Page 63 of Still Her
My mind becomes alert before my eyes even open, already recognizing the softness of the bed’s sheets surrounding my naked body. I slowly blink my eyes open to a mostly dark room and give myself a moment to regain my bearings. On my stomach, I shift my head to face the direction of the alarm clock on the bedside table and see that it‘s not even seven in the morning. Being that it’s early December explains why it’s still so dark.
I slept amazing, not waking up once or having a single dream. Despite everything that happened yesterday, I feel completely recharged, reset, and light. I continue to familiarize myself with my surroundings. The sheet is wrapped around me, but the rest of the bed is completely destroyed: pillows scattered everywhere and the bedspread hanging off of one corner. I can still feel the satisfying ache of Jack between my legs, and though he’s not in bed with me, I can hear the strumming of his guitar coming from the other room, accompanied by the croon of his low, velvety voice. Sometimes he plays around with his guitar just because he’s in the mood, but I can tell by the frequent pauses and chord changes that he’s writing.
I sit up and scooch the side of the bed, wrapping the sheet around me. I walk to the bedroom door and stand in the doorway where I have a good view of the living area. I see my gorgeous husband, sitting on the wide ottoman and facing the window with his black acoustic draped across his lap. I stand there a moment, taking him in. He’s staring out the window into space, his eyes half lidded, looking as if he’s giving serious thought to the words coming out of him. He’s singing quietly, I assume because he thinks I’m still sleeping, but his voice in no way lacks the passion of his words.
Since the first time he ever sang something to me, Jack has never been shy about writing and creating in front of me, so I don’t feel like I’m invading. I just bask in my own private show, enjoying every note and every movement. Watching Jack write is like being given a vivid glimpse into the inside of his mind and it’s… surreal and beautiful to see the wheels turning as he puts together a masterpiece.
I notice the look of satisfaction on his face when he finds the rhythm he wants and starts to play a continuous tune. It’s not quite as edgy as most of the band’s songs, but it has energy for sure, and the emotion lying beneath it definitely hits me. Jack’s feelings can clearly be heard in his voice. It’s what makes him such an amazing performer. I pad slowly across the room, coming up behind him, as the most beautiful chorus falls from his lips.
But she’s still her…
Still her,
Still fine,
Still whole,
Still mine
You gave it your best try,
But you can’t steal the sun from my sky,
Ohh, whoa…
I close in and curl up behind him on the ottoman, pressing my body against his and resting my cheek against his back. His strumming doesn’t even falter as he keeps playing and singing. He leans back into me slightly, acknowledging and welcoming my presence. I can feel the vibrations of this voice through his back, and I close my eyes and let them lull me. After a few more seconds, his words fade out, followed by his playing. I feel the reverberations of the strings for several seconds after he stops, and I turn my head to press a kiss to the smooth skin between his shoulder blades. He turns his head in my direction as much as he can, greeting me with one of the most peaceful expressions he’s worn in months. I open my sheet and press my skin against his warm back, leading him to slowly close his eyes. He pulls away, only to set his guitar down in the nearby arm chair and shifts his body, reaching for me. He wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me around into this lap, facing him. We don’t say a word as I smile up into his sleepy bedroom eyes. Gripping my hips, he pulls me forward to kiss me, his lips melding against mine. It’s sweet and sensual at the same time, and I feel my breath leave my body. It gets deeper and heavier, and just as Jack starts tugging at the drawstring on his pants, we’re startled by a sharp, hard knock at the door. It jolts us from our reverie. I gasp and yelp at the same time Jack’s arms tighten around me, both of our heads turned in the direction of the door.
“Who is it?!”Jack yells, in a tone much like the one I heard last night.
“It’s Morris,” the rude detective answers gruffly through the door.
“The fuck does he want…” Jack mutters aloud as I shift off his lap and stand. Jack adjusts himself outside of his pants and starts walking in the direction of the door as I head to the bedroom to throw on whatever clothes I can find. “Whatever happened to calling before coming by?” I hear Jack growl in the other room. The detective definitely brings out his ornery side. I grab a pair of lounge shorts from my bag, and Jack’s shirt from last night off the floor. I pull them on and head back out to the main area to find Jack looking irritated as all hell, and Morris standing in the kitchenette holding a camera. Uh…
“What are you doing here?” I ask. I thought we’d seen the last of him. The sting is done and he got my statement already.
