Title Pending by Jess
Author's Notes: Thank you for all of the reviews. I'm happy you're all enjoying this ongoing story... Sorry it's taking such a long time. About five or six more chapters to go!
Is Brass captain or sheriff? I'm not sure. Today, he's captain. :) I'm too much of a loser to check the website.
SECOND Author's Notes: I decided that I didn't like how it ended the first time I posted this chapter, with Lindsey and Emily, so I took out that last part. Now I'm happy. :)
Disclaimer: My "created people" list has expanded and I'm not going to list them but they do belong to me. All the other people -like the ones you see on TV :)- do not belong to me.
Rating: This chapter is a definite R for strong language and violence and sexual content. R! Don't yell at me for the content; I'm warning you. R!
Archive: Please don't.
Feedback: I would love to hear what you think.
CHAPTER TWENTY: A Reason To Leave
The woman at the desk had shared with Emily his room number. She had winked at her, which Emily was certain they weren't supposed to do, but she understood the action. He was a handsome man and had been the only thing she had seen for years. But then her eyes had trained on something else and she slipped away.
She couldn't understand why she was standing in front of his door, ready to enter his private domain. It would be out of the public eye, in his private domain, where she would be subject to whatever he desired, as she had been for months in her past. She took a step away. No one knew where she was. She had been trained of safety in her college courses; her professors and visiting speakers had stressed the importance of knowing where your partners were. She backed away from the door and turned the corner. She pulled her cell phone out and dialed the first number that came to mind.
"Stokes."
"Hey, Nick, it's Emily."
"What's up?"
"I'm at Matt's hotel and-"
"Emily!" His surprise and disappointment were clear. She paused and waited for a berating. When he spoke again his words were tentative. "I don't like that guy, Emily. I have a bad feeling about him."
She nodded and refrained from agreeing verbally. "I need to talk to him. But could you call me back in twenty minutes?"
"Why?" he asked. "I mean, I will, but I'd like to know why."
"I just need..."
"A reason to leave."
She sighed and rested her forehead against the wall. "Yeah."
"Okay," he said. "Twenty minutes."
She smiled. "Thank you." The phone conversation ended and Emily put the phone back into her pocket. Twenty minutes. That was enough time for him to become enraged. It was enough time for her to be placed in a bad situation. Maybe ten minutes would've been sufficient. She sighed and walked up to his door again. She knew how to take care of herself.
Her knock was timid and when she saw his face on the other side of the door, she knew he knew the same. He wore a white wife beater, his dress slacks from earlier, and his shoes. He grinned broadly and swept his arm back. "Come on in, Em."
She took a few steps forward. The blinds were drawn and no lights were on. Liquor bottles from the mini bar were scattered around the room. The solitary bed had been worn in; the comforter was on the floor, the sheets were tangled. Emily ran her tongue over her teeth and commented, "I see you had some company."
"Don't be bitter," he admonished, closing the door. "There was no one here. I couldn't sleep."
"Liar," she condemned, leaning against the dresser. "You never tossed and turned."
"How do you know?"
Her arms entwined against her chest and she observed him warily across the room. "Did you forget all that time we spent together? I was there when you fell asleep plenty of times." She stood and yanked open the drapes. Her action evoked a sharp hiss from him. She turned to see him shield his eyes. "You're a sound sleeper."
"I don't want you here to talk about my sleeping habits," he grumbled, dropping to the bed.
"Then why am I here?"
"I want you back."
"You can't have me."
"Sure I can."
She sighed and sat in one of the chairs by the table. She cradled her head in her hands and mumbled toward the ground, "No, you can't."
"Why the hell not?" he exclaimed. He propped himself up with his elbows and frowned at her. "If you remember correctly, I never really let you go."
"No, you strung me along," she snapped, looking up at him. "I'm not a toy, Matt. You can't play with me and leave me behind. And I refuse to be your latest bitch."
"You already are a bitch," he pointed out. She glared at him but didn't speak. He shrugged. "You know that Nick guy's not your type."
"You don't know my type."
"I'm your type."
"No."
"Yes."
"Which you are you talking about? The well-bred, snotty prick or the abusive, self-righteous jackass? I'm confused."
