Title Pending by Jess
Disclaimer: If you see them on TV, they don't belong to me... Sad thing is I started to tap my foot along when I typed that out... It rhymes... WAHOO!! :) It's been a long day.
Rating: Back to PG-13. Hopefully no more violence!
Feedback: I would love to hear if you like the story or not. Helpful pointers are always welcome.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: She Needs Someone
The scene was familiar to Emily and as she acted it out, a slight tremor erupted in her heart. The idea that any situation that mimicked one she had shared with Matt would haunt her frightened her. She was about to enter her home, her safe haven, but she was dreading her entrance. Greg thought she had spent the morning at work; how would he react to her physical state and then her story?
She pulled her keys from her purse and flipped through them to get the apartment key. She pushed it into the keyhole and twisted the metal together. The door unlocked and Emily entered the apartment. She saw the top of Greg's head above the top of the couch. He cocked his head slightly and called out, "I thought you'd never get home."
"Greg, I need to tell you something."
"What?" he asked, muting the television. He stood up and she turned to face the door in order to lock it and avoid him for just a few more precious seconds. "What's up? Did something happen at work?"
"I wasn't at work," she replied weakly. She felt tears spring to her eyes.
"Are those your clothes?" he inquired, stepping around the couch to reach her.
"No," she whispered. She took a deep breath and said, "Don't freak out, okay?"
"Emily?" he asked warily, coming to a stop a few feet behind her.
She closed her eyes and gathered her courage. Her hands fluttered down to her hips and she pivoted slowly. She focused on his knees; she couldn't look at his face. She heard his intake of air and she winced. He didn't move. She had inspected her face in the parking lot. The gash on her cheek was surrounded with a glorious bruise. Her stomach was green and yellow and purple. Warrick had inspected her head at Catherine's house; it, too, was bruised and battered. The scrapes on her back, also examined by Warrick, were inflamed.
"What the hell happened?" Greg demanded.
Emily frowned. Of all the words that had flown through her head in the past few hours, not one of them sounded good at that particular moment. She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out.
"Who did this to you?" he insisted, his voice rising.
"Don't yell," she whispered. A tear fell down from her eye and streaked across her cheek. "I couldn't handle it if you yelled."
He stepped closer and she shied back. He glared at her beaten face and wary form. "What's his name?"
She sighed and tugged on the hem of her shirt. "Matt."
"Matt what?"
"Matt Stillman."
Greg clenched his jaw and stared hard into her face. "Look at me, Emily."
Her head snapped up at the words. Matt's voice pealed in her head and she screamed on the inside. It was Greg, not Matt, who was talking to her. Her fear overtook her rational side. Her eyes widened and she shook her head. "Don't."
"Don't what?" he frowned. "I didn't do anything. What the hell's going on?"
The air around Emily suddenly seemed too thick to breathe. Her lips parted and she tried to inhale but her chest seemed to tighten. Greg took a step forward, "Emily? Are you okay?"
She pushed against her chest and squeezed her eyes shut. A little amount of air crept into her lungs and she found the strength to walk. She started to pass Greg but he latched onto her arm to keep her there. She screamed at the touch and yanked her arm away. He held his hands up, proving his innocence, and she stared at him with wide eyes.
"Don't touch me," she spat at him.
"Emily, I didn't do anything," he eased.
She shook her head and ran her hands through her hair. "It was just a visit," she murmured. "I just wanted to end everything."
"End what?" Greg asked. He felt tears prick his eyes. What had happened to her?
Her mouth was dry. Her tongue desperately ran across the roof of her mouth. "It wasn't supposed to happen."
"What happened?" He scooted a couple of inches closer to her. She pushed back with a whimper. He heard noises behind him and he saw Tuesday a few feet back, staring at the two of them. He focused on Emily and said, "Baby, I'm not going to hurt you."
She stared at him, confused, and said, "That's what he said." Her hand went to the hem of her shirt and she yanked it up.
Greg's eyes widened. "Holy shit."