“I came by to get a couple pictures of your bruises for the evidence file. They always look different the next day.” He starts fiddling around with the camera’s settings as I move past him to the Keurig. I need coffee to deal with this. “I also wanted to remind you guys that if you have a statement for the press, you should release it here pretty soon,” he says, nonchalantly, not looking up from his camera. “The media is going insane over this and we can only sit on it for so long. The chief is set to give a press conference in two hours. He can leave your names out, but it won’t take long for the masses to put two and two together.”
“We got it, Morris,” Jack says, sounding annoyed. “We just got up and we have loved ones that deserve to be filled in first.” As Jack walks in the direction of the bedroom, his comment makes me realize that I really need to call Annie. She’s going to shit kittens if she finds out what’s been going on through the media instead of me.
When Jack is out of sight, Morris pulls a large Ziploc bag out of the camera case and steps forward to hand it to me.
“I’m going need the dress you had on last night,” he murmurs quietly, and I realize it’s in the interest of not getting Jack amped up. He already saw my dress hanging open when he got to me last night but he definitely doesn’t need to be reminded that Eli had his hands on me. I nod, and put the bag aside. My plans were to ceremoniously burn the damn thing, but this works too, so long as it’s out of my sight.
As I hold my hair back, and turn my head every which way so that Morris can get the shots he needs of my jawline. I can’t help but notice the relaxed lines of his usually hardened expression. He even looks like he’s got a ghost of a smile that he’s trying like all hell to hold back.
“You know, you can let the tough, professional act slide a little,” I say, amused as I let my hair drop and he turns the camera off. He glances up briefly and then back down as he zips it back into its case, shaking his head like he has no idea what I’m talking about. “You’re happy, aren’t you?” I snicker as I pick up my coffee mug with both hands and bring it to my mouth for a sip. He sets the camera case on the counter and puts a hand on his hip, determined not to give himself away. “Go on, say it,” I challenge him as Jack returns from the bedroom, pulling a black t-shirt down around himself. He walks over to where I’m leaning against the counter and pulls me into his chest with both arms. The two of us pin the detective with a knowing glare until he cracks.
“Fine,” he concedes, letting a smirk pull up one side of his mouth. “I’m happy. We caught the scumbag and I’m ecstatic. Happy now?”
“Yes.” I take another sip of my coffee as Jack chuckles, still holding me. “So is he still locked up?” I ask, my mood going only slightly leery.
“No,” he answers, slipping back into business mode. My jaw drops and Jack and I look at each other and then back to him before he continues. “One of his big-shot elite lawyers came to the rescue and posted bail before the sun was up.” My shoulders slump. “Don’t worry,” he rushes to reassure us. “I filed a restraining order, as well as a no contact order for both you Mayzie, and the band. Which reminds me,” he reaches inside his jacket and pulls out some folded white papers. “I’ll need you to sign them and I’ll take them back to the courthouse when I leave, though it’s just a precaution. His lawyers are definitely advising him to stay away from you.” He places them on the counter and pulls out a pen to lie down beside them. He stands by quietly as Jack and I lean over to scan the documents. After I’ve signed my name, I hand the pen to Jack and grab the Ziploc bag and dash into the bedroom. I find the black dress rumpled on the floor and quickly fold it, not worried about neatness, and stuff it in the bag. I walk back into the main room as I seal the bag and thrust it out to Morris. Jack looks up and I see him registering what I’ve just handed the detective. I move swiftly over to him and put my arms around his waist, as an immediate effort to both comfort and distract him. His arms go around my shoulders and he lets out a deep breath, much to my relief.
“Mayzie,” Morris starts in, “while I’m here, I want to advise you to seek out a trauma counselor. I know you don’t think what you went through last night was trauma, but it was.” At his words, I feel Jack’s arms tighten around me a little bit, and though he doesn’t speak, it feels like he’s having a moment of appreciation for Morris. I know Morris is thinking ahead, that this may catch up with me, that I may have triggers that will take me back to last night and put me in a state of panic. Honestly, I think as long as Jack never buys that rancid cologne, drinks gin, or calls me ‘Kitten’ I’ll be okay. But I get it. It only just happened, I’m still processing it, and he’s been through this with others. Including his girl.
“Please consider it,” he adds.
“Okay,” I nod reassuringly. “I will.”