Apprehended Ch 13

Apprehended: Chapter Thirteen

I was huddled in a corner with my knees to my chest. Shivering, I wrapped my arms around myself to appear smaller. Jerry was in the bathroom, currently washing away the blood that blanketed his skin.

My

blood. I sat near the fridge, taking refuge in my small slice of temporary safety while he was away. He took me against my will on the kitchen floor, but this was nothing new for me. It was one of many; with each encounter blurring into the next-an endless loop of pain that made me numb.

Broken dishes lined the floor in sharp shards that pierced my skin. Blood dripped, making the floor slippery. I prayed that he would fall to his demise once he emerged, dying instantly. But my prayers were left unheard. All too soon, he was finished with his shower and I knew what came next: eyes raging, body tense and ready for round two. After which, he would only allow me a shower once I finished cleaning up the mess that was made after the beating. This was his pattern: taking, and beating, taking, and beating. It had become a sadistic ritual. One where I could no longer discern what was real and what was imaginary.

Sometimes, I would pretend that I was in a different place. One filled with safety and the freedom to do as a please. Perhaps an open forest or a vast, desolate beach filled with endless sunshine. The places varied. The context itself was stagnant.

I felt pain in my left eye as it began to swell. The punch had sent me whirling, my body colliding into the stove. Fresh bruises lined my torso and thighs, integrating with the old bruises previously inflicted. I wiped my upper lip with my forearm, staring at the fresh streak of blood that ran along my flesh.

The bathroom went eerily quiet, followed by the curtain being pushed aside as he no doubt got out to dry off.

He was coming out again...he was going to hurt me again...he was going to-

"ANNIE!" he barked, opening the bathroom door with such force, it moaned and collided into the wall.

I shrank back, knowing that he wasn't going to hold back. He never did; not with me. The only time there was a semblance of peace was when he either went to sleep or felt pity on me, showering me with what he thought was affection.

He appeared before me, his height and size casting shadows from the light behind him. Even the darkness trembled, somehow knowing what a man his weight and height was capable of. At six foot two, Jerry was the kind of man you didn't look at for long periods of time. His blue gaze was unwavering and cold; calculated to the point of creepy, where one would assume that he was going to murder you for no other reason than he wanted to.

Which is the look he was currently giving me. The one that frightened me to my core. The one that made me lose myself. The one that rocked the steadiness of my being and identity. The one that ruined me.

"What did I tell you about making a mess?" he snapped, tightening a towel around his hips.

I didn't answer. Answering made it worse.

He cursed and flicked on the light in the kitchen, making me wince. "Fuck, Annie. You look like shit. Get your ass up and start cleaning." He waited a few tense seconds. "Now!"

I jerked involuntarily and got up, stumbling about until I got my composure. I grabbed the nearest broken dish beside my foot and slowly took it to the sink. I winced again, pain erupting from my stomach.

"What's the matter?" he asked, his tone cold despite the caring question.

The thing was, Jerry had a serious mental incapacitation. One minute, he was violent. The next, he would try to repair what he destroyed; attempting to soothe me into submission. Yet, underneath the façade of caring, there was always a hint of the sadist. One wrong move and he would hurt me again, taking pleasure from my pain. Like the flip of a switch, he was liable to go insane once more. It was like walking on eggshells, constantly afraid one would break and jumping onto the fragile shell of another knowing it would end the same.

I shook my head even though I had a migraine. "Nothing," I whispered.

I heard him walk over, his bare feet carefully going over the broken dishes. I froze when he came up behind me, his thick arms and veiny hands grabbing my hips. He pulled me into him, my back to his front and I nearly vomited. He smelled of old beer and soap. He lowered his head and rested it in the crook of my neck.

"Did I hurt you that bad?" he asked, nuzzling my skin. His beard scratched my flesh.

I shook my head again. "No, Ethan."

"Ethan?" he snapped, whipping me around to face him. "Who the fuck is Ethan?"

I opened my mouth and froze. Ethan? Where did I hear that name before? It was so familiar to me. Familiar yet so...foreign. So far away from me even though it seemed so close.

"Hey!" Jerry spat, slapping me across the face. My lip split and I involuntarily lolled to the side. He continued to hold me by my hips, bearing all my weight because I could no longer stand upright.