"Touché," he muttered.
"It's true." Her feeble voice did little to comfort her. Silence fell over the two rigid young adults. Two minutes passed without a word.
"You're late."
"Good observation."
He scowled and sat up straight. "Why?"
"I wasn't done."
"Done with what? Work or fucking Nick?" His eyes pierced her, trying to find a weakness.
She shook her head. "I'm not... with Nick."
He smiled. He had found a spot he could strike. "You're lying." He stood up and walked closer to her. "Does he know?"
"Know what?" she asked, eyeing him suspiciously.
He stopped a foot before her. "Does he know about us?"
She glared at him and leaned back against the chair, attempting to get away from him. "There isn't an 'us.'"
He squatted down and reached forward, resting his hand on the chair. "Does he know how you cried after-"
"Don't." Her demand was soft but firm.
Matt pushed himself up so he was leaning over her, his hands on the arms of the chair. He searched her face, but her eyes avoided his. "Do you still cry?"
Her hand flew up sharply, catching him off guard, and she struck his cheek. He grabbed her hand and pulled her up. She snapped against his chest and he shoved her against the wall, just a few feet away. Her head hit the back of the wall and she screamed. He came up in front of her and grabbed her wrists with his left hand so she couldn't hit. His right hand positioned itself around her slender neck.
"Look at me."
She ignored his demand. His hand pressed against her throat and she gasped. "Fucking look at me."
Her eyes rose to his. His hand loosened. He scowled at her and hissed, "Don't ever fucking hit me again."
She narrowed her eyes at him and whispered, "I won't have the opportunity." He released her neck and she pulled her hands from his grasp. She rubbed her neck and sucked in deep breaths. She closed her eyes and rubbed her neck.
She heard his hand before she felt it against her skin. Tension and anger filled the air and it was quickly sliced with a swift cut of his arm. Her head snapped against the wall again and she slid against it to crumple on the floor. She felt her shirt roll up as she fell. Memories quickly covered her body but did little to protect her. She attempted to bring her legs up to her chest, protect her torso, but his foot was too quick. The toe of his shoe connected with her abdomen four times and surely would have continued if her phone hadn't rung.
"Ignore it!" he demanded.
"I need to answer," she objected, not daring to look at him.
"Don't."
"It's my boss!" she exclaimed. She pushed herself to her knees and looked at his legs. "If I don't answer, they'll get suspicious."
"They don't know where you are."
"Nick does," she pointed out. "He was there this morning."
Matt folded his arms over his chest. "Fine."
Emily reached for her back pocket and removed her phone. "Hello?"
The consoling sound of Nick's Southern accent rang in her ears. "Emily, are you okay?"
"Who is it?" Matt demanded.
"It's Brass," she barked at him.
"Who the hell is that?"
"The captain," she groaned.
"Of what?" he laughed. "A ship?"
"The police department," she groaned. "Yeah," she spoke into the phone.
"You don't sound okay," Nick replied, his worry seeping through his voice.
She stood and closed her eyes as nausea overcame her. "I closed that case this morning, Brass. What do you mean it's not done?" Matt watched her with wary eyes. Her eyes slowly opened and she nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll be there in ten minutes." She edged toward the door and said, "Can we finish this at the station?"
Matt followed her toward the door. "Emily..."
"Hold on a second, Brass," she said. She covered the mouthpiece and rested her shaking hand on the door handle. She gave him an even stare and stated, "Stay away from me, Matt. Go back to Princeton." He didn't speak, he didn't move, he didn't object to her leaving. She pulled open the door, never taking her eyes off him, and slipped out of the room.
In the hallway, she ran to the elevator as fast as she could in her condition. She punched the bottom for the lobby six times. As soon as the doors shut, she slumped against the wall and let out a shuddering breath. "God."
"Emily? Emily, say something. Emily, are you okay?"
Nick's voice brought her out of her misery. She nodded and whispered, "I'm fine. I'm in the elevator."
"Alone?"
"Yeah. Alone."
"What's wrong? Did he hurt you? Shit, I knew I should've called after two minutes."
Emily frowned. "How long did you wait to call?"
"Seven minutes."
