A:N ; Hello, hello!
Yes, I wrote a new story. I apologize to all of you Joscar shippers... Actually, I don't. Sorry! :)
Parts of this story may contain detailed abuse, which might be triggering to some. If you're easily affected and squeamish, LEAVE NOW.
I don't know how this happened but I was lying in bed and before I knew it I was writing about a bloodied up Jane Doe.
I don't know.. These things happen
I'll shut up now.
Enjoy x
xxx
Slowly and reluctantly, I uncover my face. I blink, close my eyes, and blink again. Streaks of sunlight penetrate the window and blind me.
I sit up, drag my feet off the bed, and rub my knuckles onto my eyes. I stretch my arms above my head and yawn.
I watch my legs dangle above the off-white polyester carpet.
"Ouch", Jane winces, rubbing her long slender fingers gently on her temple. Her head was pounding. Throbbing like a toothache in the brain.
"Alcohol, I love you but I think we should see other people" she scowled, throwing the bottle of bourbon across the room.
Battered, they called it.
Such a simple word for a simple idea. But this was not simple.
Her sense of self, once a high and proud feeling of one destined for good things, now felt as bruised as her abdomen and as broken as the mirror she stood in front of.
She wiped the dried blood from her pallid skin and stared into her own empty eyes. She barely recognized herself.
Who was that in there now and why did she stay? She gazed around the now deserted apartment at the broken and strewn possessions, were they any different to herself?
She stifled a sob with the scuffed palm of her hand and sunk to the floor.
Why did she stay? She questioned silently
xxx
She walked leisurely to the shower, steam filling the room as she cut the shower on. She bathed her skin lightly, taking careful notice not to touch the bruises that scattered her body.
After her shower was finished and she had slumped into bed, she lay there, reliving the moment of last night's incident over and over.
It was the loud bang that left a hole in the wall, the thump of the flying vase, and the crash of the figure coming in contact with the floor.
It was the unapologetic 'I'm sorry', the laughter, and the slur of a drunken fool. These were the sounds made by the man that called himself my husband.
The monster that was okay with laying his hand on the one that he swore he loved.
The monster that damaged her forever. The monster that created the sounds forever replaying in the back of my mind.
The monster was never under my bed, because he was too afraid to be in the house of that man.
The only monster I needed to fear, was the one waking me up in the morning, not the one coming out after I was asleep
Jane had been married to Oscar for 10 years.
They were college sweethearts; everyone knew from the moment they started dating that they would last forever.
The love that had been so strong between Jane and Oscar was locked tight for the past two years.
That's when the abuse started.
At first, it had just been simple possessive gestures; his hand gripping her waist tightly—shielding her from the eyes of others then it got rougher; bloodier.
Being drunk was Oscar's coping mechanism. A bad day at work or an argument with his mother, drinking until closing time was always the answer.
Then he'd come home and beat the crap out of his wife.
But tonight was different.
Tonight she fought back.
She had been ready with the knife. She lay under her blanket in her night gown not wearing underwear as instructed.
He hadn't said anything about not having an eight inch blade. Once the door slammed behind her, he made his move. Typically he liked it rough, she was to fight back a little but never scratch or scream.
So choreographed.
Her only lines were to admire his cock and beg for penetration, plea for her own rape.
She was to start by lying on her front, pretending to sleep through the sodomy. This time when he flicked her over the cold steel came swiftly from under the pillow and was buried in his stomach right to the hilt.
She looked at his stupid surprised eyes and gave it a twist for good measure. She shoved him as he rolled to one side, she'd been trapped under his bulk too many times already.
He groaned and gurgled as he bled out, his skin greying as the light left his eyes.
She was a murderer.
Time to run.
She jumped back, looking down at the mess she'd created. It was almost as if she couldn't believe she just murdered her husband of 10 years. The man who constantly raped her and beat her every single night for the past two years was dead in their bedroom.
After what felt like an eternity, she sat up, stretching the stiff bones in her back. Wiping the sweat from her eyebrows with the back of her head, she rushed into the bathroom.
She stepped into the shower, toes flinching as they touched the chilled ceramic floor. My mind was in shreds; I would never get that picture out of my mind.
I turned the dial, old and metallic, releasing thousands of lukewarm drops, darkening my hair and trickled down my back.
My eyes fell closed over and over, each time showing me the images like photographs.
When the police got there, she managed the most distress appearance she could come up with. She wailed and grabbed at him as a perfect wife who loved her husband dearly would. She begged him to return to her and ease the newfound heartache.
The police men looked at her sympathetically and gently informed her of her husband's demise. It was almost too easy to convince the officers that she was in no position to murder her husband and eventually they let her go inside and clean out.
xxx
The haircut was several inches shorter than I had asked for.