"He lied!" she shrieked. She leaned forward and screamed, "I didn't break my ribs playing soccer! He broke them for me!" Greg's eyes narrowed on the white scars, the scars he was fascinated with, the scars he traced with his fingertips in the comfort of bed. They didn't tarnish her body. The bruises and cuts he witnessed now, however, would heal a lot less nicely.
"I lied, Greg, when I told you I had never had sex before!" The screams continued and hit him hard. He looked at her teary eyes and fought back tears himself. "It was him." She ceased to speak. She covered her stomach and returned to avoiding his careful eyes.
He took deep breaths before speaking. "You've spent the past eight hours with him?"
"No," she replied. She closed her eyes and whispered, "I was at work 'til noon. I've been with Catherine."
Greg nodded. He moved closer to his girlfriend. "What did she say?"
"She said I should talk to Grissom and Brass. Warrick thinks so, too."
He bobbed his head, inching forward. "Is that want you wanna do?"
"I don't want to do anything," she admitted. Her eyes opened and she frowned to see him closer. She took a deep breath and said, "I handled it the first time on my own."
"I think you should talk to them," Greg offered softly. "We can get a restraining order."
"He lives in New Jersey."
"He flew out here to beat you." Emily turned her head away. Greg slipped closer. "Baby..."
"Don't," she whispered. "Please don't." He continued forward and she continued to protest weakly. His hands touched her arms and she cringed. He wrapped his arms around her and she cried, "Greg, just..."
"If I'm hurting you, stop me," he whispered. He pulled her against him and he kissed her forehead. She shook against him and he muttered, "God, what did he do to you."
Emily didn't cease to rattle in his arms. After a few minutes, he gently eased her down the hallway. They entered her bedroom and he left her by the bed. She sat on the familiar mattress and rubbed her temple. Tuesday ambled into the room and stuck her nose on Emily's knee. Emily weakly rubbed her head.
Greg entered her bathroom and ran a hot bath. He looked under the bathroom sink and found vanilla body wash. He frowned and poured a dollop of it under the running water. Bubbles formed and he quickly poured more. Soon, large bubbles spread over the expanse of the tub. He put a large white towel on the floor next to the tub and rested a pink washcloth on top of it.
He came back into the bedroom and sighed. She was lying on the bed, Tuesday beside her, eyes closed. He stood silent for a moment, just staring, wondering how anyone could ever lay a hand on her. Anger rose inside him and he forced himself to calm down. She had reacted negatively to his earlier anger; she would have a mental breakdown if he did it again.
Greg approached the bed and whispered her name. Her eyes opened and he took her hand. He pulled her off the bed and into the bathroom. She saw the bubble bath and shook her head. "I already took a shower."
"You'll feel better," he insisted. He stood in front of her and looked at her battered face. She looked away from him, staring into the bubbles. "It'll ease your muscles." His fingers brushed onto the waistband of the sweatpants. They slipped to the other side, touching her skin. She shivered and looked up at him. He tugged lightly, revealing the waistband of her underwear. She continued to study his eyes as he meticulously undressed her. He avoided her eye contact.
He guided her to the bath and she stepped in, burying herself under the layer of bubbles. She rested her head against the rim of the tub and allowed herself to rest. Greg left the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. He paced the apartment as she rested. He didn't understand what had happened and he desperately wanted to know. Why had she placed herself in a situation in which she was in danger? Why hadn't she come to him before Catherine and Warrick?
It was fifteen minutes later before he heard her voice through the hallway. He came into the bathroom to find her staring up at him, her eyes large and round and green. She raised her eyebrows and asked, "Where did you go?"
"I was thinking."
"Wanna think with me?" He stepped further into the room and shut the door behind him. She was sitting up in the tub, her arms resting on the edge, her cheek pressed against her arm. He stood in the middle of the room, his toes curling against the cold tile. She smirked. "Either you strip or you're coming in here with your clothes on in thirty seconds."
Greg chuckled and took off his clothes. He slipped into the still warm water and said, "You know I'm going to smell like a girl after this."
"Not a girl," she corrected, reaching under the water to touch his hand. "Vanilla."