She smiled and pressed the button again, willing the elevator to operate at the speed of light. "Thank you."
"You're welcome, kid."
"I'll let you go. I'm okay, I promise."
"All right. I'll see you tonight?"
"Absolutely."
They both hung up. Emily slipped the phone back into her pocket and swiftly exited the hotel. A few people stared at her, but she didn't see them. She made it to her car safely and turned it on. A headache was forming, she could feel it in her temple, and she reached for the glove compartment. She sighed. The bottle of Aleve was empty.
She drove out of the parking lot. She knew where to go and didn't think twice about it. She pulled into the driveway and parked next to the Tahoe. Just before she got out of the car, she caught her reflection in the rearview mirror. She gasped and stared at herself. A jagged cut graced her cheek along with a bruise. She knew she had felt something metal and cold against her skin. She licked her fingers and rubbed at it, grimacing as the blood washed onto her hands.
Feeling that her quick clean up was enough, she got out of the car and gingerly walked to the front door. She knocked on the door and waited. A few moments later, she heard a high giggle and a yell. The door opened to reveal a small, blonde haired girl.
"Can I help you?"
"Hi, is your mommy here?" Emily asked softly, smiling gently.
"Mommy, it's for you!" the little girl yelled, looking suspiciously at Emily's cheek and then at her shirt. She asked softly, "Why are you bleeding?" Emily frowned and looked down at her white tank top. Sure enough, blood and dirt marked her abdomen.
"Linds, did you ask who it-" The voice ceased as Catherine appeared around the corner. She took one look at Emily and cursed under her breath. "Lindsey, can you go play in your room for a minute?"
"Outside?"
"Sure. Stay in the backyard," Catherine nodded. Lindsey ran away and Catherine came forward. Catherine reached forward and pulled Emily inside. "Lemme guess. Matt Stillman."
"Nick told you?" Emily asked softly.
"Yeah, he told me," she replied. She shut the door and led her inside. "He was worried about you. Let's get you cleaned up." She led her through the master bedroom to the bathroom. She took a washcloth and handed it to Emily. Emily slowly ran it under water.
"Catherine, I'm sorry. I didn't know where-"
"No apologies," the older woman said, holding up a hand. "I'm glad you came to me." She took a larger towel and said, "Do you want to take a shower?" Emily hesitated and then nodded. Catherine smiled. "Everything you need's in there. I'll set out some clothes for you. We're about the same size," she smiled. She rested the dark red towel on the counter and approached Emily. She reached out and touched her jaw, turning her head. "Anywhere else?"
Emily pointed to her stomach. "He kicked me."
Catherine looked down and nodded. "I can see. How many times?"
"Four." Catherine shook her head and stared at the dirty white fabric. "Nick called me and he stopped."
"Nice move," the older woman approved. "A reason to leave."
Emily gave her a quick look. She shook her head. "I planned that part out from experience." She pulled her tank top over her head and looked down at her stomach. Catherine sucked in a breath. Heavy bruising marred her pale skin. The blood was drying to a dark brown but some of it still oozed from the cuts.
Catherine pointed, almost touching the delicate skin. "Those aren't from today."
Emily looked down at the offending spot. Numerous thin white lines, the largest two being about three inches long, rested on the right side of her rib cage. "No they're not."
She pursed her lips in response and rubbed Emily's shoulder. "I'll make you something to eat."
"I'm not hungry, Catherine, but thank you."
"Please, I'm in Mom mode. At least have some soup."
Emily smiled. "Sure."
"We've got chicken and stars."
"Sounds perfect."
Emily took a hot shower, not putting the water on full force and not facing the stream of water. She scrapes on her back from the wall were nothing compared to the wounds on her stomach. She gently washed the blood down the drain. She scrubbed the demons and ghosts away. When her skin turned pink, she was satisfied with her scouring.
Catherine had laid out a pair of sweat pants and a tank top. Emily changed quickly and brushed her hair with Catherine's brush. She rubbed her hair with the towel and hung it over the shower door to dry. When she emerged from the bedroom, she smelled soup and heard Lindsey talking in the kitchen.
She walked in and Lindsey looked up. She was sitting at the kitchen table, holding a Barbie doll and a GI Joe. Emily smiled at the little girl. "Hi, Lindsey. I'm Emily."