But it was too late now.
My dark locks lay on the black and white tile floor and I could feel the cool breeze on my neck where there should have been hair.
It had been nearly two days since I killed Oscar and I had to get as far away from that life as possible.
"How much do I own you?" Jane asked the hairdresser, nonchalantly.
"20 bucks", she added roughly.
The hairdresser, Tessa, had her hair cut into a mohawk and dyed several brilliant shades of green, blue and pink. The pikes were over a foot high and had the effect of making her look quite menacing.
"That's a bit extreme, even for you, Tess" Jane muttered, grinning slightly. She dug out a twenty dollar bill out of her jacket pocket and handed it to the woman who smiled in returned and nodded in goodbye.
"See you around" she grunted out in response.
With each stride her mind became more clear, more resolute, as if the growing physical distance between them had now become an emotional chasm.
As the nascent sunlight caressed her skin, promising a new dawn, a new beginning, she entombed her memories of him in thick walled ice.
Then, abruptly pausing to close her eyes and take in a deep breath of dewy air, she steeled herself to only think of her future from here on in.
A future she would mould, build, direct.
Then with each stride after that she felt more in charge, in command of her own mind, body and soul.
She was a girl walking into her own destiny, a destiny that lay squarely in her own hands.
Money had never been an issue for them. Oscar had worked sweat and blood into his own business.
She was given the best, the best of everything except the best of treatment from her husband.
There had been millions of dollars in hers and Oscar's joint account and close to a million dollar in hers.
Her mother had always encouraged her to save her own money for when she finally had enough of Oscar.
Her mother had never been a fan of his but she wasn't the type to hold her daughter back from what she wanted and for that Jane was grateful.
Her friend, Robert, had an unoccupied cottage, a little out of town that he had insisted she used.
With a sigh of relief she made her way to her new home. Jane spotted Robert's cottage. It crouched low into the grassy embankment, as though it were trying to hide, but the misshapen slate roof was too large to go unnoticed.
Through the darkness she could see the coarse, unevenly sized, grey stones that made up the walls. As she got closer, the occasional flash of colour—some blues, others green or brown—emerged from the grey stones that looked like eyes trying to steal a glimpse of the world.
When she finally reached the house, she couldn't help the gasp that escaped her lips. It was beautiful, like something straight out of a fairy tale.
Jane ran her hand over the kitchen wall tiles, each one of them a smooth horizontal glass bar about two pencils thick. Perhaps pulled away from the wall they would be translucent, perhaps they would cast the irrepressible sunlight into the seaside tones they were.
The deepest of them was like driftwood, another was the same hue as the sand at Camber, the blue was like the ocean on a cool Autumn day rather than the brilliant blue of the tourist season.
"Home" she whispered, running her fingers against the soft furniture, sprawled in the center of the living room.
xxx
"Assistant director, Kurt Weller" Kurt spoke roughly into the phone.
It was 2am and he'd want nothing more than to tangle up in his bed and catch a few hours but of course, there's always someone in trouble.
"Can't these psychopaths take a goddamn day off!" Kurt groaned after hanging up his phone. He tilted his head towards the ceiling and pressed his forefinger and thumb on the bridge of his nose, willing himself to calm down.
"What's wrong, boss?" Edgar Reade, one of his agents asked.
"Nothing that can't wait until tomorrow. Go home, man" he ordered.
I was tired as hell, weary with the burden of long-closed eyes; I could've easily pulled off being a walking zombie, dead on the inside but subconsciously awake.
"Hey, I know you're tired and I wouldn't ask if it weren't completely necessary but —" Doctor Borden, FBI's psychologist, rambled on. He was an amazing psychologist but sometimes I just wished the man knew how to probably ask a favour without the need to guilt trip someone.
"Spit it out, please" I gritted out impatiently.
"Well my friend just lost her husband and I offered her residence at my aunt's cottage. It's on your way home and I was just wondering if you'd just stop by for a few minutes just to see how she's doing" he practically begs, handing me a crumpled up paper with what I assumed was the address.
"Sure. Goodnight" I added, grabbing it from him and making my way to the exit.
The traffic was an ugly thing by the time he'd reached at the cottage it was 3am. There was a faint light emerging from the darkness and he contemplated leaving and coming back in the morning when he was sure she'd be awake.
He almost left when he saw the light, in what he assumed was her bedroom, flicker on.
He slowly made his way up to her door and knocked gently.
It didn't take long before he heard the faint approach of this unknown woman.
He could hear the soft grumbles just before she yanked the door open.
"Robert, I told you I'm fine —"
The unknown man wore a loose black silk shirt with leather cuffs and black trousers. However, he got better the more she looked.