He shrugged. "Same difference." She leaned forward, crawling over to his side of the tub, and stretched out next to him. He wrapped his arm around her back and pulled her against him. She tensed immediately and he frowned down at her. He looked down and glared. "Em, your back..."
She looked up at him, resting her chin on his shoulder. "I used to date him."
Greg swallowed, preparing himself to take the story in. "Did he ever... hurt you then?"
"Toward the end," she replied. "Then summer break was over and he was gone again. He came back for winter break and it continued. Then I came here. He didn't know I was leaving."
"How did he break your ribs?" Greg ventured.
"Kicking." She stated it so matter-of-factly Greg almost vomited. She appeared to be used to situation. It didn't faze her.
He stroked her side, feeling her smooth skin, the skin that was not hurt. She rested her head against his chest. Her eyelids became heavy as he unknowingly began to lull her to sleep. "Why did you lie to me?"
She frowned. "About what?"
"About... you. You said you had never..." She kept her head down. She didn't want to look at him. When she didn't reply, he dared to volunteer a reason. "Did he rape you?"
"The water's getting cold." She pushed against his chest to get out of the tub.
He grabbed her arms and kept her in front of him. "Emily, answer me."
"Don't touch me!" She yanked her arms from his grasp and stumbled out of the tub. She wrapped herself in the towel he had laid out for her and turned to glare at him. "Don't you get it, Greg? It hurts to talk about it! It hurts to admit it! It hurts to know that I can't protect myself!"
She stormed from the bathroom and Greg sighed. He released all of the water in the tub and dried off with another towel. He pulled on his boxers and rubbed his hair with his towel. He hung it over the side of the tub and walked into the bedroom. She was on her bed, in a pair of his boxers and one of his black T-shirts with some punk band scrawled across the front. From his view, he couldn't tell which one.
He picked up a pair of his jeans from the floor and pulled them on. He stood next to the bed and watched her. Her eyes were closed, but she wasn't asleep. Tuesday was lying next to her. Emily's left arm was draped over the dog's reddish back; her right arm was curled under her pillow.
Greg crawled across the bed and laid down next to her, not touching. He stared at the nape of her neck. Finally, he spoke. "Emily, I'm trying to help you. I want to help you. I just don't know what to do." He sighed and continued, "Do you even want me to help you?"
Emily turned onto her back and opened her eyes. She stared at the ceiling and whispered, "I don't know what you could do."
Greg scooted a little closer. "I could be your friend. I could listen to you and help you and hold you when you cry."
She rolled her head to look at him. "I want more than a friend out of you."
"You have more than a friend," he promised. He reached out and brushed her slightly wet hair off of her cheek. He studied the cut on her skin for a moment before smiling reassuringly at her. "You're beautiful. You know that?" She didn't reply. Her eyes proved the extent of her doubt. "You are," he insisted. He sighed and buried his head against hers. "I don't know how I got so lucky to have you here." He chewed on his lip momentarily before saying, "Emily, I..."
She closed her eyes and rested her hand on his shoulder, stopping him. He closed his mouth and waited a few more seconds. Finally, he gave up, and he gently kissed the corner of her mouth. "Whenever you want to talk," he promised. She opened her eyes and he nodded at her.
She drifted off into a fitful sleep. Greg stayed the entire three hours, not touching her but letting her touch him. He played with unconsciousness for a few minutes at a time, but every time Emily jerked, he was alert.
The doorbell rang around six and he went to the answer the door. Catherine was there, with a bag. She smiled gently and asked, "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," he replied, scratching his scalp. His hair stuck straight up. "I'm fine."
"Emily?" Catherine asked, stepping inside.
"She's been trying to sleep for the past few hours. What are you doing here?"
Catherine started to walk toward the bedroom. "If she's anything like I think she is, she'll go to work tonight." She held up the bag. "She needs someone who knows how to cover up those cuts."
Greg frowned as Catherine entered the bedroom. He heard hushed voices a few moments later and he walked into his bedroom to get ready for work. He didn't understand why men hit women. He didn't understand why Eddie had hit Catherine. He especially didn't understand why someone named Matt Stillman would hit Emily.
I love Greg and Emily. :) I really do.