"Hi." Lindsey scrunched up her nose. "You have a pretty name."
"Thank you," Emily grinned.
"Emily, the soup's almost ready. Come with me," Catherine said. Emily watched Catherine walk toward her. "Linds, baby, can you watch the pot? Don't touch it. If the water starts to go over the edge, yell for me, okay?"
"Okay, Mommy."
Emily followed Catherine into her bedroom again. Catherine removed a first aid kit from under the sink and said, "Let me see your stomach." Emily rolled up her shirt and watched as Catherine cleaned the cuts with peroxide. She said with a smile, "The good thing about being a mom is learning how to do it without making it hurt." Emily smiled weakly. Catherine applied Neosporin and bandages. She was looking at the cut on her cheek when the doorbell rang. "Shit, I forgot."
"Forgot what?" Emily asked as her companion headed toward the door.
"Warrick's coming over for lunch." Emily groaned to herself. She stepped into the bedroom. She heard Lindsey answer the door and Warrick's deep laugh. Catherine admonished Lindsey again but Lindsey was too busy chattering away to Warrick. Catherine told Lindsey to check on the soup. Suddenly, the voices were too low to eavesdrop on and Emily slipped into the bathroom again. She leaned against the counter and picked up a mirror. She held the mirror up and looked into it, reflecting it against the wall mirror behind her. She moved her hair around in order to see the damage Matt had inflicted upon her skull.
"Emily?" Catherine said softly from the doorway. Emily lowered the mirror. "Warrick's here. He knows you're here; I didn't tell him why. Do you want him to stay out there with Lindsey?"
"No, it's okay." Catherine disappeared and returned a few moments later with Warrick behind her. He took one look at Emily and cringed visibly. She sighed. "Hey, Warrick."
"Hey, Em." The two entered the room and Catherine resumed her task of dressing the cuts. Emily's eyes shifted between her and Warrick. Warrick leaned against the opposite counter and just observed. Finally, he asked, "What happened?"
Emily explained carefully, as to not mess up Catherine's procedure. "My old boyfriend's in town. I went to see him and he... hit me." Warrick glared at her stomach. Catherine pressed a butterfly bandage on her cheek.
"Mommy!"
"Warrick, can you go get the soup off the stove?" Catherine questioned. Warrick nodded and left. Catherine looked in Emily's eyes and asked gently, "Anywhere else?"
"My head hit the wall, but I don't think anything's cut."
Catherine motioned for her to turn around. She pushed Emily's hair around and quickly found the bruised part of her skull. She inspected it and, after finding only dark contusions, said, "Lucky you, no blood."
"Yeah. Lucky me."
Catherine sighed and dropped her hands. She put the things away and asked, "What were you doing, going there all by yourself?"
"I was thinking I had to end it," Emily said. She turned to face Catherine again. She rolled down her shirt. "It had to be over."
"Did he not get the message the first time?" Catherine asked, leading Emily out.
"I just left," she replied. "He was in New Jersey and I didn't tell him about my internship. I just... left. Called his voicemail, told him I was leaving, and left."
Lindsey was already at the table. Warrick had already poured four bowls of soup and was now making three iced teas and a glass of milk. Lindsey was talking in her high voice about her spring break and how she liked being at home. Warrick looked up at smiled at the two women. Catherine walked by and squeezed his arm. She took two bowls and carried them to the table. Emily took the other two. Catherine said, winking at Warrick, "What you need is a nice guy."
"I'm not a nice guy. I'm a tough guy," Warrick objected.
Lindsey put in, "I think you're nice."
"I think you're nice, too, sweetie," Warrick smiled. He handed her a glass and ruffled her hair.
Emily eased into a chair and said, "I have a nice guy." She looked up at Catherine with a scared expression and asked, "What am I going to tell Greg?"
Another long chapter! Well, sorry about the serious subject matter. It was a needed addition. Okay, so maybe there are three couples in this series now. Holy cow, what did I do... :)
Fall break ends today and I go back to school tomorrow. I can't do five chapters in a week and a half again until winter break and I'm hoping this story won't go on that long! :) I'll try to update soon.