"I asked you a question, bitch. Who is Ethan?" He slapped me again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

"Ethan!" I cried out, not sure who it was and why I needed him.

"Who is he?!" Jerry cried; no longer slapping me but punching me. "I said who is he?!"

He punched me in the jaw, making my vision go momentarily dark. When I blinked lazily and tried to focus, the kitchen tilted, making everything go whoa-nelly. I was no longer in control of my own body. The only thing holding me up before I hit the linoleum was Jerry. He reared back and it was almost like a dream sequence.

Everything slowed as his arm gained momentum for another punch. A man flashed in my mind. A man that took Jerry's place before me. He was so much larger than Jerry, with golden eyes that sparkled. They were almost inhuman, looking down at me as the fist came closer. I didn't know if it was Jerry's fist or the strange man's fist. But the collision was eminent. I shrank back in fear and screamed as Jerry morphed into the large man; the man whose thick hair framed his chiseled face. I didn't need to know him to realize that one punch from him would be the death of me. Especially considering how large he was.

"Annie!"

I cried, knowing that my time had finally come. I was going to die, right here, right now; by the hands of someone I didn't even know, but somehow knew.

"Annie!"

Something warm and wet trickled down my cheeks, and I whimpered as the fist inched closer to my face. I was probably bleeding; the previous punches rendering me more susceptible to the strange man's final blow.

"Annie! Wake up!"

I screamed again just as flesh met flesh. Just as I expected an all-consuming pain to encompass me.

Only...the pain never came.

Nor did the punch.

But the tears were very real.

I jerked, my eyes opening wide as reality hit me like a ton of falling bricks.

I was not with Jerry. I was with Ethan.

I was

not

with Jerry.

I was safe with Ethan, who was brushing tears away from my cheeks as I huddled in the corner on the floor of a bedroom I didn't recognize.

"Easy, belulla. Easy."

I looked around in a panic, my heart racing, and my skin pasty and sweaty. Ethan moved closer to me, his eyes finding mine. They sparkled warmly in the dark and I held onto them like a lifeline.

"I'm right here," he continued, still rubbing his thumbs against my skin. "You're safe."

I took a deep breath, finding my rhythm as the nightmare dissipated. As Jerry faded off into the distance and stood there, unmoving, and moribund. I reveled in it; in the very idea that he was not only gone, but never coming back. Not as long as Ethan was here, keeping me protected.

I focused, realizing several things at once. One, I was in Ethan's room at the new cabin we arrived in. Two, night had descended, and Ethan carried me here when I fell asleep by the fire. Three, Ethan was not a stranger to be feared. And four, I was blessedly safe with him, even though I was curled up into a ball on the floor in the corner of the room. The hardwood was cold against my shivering legs. I sniffled and refocused on Ethan; whose face was etched with concern.

"Hey," I said, my voice thick with emotion. It was the only thing I could think of to say that seemed rational. My thought processes were currently delayed.

"Hey, baby. You okay?" His own voice was heavy and thick, as if-he too-were suffering alongside me. Perhaps he was. Perhaps seeing me in pain caused him pain. I didn't like that idea.

I nodded. "Mm-hmm."

"You sure?"

"I think so." I cleared my throat to rid it of the tremors.

He planted his ass on the hardwood, never taking his eyes off me. He licked his lips and stood quiet, assessing me in that odd, inhuman way he always did. It took him a while to speak, and when he did, I was grateful for his voice to fill in the void. "You know," he said slowly, carefully. "When I was a boy, I'd hear my mother cry out in her sleep. Of course it was always when my father wasn't in the room with her. She'd never cry when he was there. I used to get up from my bed and walk over to her room in the dark, settling my small body by the door just to hear her. I used to think she was weak, never fighting against my old man. But as I got older, I realized two things. One, she was brave for never crying in front of him. She felt safe enough to cry when he was not there to witness her pain and for that, he never preyed upon it."

I huddled into myself, knowing all too well how it felt to try and be brave when afraid. "What's the other thing?" I asked, softly.

