only hold on and try to ride it out—hoping you’ll survive the aftermath.

  * * *

  I feel it building. I panic as I try to control my breathing. No! Don’t let me have an attack in Max’s house. What if he hears me? But as usual, the man upstairs is busy and I’m on my own. I push up from the bed and stagger into the bathroom. I begin opening drawers, trying to find a bag of some sort, but there is nothing. My breathing is becoming more rapid, and I’m seeing spots by the time I make it to the kitchen. In some part of my mind, I’m grateful Max left a light on.

  There is no time to be picky. I upend some bread and use the plastic wrap to breathe into. I sway on my feet, afraid I’ve left it too late this time, but the dizziness finally begins to abate and the dots before my eyes are slowly clearing. Thank God. I lean against the counter for another few minutes until I’m feeling more under control.

  That’s when I see it—a knife sitting in the sink.

  It’s not that I’m scared. No, it’s exactly the opposite. The hand still holding the bag shakes as I focus intently upon the sharp, stainless steel blade. I need it—so fucking badly. More than I ever have before.

  Suddenly, it’s in my hand. I have no conscious thought of moving, but I must have. The one thing that has chased the worst of the shadows from my life. The sharp relief that it brings will push the bad thoughts away—at least for now. Lia told me several months ago about Lucian’s battle with cocaine and how proud she was that he had gotten help for his addiction. She’s also mentioned he hadn’t wanted Lia to know because he’d felt ashamed that she was dealing with all that had happened in her life without a crutch while he was not. And that was almost exactly the same reason I’d never told her about my cutting. It made me feel weak and embarrassed, and it was so far from the image I’ve worked hard to present to the world. Rose Madden was a strong, kick-ass woman, not a scared girl who resorted to self-harming to cope.

  I am falling apart, though, and fear I will have a complete breakdown unless I can divert my attention. I’d once read that your body can only process one pain source at a time, and over the years, I’ve found that to be true. If I’m suffering from emotional pain, then I can mask it by cutting. A thin line between my thighs can provide as much relief as Vicodin. Sure, the pain from the incision hurts, but it’s a different type of discomfort. Strangely enough, I equate it to a good spring cleaning. It clears the cobwebs and allows me to enjoy the space within and around me once again. Am I rationalizing? Almost certainly, but it works. The network of silvery scars left behind is just collateral damage.

  That first nick of the razor had been an accident. My father’s criticism had taken its toll, and it had happened while rushing through my shower before dinner. His cruel words about tardiness last night hit me again. Does he really despise me this much? Watching that thin line of blood trickle down my thigh had … settled me. Soothed. By the time I was getting dressed, I’d completely forgotten about my earlier upset. From something so seemingly innocent had been born a dark secret that I had managed to keep from everyone in my life except Jake.

  Clutching the knife at my side, I creep silently back down the hallway, careful not to wake Max. I don’t know what I would do if he stopped me now. I’m already anticipating the feeling of solace as the blade slices into my flesh. I’ve committed and justified it. I never change my mind when that happens.

  I shut the bedroom door and then walk straight into the bathroom. As a precaution, I tug Max’s shirt over my head, not wanting to accidentally ruin it. I’ve learned that bloodstains are almost impossible to remove. I unroll a length of tissue paper next and then find a spot on the cold, ceramic tile where I can easily spread my legs. It’s not lost on me that I approach this routine almost clinically. It’s so engrained in me that it’s as if I’m on the outside observing someone else.

  The knife feels unfamiliar in my hand as I tighten my grip on the handle. I normally use a razor or sometimes a needle. I probe my skin, looking for a location that isn’t riddled with scars. Finally, I find a relatively smooth area near the crease of my leg. The skin is thin and more sensitive there but also tends to bleed more. Perfect. It’s harder to gauge the depth in a fleshy area. I lower the tip of the blade, making a small incision. A thin line of crimson wells up, and I watch it idly, waiting to see if it will trickle down my leg.

  After what seems like forever, a small amount of blood breaks free from the cut, making a tiny downward track. I frown. There should be more blood. I need more blood. I barely feel the sting from the nick. There isn’t enough pain to quiet my racing thoughts. The blade must have been duller than I thought.

  So I move it a few inches over and go deeper this time. “Shit,” I hiss as it slices through my skin like butter. There is no waiting for the results this time. I see blood before I can even remove the knife. I can only stare, riveted by the vivid red against my pale skin. Then fear hits as I realize that I’ve cut deeper than ever before. Fuck!

  The blade clatters to the floor as I grab Max’s shirt from the floor and attempt to stop the bleeding. “No, no!” I repeatedly chant as panic seizes me. I’m dizzy, but I can’t get up to look for my bag from earlier. “Max,” I croak out, barely aware that I’m calling for him. “Max, help me!” I sob one more time, not thinking there is any way he can hear me. But then the sound of the bedroom door slamming open reaches me and there he is.

  “Rose! Fuck, what happened?” He drops to his knees and begins running his hands over me, beginning at my neck. I have no idea why he’s looking for an injury there since I’m holding a shirt to my leg.

  “I cut myself,” I wince as my injury throbs. There is nothing but the sounds of our rough breathing in the room. Then he seems to freeze. I lo
ok up and see the exact moment he spots the knife I’d tossed to the floor.

  “Why?” he murmurs quietly almost as if he’s talking to himself. I’m so tired that I’m having a hard time keeping pressure on the cut. I’m crashing the way I sometimes do after the high of cutting begins to ebb. My hand slips, pulling the T-shirt away. So much blood. Which seems to jerk him into action. He opens the cabinet behind him and grabs another towel, holding it firmly against me. In a strained voice, he asks, “Did you do this to yourself?” Before I can answer, his attention is drawn to the myriad of scars running up and down my thighs. He swallows visibly. “Oh baby, what’ve you been doing to yourself?”

  Silent tears of shame roll down my face, dripping onto my chest. This is it. The time has come. Someone else knows my secret. Confident, carefree Rose is a fraud. Her mommy and daddy pick on her and she’s too weak to handle it. I attempt to cover the evidence with my hands, not wanting him to see any more than he already has. “Don’t look,” I say huskily. “Please, Max, I’m so ugly.”

  He raises his other hand and runs it soothingly down my face until he’s cupping my wet cheek. “Shhh, you don’t need to hide from me. I see nothing but a beautiful woman who is hurting. Let me help you. We’ll go to the hospital for stitches and then—”

  “No!” I say in near hysteria. “I can’t go there. They’ll see—”

  He seems to understand what I’m trying to say, even though my words are garbled. “Honey, the cut looks pretty deep. It needs to be stitched up.” I shake my head frantically, and he stares at me seeming lost in thought. Finally, he takes one of my hands and puts it on the towel. “Keep pressing tight while I get my phone. I have a friend who should be able to help us out.” He is back almost immediately. He hands me another T-shirt, and that’s when I realize I’m completely naked. Without saying anything, he drops his hand to hold the towel in place, while I pull the shirt over my head. Of course, he doesn’t want to see me naked. Could his rejection be any louder? Especially now that he knows the truth about me. Rose, the fraud. When I’m finished, he pushes a few buttons on his phone. “Matt, there is a guest at my house with a cut that needs stitching.” He nods once, and then says, “Thanks, man. I owe you.” He ends the call and tosses his phone down onto the floor. “He’ll be here soon.”