I'm Marrying The Asshole of My School?

It was only ten minutes after Eric left when a knock came to the door; I furrowed my eyebrows together and got up, grabbing an umbrella to strike at the possible intruder. Who in their right mind would knock on someone’s door at almost ten o’clock at night? A whole range of answers popped into my mind, but I didn’t want to think about them. They all ended really badly. Plus the fact that I was sort of on the paranoid side…didn’t help matters any more. Mom and Tristan were sleeping and Jack was out somewhere. I couldn’t just call him up to have him come home and find that there wasn’t a problem at all. Maybe if I woke up mom? No. She would kill me for waking her up, even if there was an intruder. I swear that woman could sleep through an atomic bomb.
So, as I stalked forward, I saw a shadow pass the narrow strip of window that’s next to the door. A person was standing out there waiting. If it had been a killer or something, they would have just come in. No, I knew those big broad shoulders and the tallness anywhere.
Rowen.
I opened the door to find him standing there, his face all beat up. Quickly, I abandoned the umbrella and pulled him inside, “What happened to you?”
He was silent as I sat him down in the kitchen and got out a pot, filling it with warm water and set it near him. Grabbing a towel, I dipped it in the water and began to wash the wounds that needed the attention most. His left eye was swollen and bruising, a cut on his lip and a gash right under his right eye. A few more bad gashes here and there on his face were what I saw. I really didn’t want to look at what else might be damaged. Taking the side of his face carefully into my hand, I turned his head to get one of the wounds on his cheek near the ear, “What happened?”
“My dad,” He whispered hoarsely, like he’d been screaming for a long time.
“Why?” I asked cringing when he hissed from one of the wounds I was cleaning. I looked into it and found a piece of glass. Shit; his dad hit him with glass? I pulled out tweezers from one of the counter drawers and began to pull out a few pieces of glass here and there.
Rowen grabbed my wrist and made me look at him. The pain was so raw, so needing, that I felt my chest squeeze and I had to turn my eyes back to his wound, “He was drunk.”
“Did you fight back?”
“Of course but he threw an empty beer bottle at me, and I got struck in the face by it. While I was down, he had his punches and kicks on me,” I could barely hear him, but I still understood. There was one wound that had dirt in it.
I furrowed my eyebrows, “Did he get you with dirt too?”
“We started fighting in the backyard and he threw dirt in my eyes.”
I nodded, “I see,” as I worked the dirt out of his wound.
“He told me never to come back, that he hopes I rot in hell for being such a horrible son,” Rowen’s voice quavered.
I closed my eyes for a minute and than shook my head, going into the bathroom and getting those huge bandages for the more serious cuts and some Neosporin, and bringing it back out. Spraying his wounds, I applied the bandages, one after the other until the wounds were covered and hopefully won’t get infected. I put everything away and took his hand (well, more like his first three fingers because those were the only ones I could fit my hand around) and brought him into the living room, sitting him down.
“You can stay here, but I don’t know what mom will say,” I motioned towards the bigger couch, “You’ll sleep on that one because well, you don’t fit on this one,” I watched his smile lightly.
“Thanks so much, Isabella,” He pulled me down until I was sitting in him lap, his arms around my waist.
“It’s nothing really, but I want you to tell me about your life. Past and the present,” I said, shifting so I could let my arm drape over his shoulder and fiddle with his wavy hair.
He looked at me and than away at the floor, “Not yet, Isabella, please, I can’t take it.”
A thought struck me, “Does being afraid of blow dryers have something to do with your dad?”
His eyes met mine and I knew the answer. The look he gave me said everything. All the hurt, all the pain and torment; everything that once was happy and good, had vanished from his sparkling eyes. How could someone hurt their own flesh and blood? It just wasn’t right. Rowen needs justice for what his father put him through. I wrapped my other arm around his neck and hugged him tightly, my face pressed into his hair, “It’s all right, nothing will hurt you again. I promise.”
“He can easily kill you,” Rowen muttered, his arms gripping me around the waist, “He beat me up and I’m twice your size and weight.”
“Well he can’t hurt you now that you’re here.” I said, “You can stay as long as you want.”
“Isabella, you’re such a kind-hearted woman,” He sighed, nuzzling his face into my stomach right below my breasts, “I would love to stay.”
I stroked his head, “Come on, you can take a nice warm bath and I’ll see if I can find clothes that will fit you.”
He nodded and picked me up in his arms, my legs wrapped around his waist instinctively as so I didn’t fall. I never liked to be picked up but with him, I felt safe. He climbed the stairs slowly and I told him what door led to the bathroom. We entered in and made him let me down so I could show him how to work the shower knobs. I gave him a big plush towel and left to find some clothes he might fit in.
This was not as easy as it sounds. My brother wasn’t even close to his height, and forget about Tristan and my mom. I snuck into her room and riffled quietly through her closets looking for clothes that she might have kept since daddy died. He was broad in every aspect and probably taller than Rowen, so I was sure he’d fit into daddy’s clothes.
“Come on,” I whispered silently, “Give me something.”
I searched for like a half an hour and finally, thank God, I found some of his old clothes. The jeans that were worn down and frayed here and there, a white tee shirt and a plaid cotton dress shirt. These will have to do until he can get his clothes from his house. I put everything back the way they were and left as silently as I came.