Author's Notes: Thank you for all of the reviews. I'm happy you're all enjoying this ongoing story... Sorry it's taking such a long time. About five or six more chapters to go!
Is Brass captain or sheriff? I'm not sure. Today, he's captain. :) I'm too much of a loser to check the website.
SECOND Author's Notes: I decided that I didn't like how it ended the first time I posted this chapter, with Lindsey and Emily, so I took out that last part. Now I'm happy. :)
Disclaimer: My "created people" list has expanded and I'm not going to list them but they do belong to me. All the other people -like the ones you see on TV :)- do not belong to me.
Rating: This chapter is a definite R for strong language and violence and sexual content. R! Don't yell at me for the content; I'm warning you. R!
Archive: Please don't.
Feedback: I would love to hear what you think.
CHAPTER TWENTY: A Reason To Leave
The woman at the desk had shared with Emily his room number. She had winked at her, which Emily was certain they weren't supposed to do, but she understood the action. He was a handsome man and had been the only thing she had seen for years. But then her eyes had trained on something else and she slipped away.
She couldn't understand why she was standing in front of his door, ready to enter his private domain. It would be out of the public eye, in his private domain, where she would be subject to whatever he desired, as she had been for months in her past. She took a step away. No one knew where she was. She had been trained of safety in her college courses; her professors and visiting speakers had stressed the importance of knowing where your partners were. She backed away from the door and turned the corner. She pulled her cell phone out and dialed the first number that came to mind.
"Stokes."
"Hey, Nick, it's Emily."
"What's up?"
"I'm at Matt's hotel and-"
"Emily!" His surprise and disappointment were clear. She paused and waited for a berating. When he spoke again his words were tentative. "I don't like that guy, Emily. I have a bad feeling about him."
She nodded and refrained from agreeing verbally. "I need to talk to him. But could you call me back in twenty minutes?"
"Why?" he asked. "I mean, I will, but I'd like to know why."
"I just need..."
"A reason to leave."
She sighed and rested her forehead against the wall. "Yeah."
"Okay," he said. "Twenty minutes."
She smiled. "Thank you." The phone conversation ended and Emily put the phone back into her pocket. Twenty minutes. That was enough time for him to become enraged. It was enough time for her to be placed in a bad situation. Maybe ten minutes would've been sufficient. She sighed and walked up to his door again. She knew how to take care of herself.
Her knock was timid and when she saw his face on the other side of the door, she knew he knew the same. He wore a white wife beater, his dress slacks from earlier, and his shoes. He grinned broadly and swept his arm back. "Come on in, Em."
She took a few steps forward. The blinds were drawn and no lights were on. Liquor bottles from the mini bar were scattered around the room. The solitary bed had been worn in; the comforter was on the floor, the sheets were tangled. Emily ran her tongue over her teeth and commented, "I see you had some company."
"Don't be bitter," he admonished, closing the door. "There was no one here. I couldn't sleep."
"Liar," she condemned, leaning against the dresser. "You never tossed and turned."
"How do you know?"
Her arms entwined against her chest and she observed him warily across the room. "Did you forget all that time we spent together? I was there when you fell asleep plenty of times." She stood and yanked open the drapes. Her action evoked a sharp hiss from him. She turned to see him shield his eyes. "You're a sound sleeper."
"I don't want you here to talk about my sleeping habits," he grumbled, dropping to the bed.
"Then why am I here?"
"I want you back."
"You can't have me."
"Sure I can."
She sighed and sat in one of the chairs by the table. She cradled her head in her hands and mumbled toward the ground, "No, you can't."
"Why the hell not?" he exclaimed. He propped himself up with his elbows and frowned at her. "If you remember correctly, I never really let you go."
"No, you strung me along," she snapped, looking up at him. "I'm not a toy, Matt. You can't play with me and leave me behind. And I refuse to be your latest bitch."
"You already are a bitch," he pointed out. She glared at him but didn't speak. He shrugged. "You know that Nick guy's not your type."
"You don't know my type."
"I'm your type."
"No."
"Yes."
"Which you are you talking about? The well-bred, snotty prick or the abusive, self-righteous jackass? I'm confused."
