Deceived - Part 2 Paris (12 page)

I shrieked out with a cry of pain, as he pulled my arm hard and threw me up against a brick wall. Razor sharp pangs shot through my head as it hit the wall with a thud. I cried out again. What little light that was visible in the shadows of the alley, grew dimmer and dimmer, as the searing pain filled my head.  

“You fucking bitch, American whore. You didn’t want to let me fuck you in the ass the other night. Every woman in Paris would be glad to let me fuck them in the ass,” he continued. A blur of screaming and yelling whirling in front of me, his face contorted into a grotesque nightmarish mask. I knew I should keep my mouth shut, but I figured if I was going to be found dead in the morning with my head smashed in, I may as well go down fighting.

“You fucking prick. I never enjoyed your paintings or your pencil dick. Why don’t you take your Euro-cock and go fuck your mother with it?”

My speech was slurred from the head bump against the brick wall and if I had just kept my mouth shut, I wouldn’t have seen his fist coming down to meet the cheekbone of my face. My peripheral vision went black, as I slid down the wall, my purse falling out of my hand to the cold cement ground. Instinctively, I put my hands up over my head, elbows bent and pulled myself into the fetal position to protect my internal organs. Thank God for all the “duck and cover” drills we had to go through back in high school.

“You fucking bitch. I’m going to teach you a lesson. I’m going to fuck you in your ass right here and now. I’ll teach you to deny me and to dishonor my mother that way, filthy whore.”

Down on the sharp hardness of the concrete, my consciousness was fading fast. I just prayed that I would pass out before...
Oh please Jesus help me!

Suddenly the weight of his body was released from atop mine and I faintly noticed a muffled scuffling sound behind me. Something...or someone had taken Francisco's attention. I kept my head down, too afraid to look. I relied on my sense of hearing to identify what was happening. Something sounded like fast footsteps and then something being dragged across the ground. A deep groaning voice, a thud like a fist hitting skin and Francisco's Spanish accent crying out, “What the fuck...shit!” and more hurried footsteps fading away, a man’s heavy breathing, then silence.

My heart was pounding out of my chest, amped up on a sky-high adrenaline rush, but I had lost all my moxy and now I lay frozen in fear, squeezing my eyes shut tightly. More footsteps rushed towards me.

“Oh my God, Chloe! Are you alright?” A warm familiar voice released my eyelids and I looked up to see... Patrick?

“Let’s get you out of here.”

It’s Patrick... Patrick?! What’s he doing here? What’s he doing in Paris?

I felt his firm hands lifting my body, cradling me in his strong arms. After that, everything went black.

Feeling the vibrations of the road and hearing the hum of an engine, I finally opened my eyes. I looked up into Patrick’s steel-blue eyes, the best sight I had seen for an eternity, as I laid my head on his chest in the back seat of the taxicab. He gently stroked my hair, smoothing it back from my upturned face. I tried to speak, but he placed a finger on my lips. “Shhh. Don’t speak, sweetheart. We need to get you to the emergency room. You look like you are in pretty bad shape.”

“No...no...not the hospital. Just take me to my room. I'll be okay.”

“Let’s get you checked out and we can go to the room after,” he insisted.

“No, I’m okay. He only hit me once. I just need some rest and I’ll be okay. Just take me home, please,” I whispered in a barely audible voice.

Speaking to the driver in fluent French, Patrick directed him to my hotel. I felt dizzy and nauseous and I just wanted to fade into the soothing comfort of Patrick’s familiar embrace.

Minutes later the cab drew up in front of my hotel, my legs felt like rubber walking into the foyer.

“Where is your key? I’ll take you to the room.”

My shaking hands struggled to dig it out of my purse, but I couldn’t manage and Patrick gently took over and found the hotel key. If Patrick hadn’t been there, I would have needed to go to the hospital, or I would have been dead. As we passed the front desk, he spoke in French to the concierges.

“Chloe, I just asked for a doctor to come take a look at you. There’s a pretty large bump on the back of your head and I want to make sure everything is okay,” he said peering at me with a look of deep concern on his face.

The most I could manage was a feeble nod. I was too overwhelmed to speak. He took me to my room and put me in bed, carefully removing my pretty white top and skirt, now smudged with dirt from the greasy alley.  

Patrick sat with me until the doctor rapped on the door. He brought him to my bedside where the doctor listened to my heart and checked the dilation of my pupils. “You may have a concussion young lady,” was the doctor’s verdict. “Plenty of rest and water should do it. I will give you some medication that will help for the pain,” he said placing the pills in the palm of Patrick’s hand. “Don’t go on any flights for a couple of days and you should be fine.” He turned to Patrick with a look of concern and turning back asked, “Who did this to you? Do you want to file a police report?”

“No, I'm...”

“Yes she does,” Patrick replied firmly. “The bastard who did this is not going to get away with beating up other innocent girls like Chloe,” Patrick ranted, restraining his anger through clenched teeth.

“Well, alright. I shall inform the authorities of the incident and my report will show that you were assaulted with major abrasions to the face,” the doctor confirmed. “The police will be in touch tomorrow. They will come here for your statement.”

