"You should probably get some sleep. You gotta work in the morning?" Tommy says, glancing at Gray as he pulls his sweatshirt off. Gray's leaning against the doorframe in front of her bedroom, watching and thinking.
"For a little while. I have to run over to the animal clinic to check on the dogs there. I may have to look after a few of them if they've been dropped off for the day." Gray says. Tommy grunts in acknowledgment, pulling his shirt over his head, folding it immaculately. It's a very practiced motion, indicative of his military background. She wants to ask him about it, but holds her tongue. "If you're not busy, you could come with me."
Tommy looks at her with an unsure expression. "Uh, I've never really been around dogs much."
"That's okay, dogs love good people." Gray says seriously.
"They may not love me then." Tommy mutters. His mouth turns into a hard line as he bends at the waist, but he doesn't groan, even though he's clearly in pain.
"My couch isn't very comfy." Gray says.
"S'okay, Gray."
"Tommy, you're not exactly in tip top shape at the moment." She starts tentatively, biting her lip. "You can…you can sleep in my room."
Tommy's eyes dart up to Gray's and he finally looks at her fully. Her black sleep shorts peek out from beneath her long t-shirt and he struggles to keep his eyes off of her long legs. "You're not sleeping on the couch, Gray. I'm uh, I'm fine. Thank you."
"No, I….I mean you can sleep in my room. With me. Next to me." Gray says. she struggles to keep her voice from shaking. She's slept alone for a long time now.
Tommy's heart jumps and his palms get sweaty. He's not sure what to say; he only knows what he's feeling. He's scared, nervous, apprehensive. Tommy can't guess Gray's emotions. She's always so closed off, always folding in, while he's bleeding out onto the floor, leaving a trail of trauma in his wake. She's shell shocked he thinks. And he understands that too well. But she's so open right now and he wants to lay next to her. Fuck, he just wants to hold her hand. He just wants to be near her.
"You don't have to! It's okay. No worries." Gray says quickly, misinterpreting his silence.
"No, I, uh, I don't want you to be uncomfortable." He says lowly.
"I'm not." Gray says, chewing on her lower lip. She turns around and walks into her bedroom disappearing into the darkness. Tommy watches her and feels his feet start to move forward. When he gets into her room, she's already in bed, rolled onto her side, facing the other side.. Tommy climbs in next to her, feeling like a teenager again, awkward and embarrassed, but as soon as he's laying down next to her comfort washes over him.
He settles down on his back and throws one arm behind his head, exposing inky illustrations. They wind down his arms, onto his chest, and disappear onto his back. Gray reaches out and gently traces the deep black tribal path, unsure where it begins and ends. Tommy watches her, his skin tingling. The streetlight outside casts a soft orange glow through the curtains and it reminds him of the first night they went out together.
"I was 16 when I met him." Gray's voice is quiet. Had Tommy not been watching her intently, he may have missed it.
"Who?" Tommy asks. The room is still and the world is quiet so he speaks quietly too.
"My ex-husband."
"You've been married?"
"Yeah."
They're silent for a moment, listening to each other's breaths. Tommy waits for her to continue.
"He was nice at first. I know everyone says that, but it's true. He was charming in a weird way." Gray continues to gently trace over his tattoo. "He used to tell me he loved me. No matter what happened, no matter what he did, he always said that he loved me. Even when they were wheeling me into the hospital...he kept saying the words. And I just wanted it to stop. Those words were so empty and dishonest."
Tommy swallows hard, holding his breath. Something is building up inside him. "Gray…what happened to you?" She's silent for a few moments and he thinks maybe he's crossed a line. But then-
"Textbook abuse. I thought I was in love, got married when I was 19, fucked up." Her voice is steady, but her eyes glisten. "It started small. He'd get mad over little things and we wouldn't talk. Then he'd belittle me in front of our friends and family. He started calling me horrible names...and then he hit me. It was 3 months into our marriage and I was stupid enough to stay with him another 6. I thought it was all my fault and that if I tried hard enough, I could fix it."
Tommy's anger bubbles and boils beneath his skin. He takes her slender hand from his shoulder and holds it tightly in his own. He wants to tell her it's okay; it's not your fault. It was never ever your fault. But he's afraid that if she stops she may never speak again.
"He was good at hiding it. And he was good at making me feel responsible for our problems. Everyone thought he was so good and then I'd see it again. I'd remember how good he'd been so sweet to me when we'd first met and I'd tell myself it wouldn't happen again." Gray squeezes Tommy's hand so tightly she loses feeling in her fingers. "It got worse. I couldn't hide it anymore. I cried constantly. I was sick all the time. My hair started to fall out. That's when he stopped letting me leave the house." Gray looks up into Tommy's eyes. They're a stormy blue that's almost black in the darkness..