"Touché," he muttered.
"It's true." Her feeble voice did little to comfort her. Silence fell over the two rigid young adults. Two minutes passed without a word.
"You're late."
"Good observation."
He scowled and sat up straight. "Why?"
"I wasn't done."
"Done with what? Work or fucking Nick?" His eyes pierced her, trying to find a weakness.
She shook her head. "I'm not... with Nick."
He smiled. He had found a spot he could strike. "You're lying." He stood up and walked closer to her. "Does he know?"
"Know what?" she asked, eyeing him suspiciously.
He stopped a foot before her. "Does he know about us?"
She glared at him and leaned back against the chair, attempting to get away from him. "There isn't an 'us.'"
He squatted down and reached forward, resting his hand on the chair. "Does he know how you cried after-"
"Don't." Her demand was soft but firm.
Matt pushed himself up so he was leaning over her, his hands on the arms of the chair. He searched her face, but her eyes avoided his. "Do you still cry?"
Her hand flew up sharply, catching him off guard, and she struck his cheek. He grabbed her hand and pulled her up. She snapped against his chest and he shoved her against the wall, just a few feet away. Her head hit the back of the wall and she screamed. He came up in front of her and grabbed her wrists with his left hand so she couldn't hit. His right hand positioned itself around her slender neck.
"Look at me."
She ignored his demand. His hand pressed against her throat and she gasped. "Fucking look at me."
Her eyes rose to his. His hand loosened. He scowled at her and hissed, "Don't ever fucking hit me again."
She narrowed her eyes at him and whispered, "I won't have the opportunity." He released her neck and she pulled her hands from his grasp. She rubbed her neck and sucked in deep breaths. She closed her eyes and rubbed her neck.
She heard his hand before she felt it against her skin. Tension and anger filled the air and it was quickly sliced with a swift cut of his arm. Her head snapped against the wall again and she slid against it to crumple on the floor. She felt her shirt roll up as she fell. Memories quickly covered her body but did little to protect her. She attempted to bring her legs up to her chest, protect her torso, but his foot was too quick. The toe of his shoe connected with her abdomen four times and surely would have continued if her phone hadn't rung.
"Ignore it!" he demanded.
"I need to answer," she objected, not daring to look at him.
"Don't."
"It's my boss!" she exclaimed. She pushed herself to her knees and looked at his legs. "If I don't answer, they'll get suspicious."
"They don't know where you are."
"Nick does," she pointed out. "He was there this morning."
Matt folded his arms over his chest. "Fine."
Emily reached for her back pocket and removed her phone. "Hello?"
The consoling sound of Nick's Southern accent rang in her ears. "Emily, are you okay?"
"Who is it?" Matt demanded.
"It's Brass," she barked at him.
"Who the hell is that?"
"The captain," she groaned.
"Of what?" he laughed. "A ship?"
"The police department," she groaned. "Yeah," she spoke into the phone.
"You don't sound okay," Nick replied, his worry seeping through his voice.
She stood and closed her eyes as nausea overcame her. "I closed that case this morning, Brass. What do you mean it's not done?" Matt watched her with wary eyes. Her eyes slowly opened and she nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll be there in ten minutes." She edged toward the door and said, "Can we finish this at the station?"
Matt followed her toward the door. "Emily..."
"Hold on a second, Brass," she said. She covered the mouthpiece and rested her shaking hand on the door handle. She gave him an even stare and stated, "Stay away from me, Matt. Go back to Princeton." He didn't speak, he didn't move, he didn't object to her leaving. She pulled open the door, never taking her eyes off him, and slipped out of the room.
In the hallway, she ran to the elevator as fast as she could in her condition. She punched the bottom for the lobby six times. As soon as the doors shut, she slumped against the wall and let out a shuddering breath. "God."
"Emily? Emily, say something. Emily, are you okay?"
Nick's voice brought her out of her misery. She nodded and whispered, "I'm fine. I'm in the elevator."
"Alone?"
"Yeah. Alone."
"What's wrong? Did he hurt you? Shit, I knew I should've called after two minutes."
Emily frowned. "How long did you wait to call?"
"Seven minutes."
She smiled and pressed the button again, willing the elevator to operate at the speed of light. "Thank you."