Rowen was leaning against the bathroom door, eyes closed, hands behind his head, and the towel around his waist clinging tightly to him. Water droplets fell from his hair and splashed his chest, rolling down the hard hills of his abs until it disappeared into the dark “happy trail” that went from his belly button to somewhere under the towel. The ‘V’ shape his hipbones made poked out from the top of the towel. I swallowed hard; he didn’t even try to dry off. The small beads of water still clung to his skin.
“Hey,” I said, stopping in front of him.
He opened his eyes and smiled, “Isabella, I thought you disappeared on me.”
“Nope,” I grinned, “But I got you a present,” I handed him the pile of clothes.
He nodded his head, “Thank you very much,” I watched him retreat into the bathroom and noticed a multitude of scars that laced his back. Not just a few here and there. They were everywhere; some were crisscrossing, others stood alone. I couldn’t keep my eyes off them until he shut the door.
I went to my room and got changed into my jammies; plaid shorts, and a black tee shirt. All five of my dogs were on my bed and so I scooted Cake over so I could lean against the wall with my legs crossed Indian-style. So his dad wasn’t just verbally abusive, but rather physically. I thought back to the scars. Really physically. Just the thought of someone able to take down Rowen made me give an involuntary shudder. Cake let her head fall in my lap and gave a big dog sigh. I smiled and rubbed behind her ear where she always liked to be petted. Staring up at my ceiling, I gave my own big sigh and began to talk to her, “I’m only seventeen. I can’t know what love is.”
Cake yawned and I rolled my eyes at her, “Let alone feel what it is. Have you ever been in love Cake?”
She gave me a doggy grin and nuzzled her head towards Romeo. Ahh, so she was smitten with the only non-Husky dog. Seems she likes the ones who stand out in a crowd. Seems like me. I smiled and let my upper body lean down so I can rest my forehead on top of her head. “I love you, sugar.”
That brought me back to my train of thought. Had Rowen ever felt love? More importantly, has he ever had a speck of love from his family? Maybe a grandparent or a cousin? I sat back up against the wall when my spine began to hum with pain. I wasn’t the most flexible person there is, even I draw the line sometimes. His father must be a big man to be able to take down a giant like Rowen.
“They fit,” A voice echoed in my room. For a second, I got scared because I’d forgotten he was still here, but then relaxed and let my back slump.
I looked over at him. Since my room was dark and the hallway light was on, it looked as if he was an angel with a glowing halo around him. The jeans fit comfortably, a bit too snug near the butt but, hell, shake what your mama gave you, right? The tee shirt was loose, but not too loose and the cotton plaid shirt was over it, the sleeves, rolled up to his elbows, strained against his muscles. I smiled at him and scooted over, moving the dogs more towards my pillows, and patted the vacant spot next to me. He sat down and leaned back against the wall, my shoulder brushing his arm. I noticed my legs hardly went over the edge of the bed unlike his whereas he was able to basically get half of his legs over and I could feel his feet rocking the back and forth.
“So I take it you saw the scars,” He said matter-of-factly.
I nodded, entwining my fingers together and started to twiddle my thumbs because I didn’t know what else to do with them. Summing up my courage, I plunged forward, “What happened?”
“You know the phrase ‘fifty lashes with a wet noodle’?”
“Yeah, I’m familiar with it,” I said cautiously, not liking where this was going.
“Well imagine the noodles, but replace it with a belt,” He grimaced.
I winced and stopped twiddling my fingers, instead I covered (as much as I could) his one hand and squeezed. He returned it by grasping my whole hand in his, completely devouring it. “Don’t you dare pity me, Isabella.”
“Rowen, why don’t you move out?”
“Believe me, I want to, but my mom needs me,” He said like he was suddenly tired. “She’s Anemic and if she doesn’t get her medicine she could lose more of her blood cells and would have to get a transfusion. We just don’t have enough money for that. Dad doesn’t know left from right, let alone her medicine and what time she needs to take it. So it’s up to me to take care of her, and if I leave now, she’ll surely die.”
“Why not take her with you?” I asked quietly.
“She doesn’t want to leave him,” He growled out; which shocked me, because that was definitely not a normal growl.
I furrowed my eyebrows together in thought. “So, what will you do?”
He let his head fall back against the wall and sighed, “I don’t know right now.”
I noticed how tired he looked. Under all the cuts and scars and scrapes, there lies a very fragile boy who just needs to be the one to get comforted for a change. So, I complied. I wound my arms around him and he let himself fall on me, but not entirely. His head was nuzzled securely into the crook of my neck and part of his body was leaning against the front of mine. I held him tightly and kissed what part of his head I could. There was no way I could not get involved in his life. I needed to have a few words with Mr. Copley.
The clock read one-fifty eight as we began to drift in and out of slumber. I remember vaguely of Rowen getting up and moving the dogs off the bed, picking me up and laying down on my pillow and got in next to me, wrapping us in warm sheets of blankets that I had so graciously accepted because mom put the central AC on too high for my tastes and I was shivering. His back was to the room and mine to the wall, we tangled together under those warm crisp covers, and I knew without a doubt, if any bad monsters tried to harm us while we tried to sleep, he’d protect me.
Even if those monsters were from our pasts.