Chapter Fourteen:

(2:14 AM)

I wake up in the middle of the night, surrounded all around me by the scent of Jeff. Blinking in the darkness, I realize that I was no longer on the couch where Jeff and I had made love earlier in the day, and that sometime while I slept, he had carried me to our bedroom. Reaching out to the nightstand, I flicked on the bedside lamp, bathing the room in soft yellow light, and climb out of bed, grabbing one of Jeff's T-shirts and shrugging it over my head as I left the room. I can hear music floating from somewhere in the house, but couldn't tell if it was some of Jeff's own music, or another artist that he enjoyed listening to when he had time to himself to think.

I hear the music pause briefly for a moment, then the sounds of Tom Petty's "Learning to Fly" drifting around the house, and I smile softly to myself, knowing exactly where to find my husband. Almost of their own volition, my feet turn and I pad through the house until I see the one closed door. Again, a smile comes to my face, listening to the lilting voice of Tom Petty, and I place my hand on the knob.

The music stopped again, only for a moment, then the opening chords and the drum beat to "American Girl" came blaring out to greet me as I stepped through the door, closing it softly behind me. There sat Jeff in his studio, pencil in hand, eyes closed and his head bobbing to the beat. "How'd you know it was me coming in?" I asked, coming over and wrapping my arms around his neck from behind.

Eyes still closed, he reached for my right hand, clasped it in his, then raised it to his lips and kissed the back of it. "Well for one, we're so in tune that I almost know when you're moving around the place," he said softly, in that drawling, soft-spoken southern accent that never ceased to make me swoon, "and second, the music may be loud, but I could hear you moving around, looking for me."

"Well, you always did like to go paint after having sex," I joke lightly, bringing a small smile to his face.

"That may be true gorgeous, but this time, I actually did some writing when I woke up."

"Oh?" I stepped a little closer, trying to peek over his shoulder. "What were you writing?"

"Just whatever popped into my head. Mostly they were lyrics to a song that I had been tossing around my head the past few days." He opened his emerald eyes, looking down at his notebook. "Wanna see?"

"Sure." He eased his chair back a little, and guided me to sit on his lap, while I looked down at his book. The words were written in his typical style, scribbled quickly and unevenly, so that the words were jotted down before his mind forgot them. That was the beautiful thing about geniuses like Jeff; their minds were so brilliant, so intuitive and creative, that they processed things differently than the rest of us, and so had to always keep something nearby to write on, in case a thought or idea came to them and they wanted to write it down before it escaped their memory. I wasn't nearly as brilliant as he was; I was simply a girl who liked to write, and could sing a little bit, so I was invited to join Peroxwhy?gen while Shannon had still been a member.

Jeff rubbed my shoulders a little while I read the lyrics, stringing them together and singing them a little in my head, occasionally pressing a kiss to one or both of my shoulders while I went over the lyrics again and again. The words seemed familiar to me, the story they told seeming to hit a little too close to home for my liking. The lyrics told the story of a girl who was trying to escape the reality she was in—an abusive relationship, perhaps?—and finding salvation in another life, and was all the happier for it.

I frowned a little, and I was sure Jeff could feel me tense up a little bit. "What's wrong?" he asked, and I slowly got up off of his lap and walked to the door. "Krys?" he inquired, turning around in the seat to face me.

I turned around to face him as well, confusion and just a little bit of anger showing in my face. "Is that song about me?" I demanded. I wasn't sure what to feel about his song, because it struck so close to home. Was it right to feel angry at him, because he was writing about what I had gone through, without talking to me about it? Was I overreacting to the song, finding myself as the woman in Jeff's lyrics, fighting to escape a life that was a living hell, growing more terrified and desperate with every second of every day, because there seemed to be no way out?