"You're welcome, kid."
"I'll let you go. I'm okay, I promise."
"All right. I'll see you tonight?"
"Absolutely."
They both hung up. Emily slipped the phone back into her pocket and swiftly exited the hotel. A few people stared at her, but she didn't see them. She made it to her car safely and turned it on. A headache was forming, she could feel it in her temple, and she reached for the glove compartment. She sighed. The bottle of Aleve was empty.
She drove out of the parking lot. She knew where to go and didn't think twice about it. She pulled into the driveway and parked next to the Tahoe. Just before she got out of the car, she caught her reflection in the rearview mirror. She gasped and stared at herself. A jagged cut graced her cheek along with a bruise. She knew she had felt something metal and cold against her skin. She licked her fingers and rubbed at it, grimacing as the blood washed onto her hands.
Feeling that her quick clean up was enough, she got out of the car and gingerly walked to the front door. She knocked on the door and waited. A few moments later, she heard a high giggle and a yell. The door opened to reveal a small, blonde haired girl.
"Can I help you?"
"Hi, is your mommy here?" Emily asked softly, smiling gently.
"Mommy, it's for you!" the little girl yelled, looking suspiciously at Emily's cheek and then at her shirt. She asked softly, "Why are you bleeding?" Emily frowned and looked down at her white tank top. Sure enough, blood and dirt marked her abdomen.
"Linds, did you ask who it-" The voice ceased as Catherine appeared around the corner. She took one look at Emily and cursed under her breath. "Lindsey, can you go play in your room for a minute?"
"Outside?"
"Sure. Stay in the backyard," Catherine nodded. Lindsey ran away and Catherine came forward. Catherine reached forward and pulled Emily inside. "Lemme guess. Matt Stillman."
"Nick told you?" Emily asked softly.
"Yeah, he told me," she replied. She shut the door and led her inside. "He was worried about you. Let's get you cleaned up." She led her through the master bedroom to the bathroom. She took a washcloth and handed it to Emily. Emily slowly ran it under water.
"Catherine, I'm sorry. I didn't know where-"
"No apologies," the older woman said, holding up a hand. "I'm glad you came to me." She took a larger towel and said, "Do you want to take a shower?" Emily hesitated and then nodded. Catherine smiled. "Everything you need's in there. I'll set out some clothes for you. We're about the same size," she smiled. She rested the dark red towel on the counter and approached Emily. She reached out and touched her jaw, turning her head. "Anywhere else?"
Emily pointed to her stomach. "He kicked me."
Catherine looked down and nodded. "I can see. How many times?"
"Four." Catherine shook her head and stared at the dirty white fabric. "Nick called me and he stopped."
"Nice move," the older woman approved. "A reason to leave."
Emily gave her a quick look. She shook her head. "I planned that part out from experience." She pulled her tank top over her head and looked down at her stomach. Catherine sucked in a breath. Heavy bruising marred her pale skin. The blood was drying to a dark brown but some of it still oozed from the cuts.
Catherine pointed, almost touching the delicate skin. "Those aren't from today."
Emily looked down at the offending spot. Numerous thin white lines, the largest two being about three inches long, rested on the right side of her rib cage. "No they're not."
She pursed her lips in response and rubbed Emily's shoulder. "I'll make you something to eat."
"I'm not hungry, Catherine, but thank you."
"Please, I'm in Mom mode. At least have some soup."
Emily smiled. "Sure."
"We've got chicken and stars."
"Sounds perfect."
Emily took a hot shower, not putting the water on full force and not facing the stream of water. She scrapes on her back from the wall were nothing compared to the wounds on her stomach. She gently washed the blood down the drain. She scrubbed the demons and ghosts away. When her skin turned pink, she was satisfied with her scouring.
Catherine had laid out a pair of sweat pants and a tank top. Emily changed quickly and brushed her hair with Catherine's brush. She rubbed her hair with the towel and hung it over the shower door to dry. When she emerged from the bedroom, she smelled soup and heard Lindsey talking in the kitchen.
She walked in and Lindsey looked up. She was sitting at the kitchen table, holding a Barbie doll and a GI Joe. Emily smiled at the little girl. "Hi, Lindsey. I'm Emily."