His rich chocolate hair that had tousled griminess which promised finesse. He had strong arched brows and eyelashes so thick, it could be illegal.
And then his eyes– they were deep and catastrophic, a vivid baby blue as a great body of water that softly melted into a milky green. This close, I could see the flecks of silver in his eyes.
He had distinct cheekbones and an angular jaw, his pale skin made him look devilishly handsome.
There was a shyness to her, hesitation in her body movements and a softness in her voice as she realized she didn't know the man standing before her.
"Sorry. He asked me to check up on you. I know it's late but I just got off of work" Kurt explained firmly.
She was clad in an oversize T-shirt that settled mid way on her thighs. Her short, black hair laid in soft waves at the top of her head.
She was so beautiful and he could feel himself staring but could hardly help it.
"You didn't have to. It's pretty late" she said nervously, picking at the hem of her shirt.
"It's fine. It was on my way home." He replies smiling slightly.
Rubbing his tired eyes with the insides of his palms, his eyes were dry from staring at the board for most of the day.
"Would you like to come in?" Jane asked politely, noticing how tired and drained he looked.
He chuckled slowly and warmly, reminding me of honey.
He had a crooked little laugh to match his crooked little smile.
Checking his watch, he glanced up back at her, "It's almost 3:30am, miss —"
"Jane. Please" she interrupted, flashing him a smile of her own.
"Jane." Reaching into the his jacket pocket, he presented her with his credentials, "Kurt Weller"
"Nice to meet you, agent."
xxx
Jane wakes to the sound of breathing that isn't her own. It's heaving, like a man and rapid as if he's run into the room. She listens, still, trembling.
He's moving slowly, his heavy feet creaking floor boards that are silent for her. She rolls to her left and slides down the crack between the bed and the wall, praying that an empty bed will send him away.
"Um? I can see you"
She sighed in relief as she recognized the deep, British that belonged to her friend, Robert. But it was quickly replaced by a deep scowl, "couldn't you knock, mate?"
She emphasized the word 'mate' knowing it always pissed him off.
A slight hint of irritation flashed across his face, "You Americans spoil everything."
He walked over to where she sat still lodged between the bed and the wall, raising an eyebrow, he hands her a cup of steaming coffee.
Removing from the prison she'd created for herself, she stood up and took the coffee.
Thanking him instantly as the miracle worker known as coffee touched her dry lips.
"Was that your boss?" She said after a few gulps.
"Yep, I hope he didn't give you any trouble" he replied seriously.
"He was nice."
Nodding, he placed his mug onto the wooden tray, along with hers and made his way to the kitchen. After washing up he informed her that he would be leaving now and if his schedule permitted, he'd swing by later.
When she knew for sure that she was alone she cried slowly, with tears dripping down her temples and the soft hum of her own voice echoing throughout the room.
She knew she existed and breathed. It was as simple and beautiful as the strumming of a guitar. Yet, she meant nothing to anyone. She was alone, sinking deeper and deeper within her own music.
The rest of the world could be seen, drifting farther and farther away as teardrops made up her ocean. They fell into her parted lips and stuck to her eyelashes. She could taste them, rolling down her parched throat.
She was alone.
She had lost herself.
She had lost herself in an endless ocean.
My phone chimes in the distance, alerting me to a received text message. I stare at it, sitting on the kitchen table where I left it, then rush to grab it knowing it could only be Robert, since I changed my number and he's the only one with the number. I tap the screen awake and check my chat messages—a large grin takes over my face entire as I read the message.
Hi, it's Kurt. I hope you don't mind but I asked Dr. Borden for your contact, you know for emergencies and stuff. :)
I chuckle softly through the tears, as I typed back my response.
Hi Kurt. No worries, it's fine.
Thank you for last night
My phone buzzed again almost instantly, which made me wonder if he was at work or not.
Aren't you working, Director?
Wait! Am I flirting? Of course I'm not. That would be foolish. I just murdered my husband, I'm in no position to flirt.
No ma'am. I needed a day off. I was so tired.
I decided this time it was best to not reply. I needed to get cleaned up.
I took a shower, washed my hair and threw on my most comfortable sweater. It was a soft blue —kinda like Kurt's eyes. Wait! Stop, I mentally scolded myself.
xxx
Kurt's eyes lazily rolled open, glazed over with with the remnants of a dream.
He reached over to his bedstand, picking up his clock. He swore silently when it read 8:15am
As he fully wakes his mind swims with a departing dream; he sighs, reluctant to banish it and begin his day. The light of late morning shines into his slowly opening eyes and he brings his hands to guard them. Everything about him feels heavy from his arms to his feet. He lets his head loll from one side to the other, eyes closing one more time as he enjoys the brief darkness. There is no option to sleep on, no chance to rest and conjure his dream anew.
