Christie Road

Billie scooped her into his arms as she crumpled, wrapping her naked, bleeding body as best he could in the sheet. Quickly he glanced over at the man who lay, still retching and shuddering, on the floor beside the bed, and a veil of fury dimmed his vision, clouding it red and hazy. It would only take a moment, he thought--the knife had fallen from her hand, but it lay just beside his foot, and whatever she had done to the intruder had rendered him helpless for now. It would take only a moment...

He stared at the gleaming blade, imagining it piercing the bastard's black heart over and over. There was a grinding sound in his ears, masking the pounding of his pulse, and he realized he was gritting his teeth hard enough to break them. As he bent to deposit her on the edge of the bed, her arms tightened around his neck, and when he looked down at her, the crystal blue eyes pleaded with him pitifully.

"Don't, Billie," she whispered in a thin voice teetering on the edge of panic, as she buried her face in his neck. "If you do, they'll take you away from me, and I can't--I--can't--"

Horror froze the edges of her words, and groaning with the effort it took to push his rage aside, he unbuckled his belt and whipped it out of the loops of his jeans. Rolling the man onto his stomach, Billie pulled his hands behind him and wrapped the belt tightly around them, and then looped it around the bed frame before pulling the strap through the buckle, as hard as he could.

"Fuck!" Donnie snarled up at him, his face crimson with pain and frustration. "I can't feel my fucking hands! Take this goddamned thing off me!"

Billie lifted Jazz again, her thin arms clinging to his neck, and carried her carefully down the steps and to his car, kicking her front door shut behind him. He could still hear the man bellowing curses and threats through the flimsy walls, and as he picked up his phone to call the police, he squeezed his free hand into a fist to stop it from shaking.

"I want to stay here for just a minute until they get here," he told her as soon as he hung up. "I want to make damn sure they find him." Jazz lay curled beside him on the seat, her head lying on his thigh, knees tucked up to her chest, and she nodded slowly, silently. He watched her vacant eyes, staring out the window, and stroked her hair as softly as he could.

The black and white wheeled into the parking lot, lights and sirens drawing stares of curiosity from her neighbors who were heading to work. Billie cradled Jazz in his arms as she gave them a statement in a tiny, crushed voice, and directed the officers to her apartment. When they had reached the landing and he saw them open the door, he was satisfied that she would be safe.

"It's okay now," he whispered to her, helping her to sit up and fasten her seat belt. "I've got you." He cupped her chin in his hand, and she turned her head to look blankly at him. "Jazz, did you hear me? You're safe now, nothing's going to hurt you."

He wouldn't have been surprised to see her eyes fill with tears. After the horror she had just experienced, it would have been normal, even expected. But she simply continued to stare at him--no, through him was a better word, as if she didn't really see him at all. He smoothed the hair out of her face, caressing her cheeks and kissing her forehead tenderly, searching her eyes over and over for some spark of acknowledgment.

She needed to be away from this place, somewhere safe and quiet. "C'mon, baby, I'm gonna take you home with me," he murmured against the seashell curve of her ear. "We'll be there in just a few minutes."

There was no sound as he drove. Even her breathing seemed muted, lost inside the wrinkled linen cocoon that swallowed her tiny body. Dark circles underscored her eyes, making her look haggard and haunted, and she slumped forward slightly, her slender frame supported only by the tension of the seat belt. The side of her face was darkening now, blooming an all-too-familiar blue and purple, breaking his heart more completely than he had thought possible. In that moment, he thought, he would have gladly died to make this go away, make it so that it had never happened.

The car rolled to a stop in his driveway, and he opened her door, lifting her once again into his arms and marveling at the lightness of her, as if some part of her had fallen away, leaving her hollow. Her head sank onto his shoulder, lolling gently as he unlocked the door and carried her inside.

It wasn't supposed to be this way. Carrying her across this threshold should have been a joyous thing, his mind screamed in protest. Why does every good thing seem to be stolen from her, when she's never harmed a soul in her life?

She murmured softly as he laid her on his bed, but her face turned away from him, and he couldn't make out her words. He started a bath for her, and as the warm water cascaded from the faucet, he had to close his eyes, focusing on the sound of his breathing to keep the anger at bay. More anger--especially his--was the last thing she needed right now.

When the tub was full, he returned to the bedroom for her, trying hard to protect the tiny fragment of dignity she might have left. She didn't resist, barely moved at all, and if he had aggravated her injuries, she made no protest.