For a second, Jeff seemed confused as to what I was talking about. Then, realization dawned, and horror took over his beautiful features. A second later, he was in front of me, taking me in his arms and pulling me as close as possible. "Oh god, Krys, I'm so sorry," he said softly, running a hand through my hair. I know the gesture was meant to comfort me, but a small part of me rose in sudden, unexpected rebellion, believing the gesture to be one of placation. "That wasn't my intention, I didn't want those words to come out like that at all. I was just telling a story that anyone enduring horrors that they shouldn't be could relate to. It was almost like an anthem, Krys; it was a message telling them that they are able to escape, that they're able to get out."

I knew that feeling all too well, continued to live with the memories of what I had endured, and what had been done for me to escape. The feeling of helplessness, of sheer terror as my husband beat me when I disobeyed him, the feeling of dirtiness, of being unclean as he forced himself between my legs to take me when I didn't want him to, the fear of what punishment would befall me if I told him no. There were days when he was good, very good to me, treated me the way he had before his sickness had taken hold of him; those days were enough to make me almost forget the monster that lurked beneath the surface, just waiting and itching and clawing to come out and sink its teeth into me again.

It was nothing I had done to get myself out. All I had done was tell his brother about what had been happening to me. Everything else was all Jeff. Jeff had been my escape.

The doorbell rang, and I slowly made my way downstairs to the front door. I opened the door, and Jeff stood there, hair dyed green, dressed in his Kikwear jeans and mesh shirt.

"Oh—um, hey," I said casually, leaning against the doorway. Little did I know that I looked like a total fool. My guess is that I looked like Big Foot's sister, with skinny legs.

"Uh, hey," Jeff said. "You gonna let me in?"

"Oh, yeah! Come on in." I move aside quickly and let him in. While he sat down, I played with my thumbs nervously. "Um, want anything to drink? Coke, Pepsi, Dr. Pepper…?"

"Got any Mountain Dew?"

"Yeah." I go get him a Mountain Dew, and we sit awkwardly. "Um…"

"Yeah…"

"So…uh, read any good books lately?"

Jeff sighs. "Krys, get to the point. You didn't call me for nothin'. Just tell me."

I take a deep breath. "Okay. You wanna know the truth about your brother?"

Jeff's eyes narrow. "What are you talking about?"

"Jeff, he-he hits me. And he…h-he…r-rapes me." I sigh after I get it out. It wasn't easy. I hope he believes me, I think.

"Are you sure?"

"I think I would know if I were being beaten and raped every few days!" I snap. Then I calm down. "I'm sorry Jeff. It's just that I needed someone to tell. You gotta get me away from him, Jeff."

Jeff looked like he didn't believe me, until I started to cry. He then rushed over and hugged me. "O-okay Krys. Don't cry. You can stay with me. Just don't cry."

This is the first time we've actually bonded like this. A wave of comfort washed over me as Jeff hugged me. I felt my tears silencing and slowing as he shushed my tears away.

I can't describe what came over me next. I slowly pull away from Jeff and look into his green eyes. There's something in his eyes that I've seen before, and it just reminded me of the dark and angry lust in Matt's eyes. Only these eyes were…loving.

Oh my god.

Did Jeff love me?

Matt paced around his living room like a caged animal, dark eyes burning with anger and impatience. I was so fucking close! He raged in his mind, picking up the remote to his nearby television and throwing it across the room, the sound of it shattering into dozens of pieces did little to quell his temper.

"Fucking bitch had to go running to that little shit, thinking he was going to save her from me," he sneered to himself, resuming his pacing. "And Jeff…who the fuck does he think he is, issuing demands to me to stay away from my own fucking wife, like he has some say in what the fuck goes on between us? Oh, you don't get to make that call, little brother. Krys is my wife, no matter what little piece of shit court order says. She's mine, our children are mine, and nothing and no one is going to stand in the way of me getting back what's mine. No, not even you, little brother."

He was sick of waiting for Krys to come to him of her own volition, tired of her waiting to make the decision herself. He knew the time had come for action, time for him to take what belonged to him.

Slowly, a sick smile began to form on his face. The seeds had already been planted, events already set in motion. Jeff was suspended for sixty days from the WWE…and a lot could happen to his baby brother in those sixty days.

A lot of bad things.