Onward and upward!
Disclaimer: If you see them on TV, they don't belong to me... Sad thing is I started to tap my foot along when I typed that out... It rhymes... WAHOO!! :) It's been a long day.
Rating: Back to PG-13. Hopefully no more violence!
Feedback: I would love to hear if you like the story or not. Helpful pointers are always welcome.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: She Needs Someone
The scene was familiar to Emily and as she acted it out, a slight tremor erupted in her heart. The idea that any situation that mimicked one she had shared with Matt would haunt her frightened her. She was about to enter her home, her safe haven, but she was dreading her entrance. Greg thought she had spent the morning at work; how would he react to her physical state and then her story?
She pulled her keys from her purse and flipped through them to get the apartment key. She pushed it into the keyhole and twisted the metal together. The door unlocked and Emily entered the apartment. She saw the top of Greg's head above the top of the couch. He cocked his head slightly and called out, "I thought you'd never get home."
"Greg, I need to tell you something."
"What?" he asked, muting the television. He stood up and she turned to face the door in order to lock it and avoid him for just a few more precious seconds. "What's up? Did something happen at work?"
"I wasn't at work," she replied weakly. She felt tears spring to her eyes.
"Are those your clothes?" he inquired, stepping around the couch to reach her.
"No," she whispered. She took a deep breath and said, "Don't freak out, okay?"
"Emily?" he asked warily, coming to a stop a few feet behind her.
She closed her eyes and gathered her courage. Her hands fluttered down to her hips and she pivoted slowly. She focused on his knees; she couldn't look at his face. She heard his intake of air and she winced. He didn't move. She had inspected her face in the parking lot. The gash on her cheek was surrounded with a glorious bruise. Her stomach was green and yellow and purple. Warrick had inspected her head at Catherine's house; it, too, was bruised and battered. The scrapes on her back, also examined by Warrick, were inflamed.
"What the hell happened?" Greg demanded.
Emily frowned. Of all the words that had flown through her head in the past few hours, not one of them sounded good at that particular moment. She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out.
"Who did this to you?" he insisted, his voice rising.
"Don't yell," she whispered. A tear fell down from her eye and streaked across her cheek. "I couldn't handle it if you yelled."
He stepped closer and she shied back. He glared at her beaten face and wary form. "What's his name?"
She sighed and tugged on the hem of her shirt. "Matt."
"Matt what?"
"Matt Stillman."
Greg clenched his jaw and stared hard into her face. "Look at me, Emily."
Her head snapped up at the words. Matt's voice pealed in her head and she screamed on the inside. It was Greg, not Matt, who was talking to her. Her fear overtook her rational side. Her eyes widened and she shook her head. "Don't."
"Don't what?" he frowned. "I didn't do anything. What the hell's going on?"
The air around Emily suddenly seemed too thick to breathe. Her lips parted and she tried to inhale but her chest seemed to tighten. Greg took a step forward, "Emily? Are you okay?"
She pushed against her chest and squeezed her eyes shut. A little amount of air crept into her lungs and she found the strength to walk. She started to pass Greg but he latched onto her arm to keep her there. She screamed at the touch and yanked her arm away. He held his hands up, proving his innocence, and she stared at him with wide eyes.
"Don't touch me," she spat at him.
"Emily, I didn't do anything," he eased.
She shook her head and ran her hands through her hair. "It was just a visit," she murmured. "I just wanted to end everything."
"End what?" Greg asked. He felt tears prick his eyes. What had happened to her?
Her mouth was dry. Her tongue desperately ran across the roof of her mouth. "It wasn't supposed to happen."
"What happened?" He scooted a couple of inches closer to her. She pushed back with a whimper. He heard noises behind him and he saw Tuesday a few feet back, staring at the two of them. He focused on Emily and said, "Baby, I'm not going to hurt you."
She stared at him, confused, and said, "That's what he said." Her hand went to the hem of her shirt and she yanked it up.
Greg's eyes widened. "Holy shit."
