A/N: Heyeyyyy another chapter in one week! Who be on a roll? ME! Lol this is chapter 2 from Emily's POV. If you are reading this story and you are LOST, reading The Neverending Road would be my recommendation ;)
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Emily paced back and forth in the kitchen, biting her fingernails in agitation. She was in the process of fixing the kids some macaroni and cheese for a quick dinner, not the healthiest of choices, but it was better than her alternative of ordering pizza for the third night that week… She felt like a terrible mother. She was distracted, impatient at times. Ian was taking up all of her mental capacity at the moment and for all of her profiling training, she had no idea what was going to happen next.
It was taking all of her emotional strength and will not to take the kids and leave. Go to Garcia's, or a hotel, or worse… her mother's. But she knew Ian, which would only exacerbate the problem, and probably send him on a lethal rampage. It wasn't really fair either, this wasn't any of his fault. He needed help; he was beyond depressed, borderline suicidal. He was drinking heavily every day, he was short tempered, hostile to suggestion, and distant.
Emily sighed in frustration; she was at a total loss. She'd tried everything, she'd tried listening; she'd tried to suggest counseling, thinking maybe he would open up to a stranger; she'd tried sexual distraction… That had been a total nightmare.
She closed her eyes and tried not to look down at her forearms subconsciously. They were covered in purple and yellow bruises in various stages of healing… along with her thighs and waist. A week ago, she'd put the kids to bed with a movie on, and gone into the bathroom to get ready; Ian was already in the bedroom with a bottle of Jack. She'd curled her hair a little, put a little eyeliner on, found her barely-there black lace bra that made her breasts Playmate-worthy at the very least. She'd even put on a sexy pair of underwear to match… Finally ready she'd walked into the bedroom. Ian barely looked away from whatever generic tv crime drama was on. Her ego a little wounded, she'd expected something akin to stunned silence, she knew how she looked. Lesser men would have cum in their pants at the sight of her.
She'd walked in front of the TV and turned it off, finally getting his attention. His breath hitched a little, and she smiled coyly. Her fingers ran over her breasts lightly, walking towards him slowly, crawling onto the bed between his legs. She leaned up to him, kissing him gently tugging on his bottom lip with her teeth. She could taste the Jack Daniels in his kiss, and she could feel him growing hard underneath her. Within seconds he had ripped her expensive French underwear off, grabbing her ass roughly with both hands. She was almost enjoying the gentle roughness their sexual encounters occasionally had, when she was caught off guard by a bite to her bottom lip and she tasted blood before the stinging pain. Not wanting to deter his, enjoyment however, she played along. Within moments he had flipped her underneath him and ripped off of his boxers.
Before she knew it, her arms were pinned above her in a vice-grip unlike any she had ever felt before, and he was entering her violently. His thrusts were slow, but incredibly painful. With each thrust his hands tightened around her arms, she tried to pull them down, but to no avail. She closed her eyes, kissing him back as his tongue swirled with hers, trying to remind herself that this had been her idea, thinking maybe if he released some tension… Surprisingly to her what she thought would have been an extremely quick fuck, had turned into a 4 hour long painfest. Ian had shown incredible stamina for a man his age and a blood-alcohol level like his…
Before the first hour was up, she had tears welling in her eyes. She said nothing, she took the pain in silence. She could feel him hit the very innermost wall of her cunt, no longer wet with desire, but raw and aching. He'd pulled her up onto her hands and knees, taking her from behind, hands gripping her waist and thighs. Never again. She'd thought angrily, still saying nothing.
Finally in the wee hours of the morning he'd came, collapsing on top of her breathing heavily. Irritated and hurting, she shoved him off of her and run to the bathroom, as best she could with the burning sensation between her legs. Locking the door behind her, she'd thrown herself into the corner by the bathtub sobbing uncontrollably. This had by far been her worst idea to date, she'd thought miserably, turning on the bathtub with scalding hot water, filling it with lavender salts, wiping the tears that were falling down her cheeks, smearing the eyeliner under her puffy eyes.
When she'd finally emerged 2 hours later Ian was dead asleep, snoring lightly. Emily hobbled to the bed, careful not to make too much movement when she crawled into bed, laying on the very, very edge of her side of the bed.
A loud beeping noise startled Emily out of her vivid flashback. The timer on the stove was going off, signaling the macaroni was done boiling. She blinked away tears that had started to form in the inner corner of her eyes. She pulled the pot off of the stove and moved to the sink where the strainer sat to drain the noodles. Looking out the window above the sink, she watched Ian as he sat in the backyard "watching" the kids play in the grass. She felt helpless, she wanted to help him but she didn't know how. He was so devastated at the Miller girls situation it was tearing him apart. He felt solely responsible, because he hadn't gotten there in time. She'd tried to tell him he'd done his best, that he couldn't save everyone. He'd been so angry at her he'd left for 3 days, and come home smelling like cheap liquor and an opium den.
She didn't understand why this was affecting him so deeply. He'd KILLED a child before. Surely, the tragedy that had happened in Prague wouldn't have so detrimentally un-stabilized him? She could only speculate that growing closer to Declan, having the twins, had changed him into a more sensitive father figure; made him a better person, more empathetic… But, she couldn't take much more of this. She'd dumped men for a lot less… But none of those men were Ian Doyle… She jumped, swearing out loud, burning her hand with the boiling water pouring into the strainer. She had to get through to him, one way or another… and it looked like it was going to be another.