Helping her lower herself into the water, still wrapped in her flowery shroud, he knelt on the floor beside her, dipping a washcloth into the warm water and dabbing as gently as he could at her battered face. The sheet had stuck to the blood on her hand and her side, and as the water loosened it, he carefully pulled a small section of it aside, and bit his lip as he saw the ragged tear in the skin beside her navel.

Through it all, she never flinched, never even winced. She had sunk down in the water until it was nearly to her chin, and she gazed up at him silently as he examined her wrists and ankles, watching his face darken at the scrapes and bruises. Her expression was unreadable, a shadow that could have been horror, or sadness, or--worst of all--shame.

He wished she would say something, anything. Even tears would have been okay, better than this silent shadow she had fallen under.. But something inside her seemed to have broken, and he felt helpless to fix it. Which was worse, he wondered, to regret not being there to help her, or to be here and have no idea what to do?

He had some old boxers and drawstring pants that could be adjusted to fit her, and he brought them back with a tee shirt for her to change into. He closed the door behind him, sitting on the edge of his bed to wait for her, and when she finally appeared in the doorway, his clothes hanging on her like some little ragamuffin, he turned back the covers for her and slid into the bed beside her. His arms wrapped around her protectively, and he pulled her close against him, bending his head to whisper love into her ear until she fell asleep.

And then there was nothing to do but lie with her.

She was so still that anyone who hadn't witnessed the violence that she'd just been through would have thought she was sleeping peacefully. As he watched her, her fingers began to twitch, and a soft moan broke the silence that lay over them. Her head turned from side to side--"No, she whimpered, her knees drawing up toward her chest until she had curled up, fetal. In the throes of the nightmare now, she cried out, louder this time--"No!--and her hands flew out in front of her, pushing away the dark horror that loomed invisibly over her.

Billie turned her toward him to wake her, slowly, trying not to startle her, but the touch of his hands on her body seemed to electrify her, and she stiffened in his embrace. Fear still clouded her face, and as her eyes focused on him without really seeing, her lips parted in a scream that came from the depths of her broken, wounded soul.

He pulled back, panicked at the terror in her eyes, afraid that his presence was the worst thing for her right now. She was panting, staring wildly at him as her focus sharpened, and he waited, frozen, barely daring to breathe. He wouldn't touch her, no matter how much he ached to--now or ever--if it brought back these ghosts.

Her face began to relax, soften as she looked into his green eyes, and recognition slowly cleared the jagged, broken glass that lay between them.

"Oh, Billie..." she whispered, and reached for him, her arms clinging to him tightly. "I--I thought--"

"Ssshhh, Jazz, it's just me. I'm right here, and I won't leave you. It's gonna be okay, I swear." He held her so close he could feel the frightened rabbit of her heart, tattooing a frantic pace against his chest. "Just hold on to me and don't let go." He was so grateful just to hear her voice, to know she was still with him and not in some dark, cold place he couldn't reach.

"I won't," she whispered, and her hand curled around his neck, warm and soft as a kitten. "God, I'm so glad you're here."

"That's how it's gonna be from now on," he murmured against her hair. "Whenever you need me, I'll be right there for you. You won't ever be alone again, baby. I promise." He trailed the backs of his fingers against her cheek, brushing away the strand of hair that had fallen against it, and kissed the top of her head.

She lifted her face to him, her pale eyes full of trust. "I love you, Billie. You know that, don't you?" She said it simply, knowing the words weren't really needed. She thought he might have known for a long time, but it didn't matter. He knew now, and that was all she cared about. This nightmare would fade, like all the others, but the difference now was that she could put her heart in his hands and know that it was safe.

"Yeah, I do," he said softly. "But it's good to hear you say it. I'd hate to think I was hopelessly in love with someone who didn't feel the same way."

For a moment she was quiet, letting the words wash over her wounded heart, soothing the pain and healing the scars. Timidly, she laid her cheek against his, the soft fringe of her eyelashes brushing his temple like butterfly wings, and then she turned slowly, until her lips pressed against the corner of his mouth.

His eyes closed slowly, and he held his breath, not moving. The even ticking of the clock on the dresser matched the quickening pace of his heart, and the sweet fragrance of her hair filled his nostrils. He made no move to take her lips, waiting for her to show him what she needed from him. Her hand was light on his neck, a whisper, a warm breeze, and he knew she could feel his pulse racing there. Would she pull away, fearing the passion that stirred in his veins, in spite of his best efforts?

A long moment passed, her breath feather-soft on his cheek. Then the touch of her lips was gone, and he felt her nestle her head in the hollow of his shoulder.

Pulling her snug against him, he sighed softly, a faint smile smoothing the worry in his face.

She was here, and she was safe. It was enough.