Pieces of Rhys (15 page)

Rhys shoved me away, hard. I stumbled and fell back on my ass. I laughed, and I don't know why. Some drunken misguided sense of humor. This only made things worse.

He stormed over to me and grabbed a handful of my shirt, twisting the fabric in his strong hand. I heard his angry breathing, my terrified breathing, and my shirt tearing. The damn tearing sound wouldn't stop, and it took me a moment to realize that I was trying to get away, scrambling backward, and my shirt was literally ripping off of me.

"Gary, stop!" I heard myself cry out.

Rhys's eyes got big and terrified and he released me.

Chapter Twenty-two

Fat Joe looked at me with disappointed eyes. My behavior the night before was
very
rude. I stroked his fat, furry head and for a little while, he decided to be forgiving, and purred softly.

I held him in my arms for my own comfort as I watched Rhys cook breakfast from a kitchen chair. He had not said much when we woke up almost simutaneously, but then again neither did I.

I had fallen asleep on the bed, in tears, after he had coaxed me off of the floor. He stroked my hair until I was unconcious. When I woke up, he woke up, too, almost by instinct. He immediately got up, and out of my reach, and asked if I wanted breakfast. That was pretty much it, besides "Do you want pancakes or frenchtoast?"

I took some Tyenol and drank a couple of glasses of water before picking Joe up and using him as an emotional shield.

When breakfast was done, Rhys put a plate of food before me and a tall glass of orange juice.

"Thanks," I whispered, staring at the pancakes, bacon and eggs. I continued stroking Fat Joe.

"You might want to put the cat down," he said very softly, his tone of the day.

All morning I had a heaviness in my chest, squeezing at my heart and throat. I opened my mouth to speak, but choked on a quiet sob.

"Stupid cat," I said. Tears fell into my eggs.

"Why are you calling my cat stupid?" Rhys whispered.

"He was supposed to have super powers that kept me from crying like a baby," I whispered back. "He sucks at it. Maybe I should have used a hamster." I sniffled. "Or a duck."

Joe jumped out of my arms and padded out of the kitchen, insulted by my words.

Rhys stood up and then gently pulled me to my feet. He led me back into the bedroom. He climbed into the bed, pulling me with him, and into his arms.

I cried for an hour, sometimes softly, sometimes hard and uncontrallably. Rhys didn't try to hush me, but held me tight and let me cry on his chest.

When I was able to control myself and stop crying, I released him, and he released me. I had four hours before my flight left. I had to go home and finish packing. I made sure to get all of my belongings left in his apartment over the months, because it went without saying that I most likely would not be returning.

At my place, I finished packing and let Rhys carry my stuff out to his car while I got cleaned up. I turned the shower on and stripped out of my clothes. I picked up my toothbrush, but froze when I saw the pink toothbrush from all of those months ago. He never did use his again after using mine.

I smiled a little at the memory. I looked in the mirror, which was already beginning to fog up, and gasped. There were scratches on my chest. They weren't deep or serious in nature. I could have easily done it myself scratching an itch, but I knew that wasn't it.

My fingers gingerly touched them. The glass fogged over, but I quickly wiped it away and almost screamed when I saw Rhys's reflection with my own. He stood behind me, looking in the mirror at my barely visible scratches. I looked away, and spread my palm across my chest to cover them.

"No, don't," he whispered, his voice pained.

He wiped at the mirror again and carefully moved my hand away.

"It's nothing," I said. "I probably did it in my sleep."

"You know that's not true," he whispered harshly. "You know that I did this to you."

"It's no big deal," I reasoned. "It was an accident."

"Is that what you used to say in the beginning when Gary used to hurt you?"

His words took my breath away. I gasped for air as I shook my head.

"No," I gasped. "No, this isn't the same."

"And it's not different either," he said, his tone low and scary. "This is why I keep my distance from women. This is why I didn't fall in love and want for a 'normal relationship.' I didn't know what I was capable of."

He wiped away the fog again so he could see me.

"But I fell for you anyway...and look what I did to you."

I shook my head and closed my eyes.

"Open your eyes and look, Lindsey," he softly insisted. "Open and look."

"It's nothing!" I yelled at him. "You're not Gary and you're not your father!"

He smoothed my hair out of my face.

"So, you guessed the big family secret."

"Yes," I said, closing my eyes again. Tears found a way to slip through. "But that's not you."

"I wasn't sure if it could ever be me," he said softly, and kissed my shoulder. "But now I know that
is
me."

I spun around and wrapped my arms around his neck. Reluctantly, he wrapped his arms around my naked body. I tilted my head up to kiss him. He kissed me softly at first, but the kiss turned carnal. He pressed me against the sink, kissing me like he was trying to slink down my throat and into my body.

Desperately, together we stripped him out of his clothes. I sat on the edge of the vanity and Rhys sunk into me. I cried out and clutched him to me.

