Beauty from Surrender (Beauty 2)

Randy cancels our shows for the rest of the week and says we'll announce that I have the flu or something similar. It pisses me off and makes me wonder if he's planning to try and sweep this under the rug since Blake is his friend. He won't if he knows what's good for him.

Jack Henry has taken care of everything. He has a car and driver waiting to take us back to Nashville. I'm drowsy from the sedative I was given in the emergency room and I end up sleeping the whole ride home, but I'm glad. At least sleep allows me to take my mind off what Blake did.

I'm relieved when we finally walk through the door of my apartment. It's been weeks since I was home and I miss being here. I'm glad Jack Henry is with me. I'm not sure I could've come home if I didn't have him.

I feel dirty—like I have Blake all over me—and it makes me sick. I remember the touch of his hand between my legs as he grabbed my underwear and a rigor involuntarily shakes me. "I'm going to take a shower before I lie down."

"Okay. Would you like something to eat?"

I'm too nauseated to eat. "I don't think so. I'm still sleepy from the medicine they gave me. I'll probably go straight to bed after my shower."

"If you're still groggy, do you think it's a good idea to be in the shower? I don't want you to fall."

"I'll be fine. I'll call for you if I feel weak or if I need anything."

He agrees but reluctantly. I go into the bathroom and shut the door because I need walls between us. I feel tears coming and I don't want him to see me like that. He already feels terrible for not being there to protect me from Blake.

I start the shower and the tiny bathroom almost immediately fills with steam. I lift my tattered dress over my head before I toss it in the trash. I stand naked in front of the mirror to assess the damage.

I touch the large bruise still forming on the side of my face. It's tender. Scrapes and blue discoloration mark my arms and upper body. The cut on my forehead is held together with adhesive and makes me feel as though I'm a piece of broken glass that can be put back together with a little glue—except I don't feel put back together at all.

I can't look at myself anymore, so I step into the shower and begin the process of trying to cleanse tonight's events away. I wash my body repeatedly but what I'm feeling refuses to be scoured off. And I'm afraid it won't be for a while.

Chapter Sixteen

I turn back the bed so it'll be ready when Laurelyn's out of the shower. I remember she didn't take clothes into the bathroom with her, so I open a few drawers in search of the things she might need. I find bras and knickers in the top dresser drawer and I recognize many of the lacy ones she used to wear for me. I hold up a pair and smile as I recall the way she looked wearing them.

Those are some beautiful damn memories.

I delve through more drawers and find the pink jogging pants with the word LOVE across the bum. I love these pants and I know she wears them when she wants to be comfortable, so I take them out. I've missed seeing her in them. After I take them from the drawer, I notice a man's T-shirt beneath and a sickening envy immediately strikes me. I pluck it from her drawer for a better look and recognize it as one of my own. I never missed it being gone. The discovery makes my heart swell until it's almost ready to burst. She missed me.

The bathroom door is closed and I knock lightly instead of walking in unannounced, but I don't like it. We stopped closing doors not long after our relationship began and I'm feeling a little uneasy about her reasons behind doing it tonight. I don't want her to close me off. I'm afraid this attack might cause her to put up some of those old walls it took so long for me to tear down.

"Come in."

The bathroom is full of steam and it rushes toward me when I walk in. "I brought you some clothes."

"Thanks."

"Need anything else?"

She doesn't answer at first—and I wonder if she heard me—but then I hear her answer with the softest voice. "Yes."

I stand waiting for her to tell me what she needs, but she doesn't. "What do you need, babe?"

"You."

"Okay. I can sit with you while you finish your shower." I shut the lid on the toilet.

"No. I need you in here with me—in the shower."

I admit that's unexpected. She's just been attacked and almost raped. I wouldn't expect her to have sharing a shower in mind. Maybe she just wants to be close so she can feel safe. "Are you sure?"

"Positive."

I can't make myself believe this is normal, but it's what she's asking. "Okay."

I strip and pull the curtain back before stepping into the hot water with her. She reaches for me and puts her arms around my midsection. She places the side of her face against my chest and the water pelts down over both of us. "Please don't think I'm crazy for what I'm about to tell you."

"Baby, I know you're not crazy."

"I know the way I'm feeling isn't logical. It's all in my head but I feel like I can't get him washed off my body. I feel dirty."

"You're not dirty, love." I think what she's feeling is completely natural. I don't know what to do to make it better for her, but I decide to do the only thing I think might help. "Turn around for me."

I reach for the shampoo as she circles and squeeze a generous portion into my hand. "I'm going to wash your hair and when I'm finished, I'm going to wash every trace of him from your body. You'll never have to feel him on your skin again."

I have no idea if touching her is the wrong thing to do or if it will cause her more harm than good. I want to think it's the right thing since she asked me to come into the shower, but I have no way of knowing until I do it.

I massage her scalp gently as I shampoo her hair. I hear her sigh and I take that as a good sign, so I repeat the process with the conditioner before moving on to her body.

I begin by massaging her back with body wash because it feels like a safe place to start. And because that's where I found him when he was attacking her—lying against her back holding her face down against the floor. I'm furious all over again as I see the image of him attempting to rape her.

I shake my head as though it will make the image go away. It doesn't, but I can't let Laurelyn know what's on my mind. It will only upset her more to know I'm picturing her attack, replaying what I saw almost happen.

Her tense muscles gradually begin to relax and I'm encouraged. Laurelyn is the medicine that heals all my pain, so I don't know why I questioned being the same kind of relief for her.

I'm still standing behind her when I move my soapy bare hands up to her neck. She lifts her chin and rests her head against my chest as I make my way down her body. I circle her br**sts and her ni**les become hard pebbles beneath my fingers. She leans harder against me and I tell my c**k to behave because it isn't the right time. He doesn't listen. He never does when it comes to her. And I can't really blame him—she's wet and naked and pressing her beautiful body against mine.