He sighed deeply and ran a hand over his face, his stubble making a raspy sound across his palm. "That one can still have courage despite being in fear." He lifted a thick, strong leg and rested his muscled arm on it. "You see, fear doesn't define you. It doesn't strip away bravery. Withstanding something that terrifies you is the bravest thing someone can do. I learned that when I fought my old man for Alpha. He was never fit to be a leader. But that did not change the fact that he was so much larger and stronger than I was at the time. I hadn't yet shifted into my wolf, so I was weak and quite powerless."

I looked him over, his big body dwarfing the space around him. "You're large now," I whispered.

He chuckled lowly, revealing his sweet dimples. "I filled into my male form, transitioning from the weak male into the strong male; my wolf gave me that. But the thing is, I battled my father without my wolf. It was the scariest thing I ever faced, yet I did it. It nearly killed me..." He shook his head back and forth, his eyes staring off into something unfocused in the dark. "No, let me amend that...

he

nearly killed me...but I had no choice. It was either stand against him in fear or cower into submission in fear. Either way, I was scared, and for good reason. However, when the deed was done, I knew just how brave my mother was; suffering a lifetime of his abuse for the greater good of the whole. She was the one who took care of the clan. She was the empathizer, the mediator and the glue that held everyone together. And even though she hid the bruises and the pain inflicted upon her by the Alpha and she cried for his wrongful deeds, she stood by him for the sake of her people. In her fear, she withstood it. If that isn't bravery, I don't know what is."

I knew what he was trying to do. He was trying to help me find my own inner strength. The one I felt I always lacked.

He looked me over, his beautiful eyes going over every inch of my body until he finally settled them on my eyes once more. I still found it difficult to have him watch me in such a way. A way that implied want, need, and desire. No man had ever looked at me that way, but Ethan was no ordinary man, was he?

"You're safe enough to cry here. In front of me. You know that I won't judge you. You know I will never think you are weak. You trust me to see those fallen tears and wipe them away. For that, I am grateful."

We stood in silence for a few minutes, with Ethan waiting patiently while I gained my composure. Eventually, Ethan got up, his knees cracking as he straightened. I made a move to get up but stopped when Ethan lowered himself once more to scoop me up from the floor.

I felt weightless with him in his strong arms. I felt like the emotional heaviness of my past and the physical heaviness I bore was non-existent. Ethan erased a lot of things. Especially the bad. He settled me on his large bed and lowered himself to the floor so he could look at me properly. He tenderly brushed a few strands of hair away from my face and tucked them behind my ear. "You hungry?"

The thought of food had my stomach rumbling loudly. Ethan barked out a laugh and rose to his full height. "Let me go downstairs and wait on you."

"That's okay," I said. "I can get my own food from the kitch-"

He put up a hand to silence me. "Nonsense. I'm waiting on you. I'll be right back." With that said, he left me alone, but not before putting on a small lamp by the bed.

It too felt strange to have another do things for me. Things like cook and serve me meals. This was yet another characteristic that made Ethan special: his ability to take care of me with nothing in return. He was selfless, and that was enough to melt any icy, ruined heart.

I decided to get comfortable and wrapped my body up in a thick blanket, snatching the remote to watch some television. I flipped through the channels, absently passing sitcoms until I stopped on a black and white classic. The woman on the screen was sniffing the air around her, her voice as smooth as silk:

"I smell Marmosa's..."

I curled into myself, staring intently at the screen. I watched the characters travel throughout the black and white house; the staircase eerily narrow and terrifying to watch as the house was supposedly haunted. I turned away from the screen and realized that

I

was haunted in my own way. I carried Jerry around like a sickness, my brain always finding ways to remind me of my past-even in my unconscious state.

All too soon, Ethan came back with a tray of food. The smell was divine, and my mouth watered. He took a seat beside me and transferred the tray of onto my lap. "Eat," he pressed, staring at me.

I smiled, said, "thank you," grabbed the fork and stared at the meal. It was roasted chicken and wild rice. I grabbed a forkful and took a bite, feeling rather awkward as he stared.

It was delicious.

"Good," he said, snatching the remote and changing the channel.

"Hey," I said with a mouthful of food. "I was watching that."

"Eat your food," he said, flicking through the channels.

I looked him over. "Aren't you hungry? Where is your plate?"

"I ate already. You were asleep. I didn't want to wake you for food. Your body needed the rest." He continued going through the channels, his finger smashing the remote like he was on a mission to break it.