"Hold it, hold it," I begged, relishing how deep he was. He kissed me passionately and then started to move inside of me.

He put his hands in my hair and tilted my face so he could watch me as I cried out and groaned.

"I love you," he panted.

Key words that always sent me spinning into an orgasm. I tightened my legs around him as I screamed his name. He groaned and then put his mouth on mine as he emptied himself into me.

"Don't let me go," I whispered, holding him.

"You have a plane to catch," he said after a few minutes. He slowly released me.

"Okay," I said. "Okay."

"I'll shower with you."

"That cheers me up. A little."

"Don't put any of your girly soap on me, though," he said, getting into the shower after me. "Men shouldn't smell like flowers and romance."

"Certainly not."

"But I will use your toothbrush."

"Of course you will."

Chapter Twenty-three

"You're too fat," my grandmother said. I had not even been in the house for two full minutes.

"You're too old!" I countered to the little Italian lady.

"Yeah, but you're fat," she said, taking my hand and leading me into the kitchen. "You had a long trip, have some lasagna and some bread. Here ya go, how about that gabagool? Your mother found a real Italian delicatessan out here in this forsaken place. Eat! Eat!"

Yes, she just called me fat while trying to stuff food down my throat. I've been hearing it since I was an infant. I wasn't at all insulted.

"Give her some air, Francesca!" My mom yelled. "Good grief."

"I haven't seen my granddaughter in a year, and she was all beat up then. She's beautiful now. Fat though. I wanna good look at her. Get your Spainyard panties out of a twist, Crystal."

"If both of ya don't shut up, she's going to get back on a plane tomorrow!" My dad yelled.

This was a typical day in the DeBitta household. I stuffed my face with lasagna while they argued. I skipped the cappicola, and instead poured a glass of wine. Fat Joe would find my family beyond rude.

My grandmother finally wandered off to watch the news. My dad made himself an enormous sandwich with too much salty meats on it. I raised an eyebrow, but decided not to get on him about it this time. He sat down with a travel magazine and started eating.

I sat on the counter near the sink while my mom washed dishes, even though she had a dishwasher. I felt like a kid again, except now I was totally broken and barely holding myself together.

"So, are you still seeing that guy? Rhys?" My mom asked.

"No," I said, forcing myself to chew my lasagna.

"Oh, no! What happened?"

He's scarred by his father's abuse to his mother and is afraid he's really a monster. Oh, and I all but cheated on him.

"He loves me, but it's over," I said simply.

"What? How do you know?"

"He said 'I love you, but it's over.' Like I said."

"What happened?" She turned off the sink and looked at me head on. "Did he hurt you?"

"Not physically," I murmured. "Don't worry, I'm not in an abusive relationship." In fact, I wasn't in a relationship at all.

"I still can't get over what was happening to you without our knowledge," she said, her eyes tearing up. "You never said anything, until the end."

"Mom, don't start crying," I sighed and rolled my eyes. "I really can't deal with it right now."

"You look so sad, Lindsey," she whispered, touching my face.

"I
am
sad," I whispered.

Oh, fuck.

"Dad!" I jumped off the counter. "Mom's crying. Make her stop."

"Crystal! What the fuck? You're like a leaky faucet." His words seem harsh to an outsider, but my dad really was a loving husband, father, and son. He went to her and wrapped his arms around her. "My leaky woman," he smiled and kissed her on the top of her head.

I felt like I was intruding, and it was depressing to see a happy couple, so I snuck out the back door.

The house sat on three acres of land, enough to afford some privacy. Their yard was open, and beyond their property line was the back of a vineyard. I know they're just grapes, but the rows and rows of them were breathtaking. I stood on the deck looking at it all against the setting sun.

My phone vibrated in my pocket. I answered without seeing who it was.

"I just want to make sure you got in safely," Rhys said tiredly.

"Yes. I'm...safe."

"Are you okay?"

"No, but I'm safe. I guess. I wish Fat Joe were here. My grandmother would yell at him about being fat while stuffing cat treats down his throat."

That illicited a soft laugh from the holder and destroyer of my heart.

"Are
you
okay?" I asked after a silent moment.

"No, but I'm safe. I guess."

"You're not going to call me again while I'm here, are you?"

"Do you want me to?"

I thought about it.

"What I want has been inconsequential all of this time, so don't bother."

"Lindsey," he started softly.

"No, it's okay. Listen, I'm going to go. I'm really tired. Jet lag."

"Are you going to be okay?" He whispered.

"I don't know," I said, swallowing back tears. "This is...this is the worse I've ever felt about anything. I don't know how people live through it."

"I'll call you again," he insisted.

"No, no. I'll just talk to you at work in two Mondays."

I heard him sigh. "I really love you," he said, and I could hear the pain in his voice.

"I love you, too," I said quickly, and ended the call. I felt like some imaginary tether was just severed.