"Hi." Lindsey scrunched up her nose. "You have a pretty name."
"Thank you," Emily grinned.
"Emily, the soup's almost ready. Come with me," Catherine said. Emily watched Catherine walk toward her. "Linds, baby, can you watch the pot? Don't touch it. If the water starts to go over the edge, yell for me, okay?"
"Okay, Mommy."
Emily followed Catherine into her bedroom again. Catherine removed a first aid kit from under the sink and said, "Let me see your stomach." Emily rolled up her shirt and watched as Catherine cleaned the cuts with peroxide. She said with a smile, "The good thing about being a mom is learning how to do it without making it hurt." Emily smiled weakly. Catherine applied Neosporin and bandages. She was looking at the cut on her cheek when the doorbell rang. "Shit, I forgot."
"Forgot what?" Emily asked as her companion headed toward the door.
"Warrick's coming over for lunch." Emily groaned to herself. She stepped into the bedroom. She heard Lindsey answer the door and Warrick's deep laugh. Catherine admonished Lindsey again but Lindsey was too busy chattering away to Warrick. Catherine told Lindsey to check on the soup. Suddenly, the voices were too low to eavesdrop on and Emily slipped into the bathroom again. She leaned against the counter and picked up a mirror. She held the mirror up and looked into it, reflecting it against the wall mirror behind her. She moved her hair around in order to see the damage Matt had inflicted upon her skull.
"Emily?" Catherine said softly from the doorway. Emily lowered the mirror. "Warrick's here. He knows you're here; I didn't tell him why. Do you want him to stay out there with Lindsey?"
"No, it's okay." Catherine disappeared and returned a few moments later with Warrick behind her. He took one look at Emily and cringed visibly. She sighed. "Hey, Warrick."
"Hey, Em." The two entered the room and Catherine resumed her task of dressing the cuts. Emily's eyes shifted between her and Warrick. Warrick leaned against the opposite counter and just observed. Finally, he asked, "What happened?"
Emily explained carefully, as to not mess up Catherine's procedure. "My old boyfriend's in town. I went to see him and he... hit me." Warrick glared at her stomach. Catherine pressed a butterfly bandage on her cheek.
"Mommy!"
"Warrick, can you go get the soup off the stove?" Catherine questioned. Warrick nodded and left. Catherine looked in Emily's eyes and asked gently, "Anywhere else?"
"My head hit the wall, but I don't think anything's cut."
Catherine motioned for her to turn around. She pushed Emily's hair around and quickly found the bruised part of her skull. She inspected it and, after finding only dark contusions, said, "Lucky you, no blood."
"Yeah. Lucky me."
Catherine sighed and dropped her hands. She put the things away and asked, "What were you doing, going there all by yourself?"
"I was thinking I had to end it," Emily said. She turned to face Catherine again. She rolled down her shirt. "It had to be over."
"Did he not get the message the first time?" Catherine asked, leading Emily out.
"I just left," she replied. "He was in New Jersey and I didn't tell him about my internship. I just... left. Called his voicemail, told him I was leaving, and left."
Lindsey was already at the table. Warrick had already poured four bowls of soup and was now making three iced teas and a glass of milk. Lindsey was talking in her high voice about her spring break and how she liked being at home. Warrick looked up at smiled at the two women. Catherine walked by and squeezed his arm. She took two bowls and carried them to the table. Emily took the other two. Catherine said, winking at Warrick, "What you need is a nice guy."
"I'm not a nice guy. I'm a tough guy," Warrick objected.
Lindsey put in, "I think you're nice."
"I think you're nice, too, sweetie," Warrick smiled. He handed her a glass and ruffled her hair.
Emily eased into a chair and said, "I have a nice guy." She looked up at Catherine with a scared expression and asked, "What am I going to tell Greg?"
Another long chapter! Well, sorry about the serious subject matter. It was a needed addition. Okay, so maybe there are three couples in this series now. Holy cow, what did I do... :)
Fall break ends today and I go back to school tomorrow. I can't do five chapters in a week and a half again until winter break and I'm hoping this story won't go on that long! :) I'll try to update soon.