Delivery

Chapter 11

There wasn't a lot of room on Lagoon, and being alone was out of the question. But there were quiet places. One of them was bunks. She sat on her bunk, next to Rock, and she looked at the wall. She didn't see the gray interior of the Lagoon, but instead she was seeing her neighborhood in New York, about twelve years ago.

"I was fifteen," she said, "My mom died when I was twelve. She was a decent person, caring, but I knew something was wrong. It was the way that she acted around my dad."

She laughed, but the sound wasn't mirthful, "She wore makeup, long sleeve shirts, collars turned up, and she could barely sit some of the time," she said, her voice sounding far away, "Then one night she told me that she loved me, she was sorry, and I woke up to my dad screaming at her to wake up."

She felt his arms, and she loved it, "She'd taken every single sleeping pill in the house, all of them, and it was the last time she went to sleep," she hiccuped, "Dad blamed me. Said I was a useless piece of shit. He was already a drinker, he'd been a hotshit cop before, but some dumbass had gotten a lucky shot, and they put a bullet through his knee."

She sniffed and wiped her nose, "He took to beating me, and I'd sneak out. Sometimes I'd be gone for days at a time, and when I came home I'd get it. Finally, I had enough, and I paid attention to where he kept his money," she sniffed again, "I took it off of him, it wasn't much, maybe six hundred bucks. Enough for rent, and a couple of cases of beer. More than likely it would just be the beer."

She sighed, "He called up his buddies on the force, and I was found pretty quick. I was a dumb kid, didn't realize that I had to keep a low profile with any kind of cash," she wiped her eyes, "That was the night I questioned everything."

Twelve Years ago New York City Policing Holding Cell

"I didn't do shit!" Rebecca shouted, "Fuck!"

She looked at the two cops, both of them were friends of her Dad. She knew them both. Officer Kyle Harris and Patrol Officer Waylon Daniels were looking over her paperwork.

"Hear that Harris," Daniels asked, "Ms. Lee didn't do anything. Guess we better open the cell and let her go, right?"

Kyle Harris laughed, "Sounds about right," he said as he stood, "I'm going to go grab some chow. Thinking about that place we passed earlier, that cheesesteak place, want one?"

Waylon Daniels nodded, "Sounds good."

She watched as Harris got up. He wore his years well enough. She could see that he was older, in his forties, but with the exception of some gray hairs in his normally red beard and hair he didn't look that old. His uniform looked impeccable, his creases clean and straight, and he looked as if he was straight out of a cop movie from the fifties.

Waylon Daniels was younger, in his twenties, his dark skin was offset by his bleached blond hair. His beard and goatee was dark, and he looked like he belonged in a different movie. He had a dangerous edge to him, and his uniform jacket hung on the back of his chair. She watched as he got up, and she saw him coming toward the cell. She was about to say something smart when she felt the connection of his fist against her jaw.

She was sent sprawling, her vision swimming as he opened the cell.

"Kyle's gonna be gone for a good hour," he said as he neared her, grabbed her arms, and pulled her toward the cell wall. She felt him picking her up, and she tried to fight, but nothing was working right, "And in that time I'm going to entertain myself." The words didn't exactly mean anything, but they still frightened her.

It was the cold way he said it. She felt the cold steel of the handcuffs, heard the clicking of them, and then suddenly he dropped her. She didn't fall completely, her wrists hung by the cell bar, and it hurt. She felt the metal of the cuffs digging into her skin. She heard him, felt him lift her again, this time by her waist, and then she felt his thumbs against the waistband of her worn out blue jeans.

"W...Wait," she said, "You're a cop, you can't!"

She heard his venomous laugh, "You know how many times I've heard that?" his voice was full of acid, "If I had a nickle for every time I'd be fuckin' richer than OJ."

She tried to kick, and a hard punch against the back of her head stopped her. Her vision swam again, and then she felt the cold air from the AC against her bare ass, "Please, no! NO!"

It wasn't pleasant, it wasn't wonderful, and it wasn't beautiful. It was pain, he ripped into her, taking everything, and she cried out as he did.

"Please God! Please Help me!" she cried out, "PLEASE!"

He mocked her, calling out with her, thrusting harder, and finally she felt him pull her close. His hands around her throat, and everything turned white. This was it, she was going to die, and she'd been forced to be this asshole's fuck doll. He'd treated her like a cocksleeve, and for what? To get his sick kicks off?

Present time - Revy's Bunk

"I'm fuckin' damaged goods," she said looking at her feet, "I get it if you don't want to be with me. Fuck, I'm pretty sure that he killed any chance I have at having kids. Not that I'm sure that I'd be any good as a mother."

She felt the hug, "It's not your fault," he said, "It never was."

She leaned against him, uncertain of where to go, because for the first time since before her mother died, she actually felt loved. She didn't want to go anywhere else. She was fine here, in this moment, being held, being told that it wasn't her fault. It was odd, truly odd, that she felt secure. Normally security was keeping her cutlass close. Feeling the cold steel in her hand, letting it rest under her pillow, and taking in the sounds of the night around her.

