Page 23 of Rage's Solace
No matter how my daughter came into being, I loved her with all my heart even before she was born. It wasn’t her faultthat her father was a psychopathic rapist. I told my parents I was pregnant, insisting it was Ashton’s baby. But they said I was wrong, that it was Ray’s, but they had a solution. I was to marry Conrad. If I agreed, then he would look after my daughter as if she were his own. His family was rich, and we’d be taken care of, my parents said I had no choice and I had to do as they said. In my messed-up state of mind I found myself agreeing and so I left college and returned to Las Salinas and became Mrs. Whitmore.
It’s only in hindsight I realized what must have actually happened, my parents had gone to Malcolm Whitmore and told him that his son raped me. The monthly stipend they received was hush money, and the arranged marriage with Conrad was to keep the evidence of that rape close. However, they couldn’t acknowledge that Mia was their granddaughter, so they kept up the pretense that she was Ray’s. It was around the time of my marriage to Conrad that his brother went into a long-term psychiatric care unit, I suppose that was my father-in-law’s concession to admitting his son was disturbed and a rapist and to ensure he received the treatment he needed. Things hadn’t been bad with Conrad, there was no emotion in our marriage, but he never hurt me, it was only in the past year leading up to the night he shot me when his behavior changed. A change that coincided with his brother being released.
As soon as my mind goes back to that night my breathing quickens and I realize I’m hyperventilating. I try and take a deep breath, but then suddenly I catch the rancid stench of those dead rabbits mixed with the scent of moist earth from the cemetery and Rage’s grave. I’m shaking and crying as I pull off my clothes as if they are contaminated. Flipping the shower on hot, I can barely force myself to stand there adjusting the temperature. When it’s as hot as I can stand it, I step into the water and close the door. I scrub myself so hard because I’ve got to getthis smell off me. I feel disgusting, I am disgusting. What the hell is happening to me? I don’t know why I’m doing this, and I can’t seem to stop. Dark thought crawls forth from the back of my mind that if I scrub hard enough, I can wash away all the heartache and bad decisions I’ve made over the years. I can wash away the memory of that night. Wash it away and replace it with something new.
Mumbling under my breath and scalding myself is how Rage finds me. I didn’t even hear him come into the bathroom, must less come into the shower with me. I only realize he’s there when his arms come up behind me and gently lift me out from under the too hot stream of water cascading down from the showerhead and he wraps me in a huge white towel.
I freeze in place, humiliated that he found me falling apart. I have to face the fact that I’m in no way good enough for this man even if deep inside I wondered if we had a chance. He’s strong, smart, compassionate, and so attractive that women literally swoon over him. I’m now just another struggling single parent, mercifully freshly out of a messed-up relationship. The only thing we have in common is a history of heartache.
He turns off the shower, opens the door and helps me out.
“Sit there for a moment, darlin’,” he says as he directs me to the chair. When I’m seated, he strips the bed and makes quick work of changing the duvet cover.
“All good now,” Rage says as he pats the bed.
I get up and climb into the bed, savoring the feel of the clean sheets. Rage then gets up and leaves the room and I wonder where he’s gone.
I lay there for a few minutes in the darkened room, my panic gone and my mind calm. Still under the covers, I hear the bedroom door open and close. When a warm body slides onto the bed beside me on top of the duvet and pulls me into his arm, I know it’s Rage. I can tell by his scent and the way he touches me. I turn over, bury my face in his chest and wrap my arms round him.
“You okay, sweetness?” he whispers into my hair.
“Sorry, you didn’t need to see me like that,” I mumble.
“It was the smell, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah,” I reply. That was part of it, that, and other things. At that moment I want to tell him about Mia, about how she was conceived. About the reason I ran away, but I can’t. I’m a coward.
“I noticed it too. Sometimes if I’ve had a hard day at work, or when things were… well, I was a battlefield medic, I don’t need to tell you what I’ve seen. Anyway, I get it, I get the need to scrub that smell off, even if the smell is only in your head.” He strokes my hair, and I lean into his touch.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to freak out,” I say and lift my head up. I’m under the duvet and he’s on top, he’s taken off his jeans and shirt which got soaked when he ran into the shower and is naked save for a towel wrapped around his waist. Suddenly I’m not feeling fear or guilt or anything negative. There’s a warmth rushing through my body that I haven’t felt in years.
“From now on if you start to panic, you call me, scream my name and I’ll come running. I don’t ever want you being alonewhen you’re like that. Do you understand what I’m telling you, Prissy?”
I nod. “It’s just embarrassing. I don’t like people to see me like that.”
“I’m not just anybody. I’m your best friend, your first love, and the man who will always be there for you when others let you down,” His finger trails down my cheek, before he checks himself and pulls his hand back.
“That felt nice,” I say cautiously.
“I missed you Priscilla, I missed the feel of your skin, your laugh. Everything. When you left it felt like part of me left too.”
“I’m sorry,” my voice is quiet.
“Don’t be, you told me what happened. I know my Prissy didn’t run out on me. I can’t imagine what it was like for you,” he shifts so he’s on his side looking at me. My eyes eat up his body in the soft light, the tattoos covering his chest, shoulders, and arms. The smattering of hair. His long hair curling at his shoulders, it’s drying in ringlets and for a moment my mind springs to Mia. My daughter’s hair does that too.
“I don’t think I ever stopped grieving for you,” I say as I lift my hand up and cup his cheek. His goatee is neatly trimmed, but I can feel the five o’ clock shadow on his cheeks where his beard is growing in. An image of kissing him flashes through my mind. I remember how soft his lips were.
His green eyes gaze into mine, and before I know what’s happening I find myself leaning up, searching for his lips. His lips are somehow soft and demanding at the same time. He slides one hand through my hair and gently tugs my head backas his tongue plunders my mouth. When I give in to his kisses, his hands drop down to explore my body. His touch is familiar and spikes my arousal something fierce.
I slide my hands through his shoulder-length hair just to feel the texture. It seems coarser and more masculine than it did when were teens.
Suddenly he pulls back.
I’m dazed with lust and glance up to see he’s wearing a similar expression.
“God Priscilla, I’ve missed you so much,” his voice is hoarse and when I look down, I can see his erection punching the front of the towel. “You’ve had a frightening day, when something like that happens it’s easy to misread emotions. I don’t want you doing something you’ll regret.”
I gaze up at him, my heart pounding. “I’ve missed you too, Ray. Yes, today was awful, it was terrifying. But I’m not scared now. With you I feel the safest I’ve ever been, it’s like coming home.” I realize that I’ve been on an emotional rollercoaster lately but here with Rage I know with absolute certainty what I want. I slowly push away the blanket, exposing my breasts, “I want this, I want you, Ray. It’s not adrenaline or fear or whatever talking. It’s me.”