Patrick showed the doctor out and came back with a glass of water for me to wash down the pills. I eagerly swallowed two, welcoming their effect soon to come. As I laid in the bed, holding an ice pack the doctor had made, Patrick diligently sat on the edge next to me. My hand found his, as I felt the glowing satisfaction of being in the presence of the only man I had truly loved, wash through my body like a fresh summer rain. Not only was he my one true love, but he also was my savior tonight, staving off the biggest nightmare of my life, and for that I would be eternally grateful. I had a million questions for Patrick, but those would have to wait until morning because these pills, were feeling... really... goooood...

***

When the effects of the painkillers wore off, I opened my eyes to the sight of a misshapen figure in the chair next to my bed that demanded my attention. It was Patrick, fully clothed, sitting...well half lying back... in what looked like a very uncomfortable position, a crumpled beige blanket partially covering his body.  

As I turned my head on the white pillowcase, I winced like someone stung by a bee. The smooth silkiness of the fabric rubbing against my bruised cheek snapped my attention back to the previous night’s events. An audible groan escaped from my lips causing Patrick to stir and come to attention, the crumpled beige blanket falling to the floor.

“Good morning, sunshine,” he chirped.

“Aaah,” I moaned gingerly touching my face as I sat up in bed. Looking down at my pajama top, I realized that Patrick must have undressed me last night and put my pajamas on me. “Good morning...I guess...” I replied forcing a weak smile. My white skirt and glitter top were lying over the back of a chair, stained with black spots. I made a mental note to throw them in the trash before I checked out.

My heart swelled with the realization that Patrick had stayed with me until morning. Waking up with a bruised head, alone, in a hotel room would have been like a bad scene in a trashy B-movie. All I wanted was for Patrick to rush to me, hold me in his arms and say that everything was going to be all right. I opted instead to keep cool; after all, he had some explaining to do.

“How do you feel today? Can I get you anything?” he asked as the bed depressed on the edge where he sat.

“A new face, maybe?” I tried interjecting some levity into the situation but laughing just made it worse. “Ow...that hurt...” I grimaced. “Actually, orange juice sounds good right now,” I croaked. My throat was dry as a desert.

“Sure thing, Chloe. I’ll call room service, you just take it easy. Anything else? Do you feel like some eggs and bacon? You should eat something,” he said with a warm smile in his eyes. He was being incredibly sweet and handsome as ever, the profile of his strong jaw line accentuated in the sunlight streaming in the window.

“Ahh...well, okay some scrambled eggs would be good.” I couldn’t resist submitting to those eyes.

He went to the phone and called for room service, while I ducked into the bathroom for a pit stop and to brush my teeth.
Argh, my face.
My teeth sank into my lower lip.
My hair looked like a haystack plopped on top of a bruised melon. Leaning in for a closer look in the mirror, I inspected the damage to my cheek. It wasn’t so bad. The immediate application of the ice pack had done its job, keeping the swelling to a minimum but still....
shit
.

I padded back to the bed, sitting cross-legged, anxiously watching Patrick move about the room as he talked on his cell phone to the police. I knew the right thing to do would be to press charges, but I didn’t want to compromise Ryan’s business in any way, after all Francisco was still his number one money making artist at the gallery.

Ending the call, Patrick turned to me and said, “The police will send someone over to take a statement today.”

“I’m not sure, Patrick. What about Ryan? I don’t want to jeopardize his business with bad publicity.”

“Don’t worry about Ryan’s gallery, Chloe. I already phoned him earlier and he agreed that you should press charges against this jerk. Trust me, Ryan doesn’t want to do business with a guy like that,” he scolded.

“Well, okay. If you think it’s the best thing to do, I will.”

A knock on the door brought our room service order and we set up the food with me eating in bed and Patrick in the chair, still next to the bed. After inhaling the eggs, I set my empty plate on the bottom area of the bed, the elephant in the room begging to be discussed. I had purposely avoided asking Patrick any questions until now, but getting some food in my stomach had made me feel better and I felt ready to launch into a long heart to heart with Patrick.

“So, how long were you going to wait to explain how you magically showed up here in Paris?” I asked, a small smile curving at the corners of my mouth.

He snorted, putting his plate down on the nightstand nearby.

“Chloe, okay, here’s the deal. Ryan gave me a call the other day, pretty wound up, saying you were hooking up with this dude who was bad news. He said he tried to warn you, that he had friends who were witness to some of his past shitty behavior, but you wouldn't listen.” He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “When you left me in the Hamptons that night, I was devastated. You tore my heart out Chloe. I cared for you. I still care for you, I never stopped caring. I knew you didn’t want to see me right away; that you were hurt but you don’t understand, I wasn’t with the Baroness...really I wasn’t.”

“How did you know I was in that bar last night?” I canted my head to one side.

“Ryan said he overheard you talking to Francisco in your office. He heard him mention the name of the place and... Well, I just went there, balls to the walls, like a bull in a china shop. I didn’t know what I was going to say or do; I just knew I had to find you.”

My brow drew downward in a frown. “You know Patrick, maybe I could have forgiven you about the night in the Hamptons and actually, I did forgive you, but then you went to Florida with that bitch and fucked her there too.” My voice was rising in pitch as the heat in my veins began to rise. “What was I supposed to think? She answered
your
goddamn cell phone in your hotel room, saying you were in the shower. Huh...Patrick? What was I supposed to think?”

“I wasn’t fucking her in Florida, Chloe. She wasn’t even in Florida when I was down there and I had no idea how she could have answered my phone. I didn’t
have
my phone, it was missing the night in the Hamptons. I thought I lost it on the beach running after you, but..”