"He lied!" she shrieked. She leaned forward and screamed, "I didn't break my ribs playing soccer! He broke them for me!" Greg's eyes narrowed on the white scars, the scars he was fascinated with, the scars he traced with his fingertips in the comfort of bed. They didn't tarnish her body. The bruises and cuts he witnessed now, however, would heal a lot less nicely.
"I lied, Greg, when I told you I had never had sex before!" The screams continued and hit him hard. He looked at her teary eyes and fought back tears himself. "It was him." She ceased to speak. She covered her stomach and returned to avoiding his careful eyes.
He took deep breaths before speaking. "You've spent the past eight hours with him?"
"No," she replied. She closed her eyes and whispered, "I was at work 'til noon. I've been with Catherine."
Greg nodded. He moved closer to his girlfriend. "What did she say?"
"She said I should talk to Grissom and Brass. Warrick thinks so, too."
He bobbed his head, inching forward. "Is that want you wanna do?"
"I don't want to do anything," she admitted. Her eyes opened and she frowned to see him closer. She took a deep breath and said, "I handled it the first time on my own."
"I think you should talk to them," Greg offered softly. "We can get a restraining order."
"He lives in New Jersey."
"He flew out here to beat you." Emily turned her head away. Greg slipped closer. "Baby..."
"Don't," she whispered. "Please don't." He continued forward and she continued to protest weakly. His hands touched her arms and she cringed. He wrapped his arms around her and she cried, "Greg, just..."
"If I'm hurting you, stop me," he whispered. He pulled her against him and he kissed her forehead. She shook against him and he muttered, "God, what did he do to you."
Emily didn't cease to rattle in his arms. After a few minutes, he gently eased her down the hallway. They entered her bedroom and he left her by the bed. She sat on the familiar mattress and rubbed her temple. Tuesday ambled into the room and stuck her nose on Emily's knee. Emily weakly rubbed her head.
Greg entered her bathroom and ran a hot bath. He looked under the bathroom sink and found vanilla body wash. He frowned and poured a dollop of it under the running water. Bubbles formed and he quickly poured more. Soon, large bubbles spread over the expanse of the tub. He put a large white towel on the floor next to the tub and rested a pink washcloth on top of it.
He came back into the bedroom and sighed. She was lying on the bed, Tuesday beside her, eyes closed. He stood silent for a moment, just staring, wondering how anyone could ever lay a hand on her. Anger rose inside him and he forced himself to calm down. She had reacted negatively to his earlier anger; she would have a mental breakdown if he did it again.
Greg approached the bed and whispered her name. Her eyes opened and he took her hand. He pulled her off the bed and into the bathroom. She saw the bubble bath and shook her head. "I already took a shower."
"You'll feel better," he insisted. He stood in front of her and looked at her battered face. She looked away from him, staring into the bubbles. "It'll ease your muscles." His fingers brushed onto the waistband of the sweatpants. They slipped to the other side, touching her skin. She shivered and looked up at him. He tugged lightly, revealing the waistband of her underwear. She continued to study his eyes as he meticulously undressed her. He avoided her eye contact.
He guided her to the bath and she stepped in, burying herself under the layer of bubbles. She rested her head against the rim of the tub and allowed herself to rest. Greg left the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. He paced the apartment as she rested. He didn't understand what had happened and he desperately wanted to know. Why had she placed herself in a situation in which she was in danger? Why hadn't she come to him before Catherine and Warrick?
It was fifteen minutes later before he heard her voice through the hallway. He came into the bathroom to find her staring up at him, her eyes large and round and green. She raised her eyebrows and asked, "Where did you go?"
"I was thinking."
"Wanna think with me?" He stepped further into the room and shut the door behind him. She was sitting up in the tub, her arms resting on the edge, her cheek pressed against her arm. He stood in the middle of the room, his toes curling against the cold tile. She smirked. "Either you strip or you're coming in here with your clothes on in thirty seconds."
Greg chuckled and took off his clothes. He slipped into the still warm water and said, "You know I'm going to smell like a girl after this."
"Not a girl," she corrected, reaching under the water to touch his hand. "Vanilla."
