GIO (Interracial Rockstar Romance)

There was something comforting about silence. It gave me time to gather my thoughts, and there was an overall calming feeling that poured over me. I pictured Simone’s face and I somehow knew it would be okay. There was nothing else I could consider. It all had to be okay.

Everything had to work out. If not, that meant God was a sadistic bastard.

It’s all going to work out. She’s going to be fine. I’m going to be out of here.

Later, the officer from earlier slipped in a notebook and pen.

I jumped off the bed, grabbed it, and wrote to Simone. Everything just poured out of me. All my love. All my fears. All my hope. I wanted her to know that she’d done nothing wrong. I wanted her to know that I would always be there. That I loved. That I cared. That my life was nothing until her. That I hadn’t truly lived, truly breathed until I met her.

For the first time since the cops had handcuffed me, my eyes watered at the realization that she might never wake up. What if I never got to see her again? What if her last moment on earth was that sick fuck’s face?

No. Don’t say that. Don’t think about it.

An hour later, the officer got the letter from me and handed me several posters to sign. Apparently, one of his friends had run to the store, bought a few, and rushed them over.

“I put the number of my manager on the back.” I pointed to the bulky letter. “Make sure you give it to him or whoever he sends over here.”

“No problemo. We’re all supporting you. There’s people outside gathering around the jail. They’ve got signs and everything. GioKnights shirts and hats.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah. It’s been the biggest news all day. They’re calling it a deadly love triangle.”

My heart crushed. This wasn’t the way I wanted the world to meet Simone. The media craved a dirty headline, and what would be better than some portrayal of Simone as this temptress, seducing two powerful men to the point where they try to kill each other?

“Any news about her?” I asked, gripping the bars.

“It’s just pretty much the same. She’s awake and not talking to anyone.”

I froze. “She’s...awake?”

“Yes.”

I let out an exasperated breath.

“Oh. I forget you have no idea what’s been going on since we grabbed you.” He tucked the posters under his arm. “He’s awake too.”

“What?!” I yelled so loud the cop jumped back. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I thought he’d died or something.”

“No, he’s awake and handcuffed to his bed. He confessed to drugging and sexually assaulting her, but he’s saying that you attacked and tried to kill him.”

“I was defending her.”

“Hey, this is why your lawyers are all over the news, man.” Something beeped on his side. He shook his head. “I’ve got to go. I’ll get this letter to her and thanks again for the posters.”

“No, thank you for letting me know what’s going on.”

He nodded and left.

My spirits lifted. Simone was alive. Ru was alive too, not that I wouldn’t have minded if he died, but I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life and jail due to killing him.

It’s going to work out.

I headed back to the cot and lay down, trying to stay positive.

She’s okay.

But how much was she okay? Sure, she’d woken up, but what had he done to her? How much did she remember? Was she drugged the whole time, or did he attack her before and then drug her?

I could kill that sick fuck. Maybe he should’ve stayed in the coma.

It took several minutes of dark silence to calm me down.

How much did he hurt her? Would she still be my happy Simone?

It didn’t matter if she changed from all of this. In many ways, I half expected it. Ru had hurt her so much, and not just physically, but emotionally and mentally. She would need time to heal and I hoped she would let me help her.

Would she still believe in love—in us—after what that monster did to her? Would she still want the feel of my arms around her, or did he ruin the concept of physical touch to her? How much damage did you try to do to us, Ru?

No matter what he did, I would be there for her. There was nothing Ru could do to keep me away. I just hoped Simone still wanted to give us a chance. Many victims of sexual assault and rape didn’t want to be physically comforted or touched in any way. Jason had confessed that to me long ago.

His mother had woken him up in the middle of the night, brought two hookers into his room, and had her friends laugh and watch on as the women slept with them. He said it took him days to sleep again without the fear of his mother doing the same thing. It took him several months to stop wetting the bed, and so many years before he ever let anyone touch him.