It was cold comfort, physical security, but the demons of her past would still come back to haunt her. Her father would call from beyond the grave and tell her she was a worthless whore. Officer Daniels would sometimes be waiting for her in the middle of the night. She'd be fifteen again, trapped in a police holding cell, but she didn't call out for help anymore. She'd learned that there wouldn't be any coming.

Rock was able to keep them away. Daniels wasn't able to reach her, her father was a distant memory, and at most all she could hear was faint shouting that was dying down. The cutlass was physical protection, but Rock was emotional and spiritual protection. She wanted to be vulnerable with him, and she had been. She opened up about her past, she revealed the gritty and grimy parts of it, and he didn't run. He didn't leave.

She wished that the rest of the trip could be spent just like this. Locked in this moment, enjoying the way he felt as he held her, loving the feeling of his arms around her, and just taking the moment as it was. It wasn't that she didn't want to feel him inside of her. She did. She wanted to ride him, to feel him so completely seated inside of her, and she wanted to experience the endorphine filled high that would come with it. But there was something to be said about just being held.

It was kind of eye opening to see love being expressed in such an intimate yet pure way. She had equated sex with love. That the two were more or less one and the same, but that wasn't the truth. Respect, friendship, everything that she had with Rock was love, and it was a new sensation. Emotions that she believed had died were alive and well inside of her. She wanted to protect him, to be protected by him, to give not only her body, but she wanted to give her heart, mind, and soul as well. She trusted him to not hurt any of it. To safeguard it with his life, and she knew that he was worthy of that trust. She believed that he would keep her heart safe for as long as she gave it to him.

She'd heard some of the gossip from the others, about this Tsukune and what had happened between him and his wife. She heard what his wife had done, her decision which has caused a split between them. She couldn't understand how someone would do something so foolish. If what she felt for him was what she felt for Rock then how could she simply throw it away? At the end of the day it didn't matter. She didn't know them, they didn't know her, and that was fine.

She wasn't being paid to be a therapist, and for that she was extremely glad. Because her suggestion to the wayward wife would be to suck it up, placate herself, and know that it would never be the same again. Sure, the suggestion would be difficult, it would be crass, but it would also be honest. As it was she knew that if it came down to her making a decision, one that would cause her to break the trust and love that she and Rock shared, she wouldn't do it.

Money was great, treasure was fantastic, and weapons could get her hot and bothered, but none of it matched this. This was wholesome, honest, and true. This was something bigger than she had before. It was a connection she had been denied for so long, and it mattered. She would do everything she could to protect it, and that included leaving Roanapur. The shithole of a city had its draw. It was a place she could be who she was, but if push came to shove and she had to leave in order to stay with Rock, then she'd leave. She couldn't leave behind who she was, what she did, but she could leave behind where she lived.

But, she didn't think that it would ever really come to that either. Roanapur was the city of the walking dead. Everyone that lived there was living on borrowed time, and eventually there would be a bullet with their name on it. It wasn't always carried by the person they believed it would be carried by, but the bullet would find them, and that would be it. She knew that her and Rock's time was limited.

One day there might be someone faster than her, and when that day came she would face it with the savage dignity that she always had. But if for some reason he wanted to leave, if he wanted to get away, she would follow. It didn't matter when she made her bed. What mattered was that she held onto this. That she kept what she was feeling alive.

This was living, and it was something she planned on doing for as long as she could. Of course there were people nearby, so she couldn't slide out of her Daisy Dukes, but the temptation was still high. Instead she kissed his neck, letting him know what she thought, and she moved a hand down. She breathed in a sharp inhale as she felt his hand move under her waistband. This was real, this was happening, and she was ready.

"Revy?"

She kissed his neck again, "Rocky-Baby, I'm giving you something," she said as softly as she could, "I'm giving you my permission, and I'm asking, please, even just like this, just for a few moments, please."

His touch was as soft as silk, gentle as the sweet spring breeze, and more passionate than Shakespeare could ever write about in his entire lifetime. She felt his fingers softly caressing her, touching her just right, barely rubbing her clit and then diving in every so carefully. He was treating her like a treasure and not like a conquest. It was a feeling beyond what she had expected, and it was something she so deeply treasured.

Her thighs closed on his hand, trapping it, and she felt herself give into the rush. Her breathing spiked, and she felt the euphoric high as it took her.

"Revy," he said, "You deserve more, and far better."

She kissed him, pushing him to the bunk, and despite the fact that there was eyes watching she didn't break the kiss. His hand was still where she trapped it, and she knew it had to hurt, but he didn't complain. That was her Rocky-Baby, strong and silent, emotionally tough, and willing to be her shield.

He'd said that if she was the gun he was the bullet. That was true, but if he was her shield then she was his sword. And she'd cut down any motherfucker that tried to take her shield. They'd bleed out before they had the chance. He was hers, and hers alone.