Poppies and Guilt,
Chapter two - Guilt
Charlie woke up, blinking her eyes. Her room was large, with high windows. A high bed, clean sheets. It was almost luxurious. Glamorous like she had once heard girls say.
It was nothing to her.
Amber and Theresa, had filled her tub. She had taken a bath. Had to wear something she did not want to wear. They had left her alone. Until they hadn't.
Drexel walking in again. Enjoying the face of Miles Matheson when he got his little delivery.
She had been up for 24 hours and her wanting to stay awake did not work anymore. So she had slept, in the bed, missing her weapons beside her. Feeling naked.
Stalking through the room. Drexel. His name was Drexel. Her mind was scraping through the bits of information she had. Drexel. House. Windows. One door. Miles. There was a connection with Miles. A sting for missing him so much, swirling panting inside her chest because he did not know he was here. She was here, isolated. Alone.
Drexel.
'Is is such a beautiful day, don't you think love?'
No answer, he was not getting anything out of her.
He stepped closer. He slowly caressed the bruise, from his hand, on her cheek.
'I'm sorry about that.' His weight pressed against her left breast. She felt trapped.
She tried to get up, but the bruises, exhaustion and thirst made her hiss and without strength. A memory of what they did to her, how they caught her, still lingering inside, still preying on her power to fight back. She clenched her teeth to hush the hiss. Still not wanting him to show anything of her weak spots.
He was not touching her, besides her cheek, but the violotion was there anyway. It was disgusting and overwhelming.
His breathing too close. And for one second she realised with some distance, her mind doing a funny trick on her in total agony and adrenaline, that this is what would have happened if Bass had not gotten her out of that bar. Magnifying what he did for her. What he saved her from.
He was not here.
'Did your momma not tell you to be polite to the people who are nice to you?' His voice had that playful danger in it again, the one that made her almost want to retch.
No answer. Don't answer him.
'Don't worry love, I won't do anything to you yet. I normally don't hit woman.'
He caressed her again, with filthy eyes that raked over her body.
'But here is the thing, love, you are not a woman. Here, you are nothing. Not even Miles' Matheson's whore.'
There, the shift again. His voice cold.
' We are going to make sure you are going to forget who you are, that you exist.'
Charlie eyes were firing at him. Asshole. Rage started to bubble. Think, act, fire, blaze. The words that were there were fuelled by her uncle. By Monroe. By her own strength. Her mantra to kick her way out of this.
'And I don't have to force anything on you, because can't you see love,' he touched her again, her arm, his voice sickening low and like a cat stalking its prey, 'you will beg for it.'
'When your uncle comes for you, and oh love, he will come for you, he will see nothing but a cheap addicted little whore in the corner of the room.'
Charlie watched from the corner of his eyes how there was a syringe in his hand. Fight now. No. She tried to, but he pushed her back.
'Shhh, shhh,' Drexel said, like he was comforting her, ' now you lay still for me, it will all be over soon. I'll check on you later.'
She struggled, tried to grab his face, push him away, grab anything that could be the start of her fighting herself a way out of here.
'We all have our weak spots, and I'll bet we will find yours soon.' His voice cold.
The needle broke through the defence of her skin, as she watched how it disappeared right under the skin of the inside of her elbow, where her upper arm met her lower arm.
Charlie's eyes flew open more wide. Her heart beating faster, as she struggled. Her mind screaming no but at the same time asking for Miles, Bass.
Did she say them out loud?
No.
But then the No turned into a whole lot of perfect soft flowing warmly through her body Yes.
Connor had enough. Enough of his father's incomplete promise that became an invisible chain between both men to talk about, work towards, share a common thing when the years passed had left them with thousands of miles between them. He had enough of feeling uprooted. Enough of people who say one thing, then do another. Emma, Nunez. His dad.
Power, more. It has been a red orange strip on the horizon
You are a Monroe. The Republic should be yours to lead.
Once said in the dusk of a small nobody Town in Mexico.
You are a Monroe. You were destined for this. It's yours.
It had all crashed down that night with the train. Where Tom Neville stoke up the fire of cold hate and anger written deep inside of him. The anger that wanted to deliver blow after blow, the rage that pushed everything else out. Even the people he cared for.
After Neville had taken a turn left on road crazy, Connor had gotten the hell out. Leaving him behind beaten and bloody after a struggle with the older man. There was nowhere for him to besides that one place. That one guy from his past. He had walked, drank, fucked. And he had come here.
Drank and fucked some more. Plenty of girls who were more than willing. A simple line in Spanish, a wink of his eyes. It made him feel like his old self. Problem was, the shimmer had broken off. It did not feel right anymore. He could not care less. Whiskey and fucks made him care less.
He walked into the living room, down the couple of steps to the lower part. There were some weapons on the small table to his right. A gun, a knife. Hands in his pockets he walked towards the coffee table.
'So Connor, amigo,' the darker man said, handing him a glass, 'you enjoying my house again?'
Connor sat down on the couch in the middle of the room. Connor drank from his glass, swallowing the drink, raising the glass to him in a toasting gesture.
'Ah, you know I do.' He smiled his cocky smile.
The other guy smiled.
'You look upbeat today?' Connor said, tasting the drink again.
'Oh, I am expecting an answer to some letters I wrote.' The guy said, with a grin and a crazy turn in his eyes that only lasted a second. He handed Connor the bottle.
The bottle. He remembered. Sometimes little moments seeped through. A dark night, a raid on a camp, fires. His dad handing him the bottle with a proud smile. Son to father. Father to son.
It seeped through. Connor's face changed. It could not seep through. A girl, with a tiny dress walked in. With the girl he walked out. He walked up the three steps in the living room. Swallowing the last of the glass down while he placed the glass down on the small table to his left. And if he had looked to his left again, he would have seen two bracelets he remembered. A weapon belt. It could not seep through. He needed to not feel this. He needed a distraction. The glass left behind on the table, close to the weapon belt.
Bass Monroe looked into fire in front of him. A bottle in hand. A broken promise of a family that just not was supposed to be his. Maybe this was his punishment. For fucking everything. A family. Ripped apart and away from him. Again and again. His son's face in his hands, the fire lighting upthe younger man's eyes and jawlines and the raid behind them. His eyes were still, staring. He sighed, pushed himself up from the place he had burned his time and booze with.
He walked towards Miles and when he walked with that bottle to share with his buddy into his tent, he saw Miles, his large back turned against him so he could not see his brother's eyes. Miles ripped the things on his desk apart.
With one big angry sweep he wiped the desk clean.
This time he could see Miles' eyes. They were filled with anger, despair and the start of tears. The bottle forgotten, the plans for the night forgotten.
Bass' eyes were darker, standing there in boots, two weapons on his belt, his gun strapped against his back and his leather jacket, his face in one torn dark line. His mouth open.
Before he could open his mouth Miles looked at him, with a letter and something that his mind connected to someone fast.
'Drexel has Charlie.'
Thank you all for reading. On the day I published this chapter, Lemon had a fabulous start of a story that circled around Drexel too. I decided to first read hers, enjoy hers, because it was very good, and then come back here. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. More to come soon! Love from Love