He sits up, still groggy, punches Dr. Borden's number into his phone and waited. He picked up on the third ring sounding almost out of breath.
He informed the man that he wouldn't be coming into work today.
Before hanging up, he managed to pry Jane's number out of his friend.
Throwing himself out of bed, he managed to take a quick shower then made his way to the kitchen.
It was professionally designed, with the finest granite counters, stainless steel appliances, his bestutensils on hooks and matching cups. He lives alone and enjoys a clean space. It's not like he's at home much but on the days he is, he prefers to not spend it cleaning so he hires someone once a week to keep the house tidy.
He quickly whips up some coffee, placing on the table.
It sits prettily in a white china cup, a leaf pattern in delicate milky foam among the pale brown. He wraps his fingers around it, enjoying the heat that spreads through his hands. He sips at it like it is a great luxury, his face is the same as when he takes a nip of his single malt, relaxed, savouring both the drink and the moment.
He let his mind wander to the beautiful woman he'd met just a few hours.
Her eyes were a shade of green that was a mixture of the sky and grass. All of her emotions were bundled into deep cyan.
Her hair was not too long, not too short. Not too straight nor too curly, but what made me adore them that they were so perfectly jet black. The shade was so dark with bright shines creating a great contrast. They were soft and silky. I could tell apart each strand.
Not being able to resist, I pull out my phone to text her. She replies quickly which caused a stupid grin to tug at my lips.
xxx
The doorbell must have a new battery. The sound is harsher than the morning alarm wake-ups in a headache inducing kind of way.
There was a suggestion of movement from beyond the doors.
Answering the door meant having the leave my couch, which had become my favourite place in the entire house.
The doorbell rings again. It is tinny and grating. It demands that I leave my comfortable spot and go to the door.
I glance over at my fire, no longer a timid nascent flame, but roaring as it eats at the logs I poached from the forest.
Then it rings non stop. Someone wants my attention pretty bad.
Accepting defeat I made my way over to the door, nearly pulling it off of it's hinges in attempt to open it to reveal the villain known for interrupting my comfort.
I opened my mouth to yell, curse and scream but it dies on my lips as the pest behind the door turns out to none other than Kurt Weller; my knight in shining armor.
"Hey", he says simply.
He had the kind of face that stopped you in your tracks. I guess he must get used to that, the sudden pause in a person's natural expression when they looked his way followed by overcompensating with a nonchalant gaze and a weak smile. Of course the blush that accompanied it was a dead giveaway.
"Hi" I replied and mentally cursed myself for the sudden shakiness in my voice.
Standing back, I opened the door further for him to come in.
"I hope you don't mind this. I went out for a drive and just decided to stop by" he explains, scratching his ears nervously in the process.
I laugh at little at his nervousness.
"It's no trouble. I was just hanging out on the couch" I say pointing to the couch draped with a thick woolen blanket.
There is something in the way Kurt talks that gives him away, his keenness to seek information. Starting with a little patter to relax Jane and then he's in with the question that's burning his brain.
They sat on that couch talking for hours about everything and nothing at all.
He even joined her to prepare dinner in the kitchen like Oscar did when they were first married. When they were happy.
She quickly pushed the thoughts of Oscar at the back of her mind and focused on the beautiful man in front of her.
"Let me. I'll make you dinner. It's the least I can do for taking up space on your most favourite place in the whole house", he teased lightly.
She laughed but eventually gave up and left him to prepare dinner.
He had very strict orders; under no circumstances, must she come into the kitchen until dinner was served.
Mushroom soup, bitter greens with tomatoes the size of peas, rare roast beef slices as thin as paper, noodles in a green sauce, cheese that melts on your tongue served with sweet blue grapes.
Everything looked amazing and she didn't even know where to start.
"A simple spaghetti would've sufficed. You really didn't have to go through the trouble."
"I wanted to. It's fine" he says pulling out a chair for her to sit in.
She sat and he served her, taking his time not to spill anything.
They ate in a comfortable silence for quite sometime.
"Aren't you married?" She blurted out.
A heavy silence settled over them, thicker then the uneasy tension in the atmosphere.
"Um no. I had a girlfriend, she cheated so that was the end on that" he replied evenly.
She nodded and continued nibbling on her meal until there was nothing.
She offered to wash up and he agreed with little to no hesitation.
Despite all the opportunity that came his way he was a one-woman-man who prized genuineness and thoughtful conversation above lipstick and high-heels. He was handsome alright, but inside he was beautiful.