I smiled as I ate, realizing that this was most likely a habit of his; flicking through channels with no pre-determined idea of what he wanted to watch. Verily, he looked rather annoyed performing such a mundane task. He also appeared to be frowning.

I giggled, taking pleasure in whatever this was that he was doing.

He turned to face me, his brows shooting up. "What are you laughing at?"

I pointed at him quickly with my fork. "You."

The corner of his mouth turned up into a smile, revealing only a little of his dimple. "I can see that, love. I want to know why."

I shrugged and continued eating, nearly done with my food. "Do you usually abuse the remote whenever you're looking at television?"

He chuckled. "I don't abuse the remote."

"It's begging for mercy," I replied, looking at the poor button that would not stop igniting in red.

He stared at it briefly and examined it before shrugging.

I laughed and finished my food. "Have you decided what you want to watch?"

He shut the television off and stared at me, his eyes boring into mine in a way that made me feel self-conscious. "You." His voice was thick and heavy.

I quickly wiped my mouth with a napkin and set the tray aside, nervously examining him as his smoldering, heated eyes assessed every inch of not only my face, but my body. Though I was fully clothed, I somehow felt bare under his intense scrutiny and it was odd to have a man like him eye me. I also felt secretly ashamed, knowing that I was dull compared to him. His was perfection incarnate. And me? Well, I simply was

not

.

I cleared my throat and looked down at my hands, lacing them together and feeling my face flush as he continued to stare at my imperfections.

"What is it, belulla?" he asked, softly.

I shrugged, not wanting to voice such insecurities despite feeling safe and comfortable with him. "It's nothing."

He reached out, lifting my chin with a strong, sure, and steady finger. It was easy to find his golden gaze and get lost in his eyes. "Talk to me, love. What's on your mind?" He held my chin in place, not allowing me to stray away from him and hide. My lower lip trembled slightly, and he ran a thumb over the flesh, smoothing it soothingly and softly. "You can tell me anything. You know you can."

I sighed, melting into his touch. I didn't want to voice the demons that haunted my mind. But it was difficult to ignore. "I just don't understand how you can look at me in such a way when I'm so ruined," I admitted, quietly.

He moved his hand, shifting to cup my face and hold me in place as he leaned into me. The heat of his body hit me like a wave, warming me instantly. "Suffering does not lead to ruination, sweetheart. It leads to strength. The strength that it took to overcome such suffering. The end result does not have to be a complete loss of self."

Tears involuntarily welled and I tried my hardest to keep them at bay. I hated that I fell apart so easily with Ethan. I hated that he saw right through the facades and straight to the heart of me. "Then what other option is there?" I asked, my voice unsteady.

He sighed deeply, his warm breath tickling my face. He smelled like a hazy summer night; soft breezes and dewy grass. "Reinvention. Instead of focusing on the past and burdening yourself with the pain that hinders you from progression; perhaps you can channel that into something entirely different. Reinvent yourself. Create something new from the ashes."

I thought about that. It was an odd form of advice. One I honestly never thought of myself. Mayhap he had a valid point. Wallowing in misery did not help with progression. I was holding myself back. However, finding myself all over again was going to be a problem. Figuring out who you were after years of hiding was more than merely coming out of a hypothetical shell. It was breaking the bonds of self-preservation. During which, my own form of ruination occurred, where I felt like a dilapidated form of what I once was.

But maybe Ethan was right. Maybe I could push through the bonds that I created. And maybe Ethan was omniscient in his way of thinking. He hadn't led me astray so far.

"Tomorrow," he promised, gently running his thumb along my cheek. "Tomorrow, you find a piece of yourself. You either take back what was lost or create something new. How about that, love?"

I nodded and sniffled. "That sounds like a great idea." Without thinking twice, I leaned into him in one swift motion and wrapped my arms around his neck for a hug. My first hug willingly given without fear.

He smelled amazing: like earth and fresh soap. He wrapped strong arms around my waist and pulled me into him, nuzzling into my neck and tickling my flesh with his beard. His hair was thick and soft. I hesitated momentarily before deciding that this was it: the beginning of self-discovery. I was not with Jerry. This was not my past.