"The last time I saw him was when they closed the emergency room doors. I'd tried to leave him and go to my parents for help. He broke my collarbone, my pelvic bone and fractured my skull. I had a concussion. I was in the hospital for a few weeks so they could keep an eye on me. He tried to visit me repeatedly. He was always so jealous of everything and everyone." Gray's eyes are glazed over, her mind immersed in the past as she finishes her story. "When I was ready I spoke to the police. I divorced him. He's in prison now." Her words turn angry. "But he was still fucking me over. I was afraid to leave my house. I was terrified he'd escape and find me somehow. I couldn't be around people who knew what had happened. The way they looked at me like a broken object instead of a woman...I couldn't stay in that town. I couldn't keep looking at my own blood stains in the carpet. So, I moved here. I left that place and I haven't gone back since…When I met you, you asked why I chose MMA. That's why, Tommy. I promised myself I'd never let another person hurt me like that ever again."
Tommy's brow is furrowed and his jaw works as he digests what she's just told him. He wants to track this guy down. He wants to hurt him-badly. But he knows it's not what Gray needs and he knows it won't erase the past. Tommy brings their intertwined fingers to his mouth and presses a kiss to each of Gray's bruised knuckles. "No one's ever going to hurt you again." It's the only thing he knows to say or do. "Ever." Gray nods, looking at their hands and she believes him. Tommy's lips are gentle and soft. She's suddenly exhausted and Tommy is warm and safe and good. She realizes that it's the first time someone's done something like that and she hasn't flinched.
Gray sighs and snuggles down under the blankets, dried tears on her cheeks, her body heavy with a deep need for sleep. Gray falls asleep against Tommy's strong shoulder, their hands still interlocked and resting on his stomach. Tommy closes his eyes and pretends the past never happened. He tries to forget everything outside himself and Gray. If he lets it in, he'll implode. Gray smells like a mixture of earthy perfume oils and sterile chemicals from the animal clinic and it's oddly comforting. Their relationship is evolving, changing and shifting into something different, something more. Sleep comes for Tommy with a vengeance as he dreams of broken bones and poisoned blood.
"Okay, so this one is Forrest, he's a greyhound." Gray says, pointing to one of the dogs. "That one is Leo, he's a German Shephard. The smaller one is Bobby. He's a sweet little beagle. The black lab is Max. And this big guy is Reggie. He's a Pit Bull and Boxer mix." Gray's smiles and it's bright and affectionate as she bends down to let Reggie sniff her and lick her cheek.
Tommy's standing to the side, watching Gray greet all the dogs at the doggie daycare center. He can't help but smile seeing her like this. She's at ease, calm and happy. When she moves away to tend to the other dogs Reggie ambles towards Tommy, sitting right at his feet and staring upwards at him. Reggie's mouth hangs open in that signature pitbull smile, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. "What're you looking at?" Tommy says, but he drops down to a crouch where Reggie can smell him. He chuckles as the dog circles him then climbs onto Tommy's knees to lick his face. He's never had a dog and he suddenly finds himself wishing that he did. Reggie doesn't look at Tommy warily; he isn't intimidated or judgmental. Reggie is full of never ending unconditional love. Pure and forgiving.
"It's hard to find homes for his kind of dog." Gray sighs, crouching down next to him. Tommy runs his fingers through Reggie's fur and touches noses with him.
"Doesn't he have a home?"
"Nope. He's in foster care." Gray frowns and scratches Reggie behind the ears. "Pit Bulls get a bad wrap. They look intimidating and have a reputation for violence, but in reality they're the sweetest dog a person could own. They're fiercely protective and loyal. And loving. They're very loving." Tommy nods his head, watching as Reggie trots away to eat with the others. "Kinda like you."
Gray bumps his shoulder then swiftly kisses his cheek, catching him off guard.
Tommy sleeps alone that night in his own apartment. The bed feels expansive and empty and his mind turns to Gray. He closes his eyes and thinks of her smile and the sound of her laugh. He remembers the softness of her skin and the miserable face she made when she cried. He swallows hard and his mind sticks on the thought of her bleeding on the floor, a shadowy, unfamiliar figure standing over her. Tommy is all too familiar with that scenario and the thought of it fills his blood with hot, sickening fury.
Before he goes to sleep, Tommy climbs out of bed and heads for the kitchen. 5 minutes later he's pouring all the alcohol in his house down the kitchen drain. "I'm not turning into you, old man." He says aloud. Then he pitches the bottles and goes back to bed.