He shrugged. "Same difference." She leaned forward, crawling over to his side of the tub, and stretched out next to him. He wrapped his arm around her back and pulled her against him. She tensed immediately and he frowned down at her. He looked down and glared. "Em, your back..."
She looked up at him, resting her chin on his shoulder. "I used to date him."
Greg swallowed, preparing himself to take the story in. "Did he ever... hurt you then?"
"Toward the end," she replied. "Then summer break was over and he was gone again. He came back for winter break and it continued. Then I came here. He didn't know I was leaving."
"How did he break your ribs?" Greg ventured.
"Kicking." She stated it so matter-of-factly Greg almost vomited. She appeared to be used to situation. It didn't faze her.
He stroked her side, feeling her smooth skin, the skin that was not hurt. She rested her head against his chest. Her eyelids became heavy as he unknowingly began to lull her to sleep. "Why did you lie to me?"
She frowned. "About what?"
"About... you. You said you had never..." She kept her head down. She didn't want to look at him. When she didn't reply, he dared to volunteer a reason. "Did he rape you?"
"The water's getting cold." She pushed against his chest to get out of the tub.
He grabbed her arms and kept her in front of him. "Emily, answer me."
"Don't touch me!" She yanked her arms from his grasp and stumbled out of the tub. She wrapped herself in the towel he had laid out for her and turned to glare at him. "Don't you get it, Greg? It hurts to talk about it! It hurts to admit it! It hurts to know that I can't protect myself!"
She stormed from the bathroom and Greg sighed. He released all of the water in the tub and dried off with another towel. He pulled on his boxers and rubbed his hair with his towel. He hung it over the side of the tub and walked into the bedroom. She was on her bed, in a pair of his boxers and one of his black T-shirts with some punk band scrawled across the front. From his view, he couldn't tell which one.
He picked up a pair of his jeans from the floor and pulled them on. He stood next to the bed and watched her. Her eyes were closed, but she wasn't asleep. Tuesday was lying next to her. Emily's left arm was draped over the dog's reddish back; her right arm was curled under her pillow.
Greg crawled across the bed and laid down next to her, not touching. He stared at the nape of her neck. Finally, he spoke. "Emily, I'm trying to help you. I want to help you. I just don't know what to do." He sighed and continued, "Do you even want me to help you?"
Emily turned onto her back and opened her eyes. She stared at the ceiling and whispered, "I don't know what you could do."
Greg scooted a little closer. "I could be your friend. I could listen to you and help you and hold you when you cry."
She rolled her head to look at him. "I want more than a friend out of you."
"You have more than a friend," he promised. He reached out and brushed her slightly wet hair off of her cheek. He studied the cut on her skin for a moment before smiling reassuringly at her. "You're beautiful. You know that?" She didn't reply. Her eyes proved the extent of her doubt. "You are," he insisted. He sighed and buried his head against hers. "I don't know how I got so lucky to have you here." He chewed on his lip momentarily before saying, "Emily, I..."
She closed her eyes and rested her hand on his shoulder, stopping him. He closed his mouth and waited a few more seconds. Finally, he gave up, and he gently kissed the corner of her mouth. "Whenever you want to talk," he promised. She opened her eyes and he nodded at her.
She drifted off into a fitful sleep. Greg stayed the entire three hours, not touching her but letting her touch him. He played with unconsciousness for a few minutes at a time, but every time Emily jerked, he was alert.
The doorbell rang around six and he went to the answer the door. Catherine was there, with a bag. She smiled gently and asked, "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," he replied, scratching his scalp. His hair stuck straight up. "I'm fine."
"Emily?" Catherine asked, stepping inside.
"She's been trying to sleep for the past few hours. What are you doing here?"
Catherine started to walk toward the bedroom. "If she's anything like I think she is, she'll go to work tonight." She held up the bag. "She needs someone who knows how to cover up those cuts."
Greg frowned as Catherine entered the bedroom. He heard hushed voices a few moments later and he walked into his bedroom to get ready for work. He didn't understand why men hit women. He didn't understand why Eddie had hit Catherine. He especially didn't understand why someone named Matt Stillman would hit Emily.
I love Greg and Emily. :) I really do.
Onward and upward!