EIGHT
"It'll leave a scar, but nothing serious." Frank concluded a minute or two later.
"Can you call Kurtis?" she'd been waiting for it to be over to ask, knowing he'd likely be pissed if she asked before he got the wound cleaned.
"Clean yourself up first." he said after a pause. "Then we'll talk about it."
"No, you said…" she tried to stand, but the bathroom was too cramped, and he was too big to leave her much space.
"I know what I said." he cut her off. "But it's the middle of the damn night."
"I don't fucking care what time it is!" she heard the hysteria in her own voice. "You can't keep her from me!"
"I'm not keeping you from seeing her." his voice was loud, echoing off the linoleum tiles. "I'm trying to keep her from seeing you. Have you seen yourself?" he didn't mean the question to be rude or condescending, he was asking sincerely. When she didn't answer, he nodded towards the mirror above the sink, silently telling her to take a look.
The reflection was foreign to her. That couldn't be her. Strands of dark hair clung to her forehead and cheeks, kept in place by dried blood. Her right eye was swollen and red, angry looking. There was a faint hint of purple along her jawline, which would be deep and pronounced in a few more hours. A small cut above her eyebrow left a thin line of blood trailing down the side of her eye.
She looked monstrous.
"You want me to wake that little girl up, pull her from a warm bed and bring her here to see you like this?" He asked. But he wasn't really asking. He was telling her that he wouldn't. He just wanted her to think she had a choice in the matter.
Bellamy gave a slight shake of her head. She truly didn't want to terrorize Miya. And that's exactly what would happen.
"Can I shower?" she asked softly, unsure if it was a good idea to get her body wet. But Frank nodded in approval.
"Just don't get the bandages wet. I'll leave some clothes at the door." and he walked away.
Before, the thought of showering in this trailer was repugnant. Knowing that the door didn't lock and that Frank was just outside had been enough to make her push the idea away. But now, she craved the warm embrace of the water. She shimmied her way out of her clothes and relished in the steaming drops that cascaded down. The bandage got wet, and it stung, but Bellamy truly didn't care. Nothing else mattered in those sweet moments more than the heat and the sensation it left as it burned away every trace of the men who'd taken her.
When she was dry, she wrapped herself with the towel and cracked the door. Sure enough, Frank had left a small pile of clothes just outside. Bellamy quickly rooted through them and found an oversized long sleeve and a pair of gym shorts. She hated sleeping in pants, and all she wanted right now was to sleep.
With barely more than a mumbled "goodnight" towards him in the living area, she made her way from the bathroom to the bedroom. The bed looked glorious. Like a cloud of softness and comfort. But even as she laid her head on the pillow, she knew sleep wouldn't come.
Bellamy laid there, eyes wide open, for half an hour. She counted her breaths and tried to force her mind to be still. she rolled from one side to the other, tangling herself in the blankets and the shorts, which were several sizes too long to begin with. The shirt would hang just above her knee anyway, so she felt safe to rid herself of the shorts altogether.
But she couldn't force away the pain, the aches, the feel of hands all over her body. Couldn't force her mind to shut down. All she could do was lay there, eyes staring into darkness, listening to the soft muffled voices of the TV Frank watched in the other room.
He couldn't sleep either.
The realization made the decision for her. Without much thought, she wiggled her way out of the blankets and towards the couch. Frank watched her curiously as she carefully sat down beside him. Slowly, she moved her body into a position that caused her the least amount of pain.
"I can't sleep." She admitted quietly. Frank said nothing, but offered a single nod before turning his attention back to the TV. Sitting there, shoes off and muscles relaxed, he didn't look as intimidating. Maybe that's why Bellamy felt comfortable enough to ask her next question. "Where did you learn how to Lucy people like that?"
"Learn to what?" His head snapped back to her, brows knitted together in confusion.
"Lucy, like the movie." Bellamy prompted. "You know, they cut her open and use her as a drug mule. The drugs make her all kick ass and boss-like." It was clear he wasn't understanding, and she rolled her eyes. Of course he wasn't savvy on pop culture. "Where'd you learn to fight, Frank?"
"Hell." He grumbled after a long stint of hesitation. "Military." He offered as a follow up explanation. Bellamy nodded. She'd had her suspicions about his military background.
"And let me guess, now you hate the government and are on a mission to destroy it?" She was half joking, but secretly thought she was onto something. How else does a man like him end up in this fucking trailer fighting this fight?
"Something like that."
A man of many words, she thought sarcastically. Bellamy recalled about the way he had thrown himself over Miya, the way he'd treated her and the way he'd be careful with his words when she was nearby. That meant something.
"You're a father." She guessed aloud. Another long stretch of silence followed. She was sure he wasn't going to answer.
"I used to be." He finally whispered. Bellamy stared at him, shock rattling through her brain. His eyes were dark and distant. "They, uh. They're gone." The words stumbled out of his mouth and she had a feeling he hadn't wanted them to because his eyes grew even harder. His jaw clenched and he turned his face away. For a while, they sat in silence. Him pretending to watch whatever stupid show was on TV, and her at a loss of words.
"I'm sorry." she whispered after she built up the courage. As usual, Frank said nothing in response, his eyes still glued to the TV. But Bellamy knew he'd heard, and that was all that mattered. She turned her own attention to the show, not really caring what it was. She wasn't interested in the content, she was interested in the distraction.
He had dozed off and jostled awake again suddenly.
Bellamy was there, curled up on the other end of the couch. It was still dark and the same movie was scrawled over the TV screen. He couldn't have been asleep for too long. He watched her body rise and fall with each breath she took. It was soothing. But he couldn't stop his eyes from travelling down to the flesh of her legs left uncovered by the oversized shirt. It was nothing scandalous, just a knee and a bit of thigh but it still made him feel uneasy. Like he was doing something wrong, or seeing something he shouldn't see. Why was he so nervous about seeing her like this when only an hour or so ago he was nearly ripping her shirt off?
Because there had been a purpose before.
Now, the only purpose was his own curiosity.
He thought that type of curiosity had left him long ago. Watching your family bleed out while you lay helpless will do that to a man. It took away his interest.
A small white line of flesh poked out from beneath the shirt. The start of a scar, but the rest of it was hidden. He'd done his research before going to her apartment that first night. Frank knew she wasn't a law abiding citizen. She'd grown up around thugs and gangs, and when an opportunity arose to leave, her older sister was the one to take it. Not Bellamy. She stayed in the shitty little town, with a cracked out, no good boyfriend. And now she's here. Another casualty of the vicious cycle.
As if she could hear him thinking about her, she stretched and wiggled in her sleep. He stilled himself, afraid that she'd wake up if he moved. Or breathed. Sleep was elusive, she needed all that she could get.
When she settled again, her leg was as straight as the small couch would allow, causing more of it to be left exposed. Thinking of his own comfort, he grabbed a throw blanket from behind them and was about to toss it over her body. But he stopped when he saw more of the scar. That small white line fed into a much wider and uglier scar that trailed up her thigh. There was a space in the middle of it that was raised. Every scar was different, Frank knew that from experience. But even he had to admit that this was odd. He didn't have the chance to think on it further, because she moved again.
Moved wasn't the right word. Thrashed was more accurate. Her limbs flew in different directions before she bolted upright on the couch, chest heaving. Wild eyes searched the room viciously, finally settling on him. Recognition slowly filled her face and her breathing evened out.
"Good?" he asked when she finally came back to reality. His first tour with the Marines had left him with nightmares for months after he'd come home. And if he was being honest with himself, they still come to him on occasion.
"Yeah. Yeah." she said groggily. "Is it morning?" she swivelled her head to peek out the window, shoulders slumping when she saw only darkness outside the trailer.
"That's one hell of a scar." Frank tilted his head down towards her legs. Blood rose to her cheeks almost instantly when she followed his motion and realized how exposed she was. It was a hard reminder to him that even though she'd seemed to gain more trust for him, she was still afraid. Or at least, uncertain of him.
"Another beautiful gift from my ex." she mumbled as she tugged the shirt down over her knees and drew them into her frame, creating a sort of tent. "It's how they 'mark what's theirs'." she feigned an Irish accent. A pretty terrible one at that, causing a small smile graced his lips.
"Sounds like Jimmy was a real gem." he rolled his eyes and pushed himself off the couch. It had been a while since he'd stocked the fridge, but there were still a few bottles of water lingering on the door. He tossed one over to her, and was mildly impressed when her hand shot out to catch it. She noticed and gave a quick shrug.
"You've gotta have good reflexes when you're dealing with a three year old throwing temper tantrums." She pulled her lips in and raised her eyebrows as if to say You know what I mean? And he did. God, he truly did. Lisa had been the worst. Hearing "no" for an answer would often send her into fits of rage beyond his belief. Anything within her reach would be hurled his way. Hairbrush, toys, shoes, you name, she threw it. The memory caused laughter to bubbled through his chest.
"Yeah, I get that." he said with a laugh. Bellamy's head was cocked to one side, an unreadable expression on as she stared at him. "What?" he unscrewed the cap of his water and gulped a few sips.
"Nothing." she shook her head and struggled to get to her feet. Frank watched her face scrunch in pain as she used sore muscles and jostled wounds he couldn't see. All of this because she fell for the wrong guy. Wasn't that every broken woman's story.
"So why'd you stay?" he couldn't stop himself from asking. Halfway to a full standing position, she lifted her eyes. "With Jimmy. Why'd you stay with that asshole?" Bellamy rolled her eyes.
"It's not that simple." she sucked in a breath and brought herself to her full height. "I wanted to go long before I actually did. But there was this… I don't know, unspoken threat." Frank could see she was uncomfortable, her eyes drifted around the room, finding anywhere to land that wasn't on him. "There was no 'getting out' with the Dogs. I argued that I wasn't one of them, they wouldn't allow women in their ranks. That's when…" she trailed off briefly, steeling herself for the next memories. "They marked me as one of their Bitches." she patted her leg for good measure. Frank imagined the ugly scar now covered by her shirt. His shirt.
He watched her in silence for a few seconds, taking her in. Thick dark hair, half dried and bundled into a heap at the crown of her head. Her long frame under the baggy shirt. Long limbs, curled around her middle, protecting herself from the mean world. His eyes snapped up to hers, and though she wasn't looking at him, he could still seem them perfectly. Large and dark, hooded by thick lashes.
"I call bullshit." he said suddenly, ripping himself away from the small fire his thoughts had started to form.
"I'm not lying." She insisted. "I was afraid that if I tried to run, they'd…"
"That's not how they mark their girls." he clarified his meaning. "You did what you had to in order to survive. I get that. But I know these guys. They brand their girls." He pushed himself away from the counter he'd been leaning on and moved towards her. "Behind the ear." he pointed to the right side of her head. Her long fingers reached up and touched the spot but shook her head.
"They didn't do that."
Frank was tempted to check for himself. Not because he didn't believe her, but because he wanted an excuse to touch her.
Jesus Christ, Frank. He thought to himself. He turned his back to her, pretending to busy himself at the sink.
"Try and get some sleep." He grumbled, praying that she'd walk away. He needed space. He needed clarity. Bellamy didn't reply, but he heard her bare feet shuffling on the laminate floor back to the bedroom.