Page 47 of Cut Me Down

Three days later

The reflection staring back at me in the mirror is a stranger. One that looks like me, and sounds like me, yet I don’t recognize her. The purple and blue bruises that Cooper left on my body are finally at the stage where they’re looking better instead of worse. My voice is finally starting to go back to normal, and thank God for that, because it was only drawing attention to my wounds for my clients.

As I look around the bathroom, I realize just how weird these past few days have been. I didn’t invite him to my place. Not once, and yet Damien has stayed in my apartment every night for four nights. In the morning, he gets up, makes coffee for both of us, and then we shower and get ready for the day together. As if this was completely normal, and not some weird, crazy, stalker situation. Every night now, he just walks right on in, ties me up while I'm asleep, fucks me, and then sleeps next to me like he owns the place.

He can’t knock? Or, I don’t know, wait for an invitation? Of course not. That would make too much sense.

After my outburst, our argument, and his declarations of eternal interest, I’ve been mostly keeping quiet. Well, when we’re not having mind blowing sex, I am. Just before we go to sleep, we make some small talk. Ask about each other’s day, and that’s about it. I know he’s treading lightly. Not wanting to push me over the edge or make me upset.

A part of me feels bad. Like I should be making more of an effort to get to know him. I’m just not sure how. As if my brain didn’t freeze up enough just when he gets close to me, I don’t know how to act after sex. It’s like when he touches me a whole other side of me comes out, and the fear melts away. Like I don’t have to think anymore, and the only thing that fills my head is Damien.

Him killing me isn’t a present concern of mine anymore, though it is for Serena. She keeps threatening to sit outside in her car to see how he’s getting in, but I don't want anything happening to her, so I’ve begged her to stay away for now. At least at night. I don’t think he’d do anything to her, but I’m not willing to risk her life over something that’s currently not a threat.

I'm not sure how, but I think Damien can see our conversations. He’s asked if I told Serena about him, which I have, but I haven’t told him what she’s said about him. Though he seems to know how she feels. Giving subtle hints of what she’s said. Verbatim. Somehow quoting her perfectly while throwing around his sarcastic undertone. I try to be an honest person, but when he asked me what she’s said, I couldn’t tell him. Even though he obviously knows. I don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. Unfortunately including his, but that changes today. No more rolling over and taking his shit.

Or his dick.

I need to push back harder than I have been. I'm being weak. Just because he’s hot, has a large dick, makes me smile, takes care of me…fuck.

Stay focused, bitch.

Just because he’s all of those things doesn’t mean he can just come and go as he pleases. That’s how it starts. He’ll come and go every night, then he’ll skip a night here or there, and then the next thing I know I’ll never see him again. While a part of me swears that’s what I want, another part of me aches to the thought. Which I know is completely insane. I still don’t know him, and I need to remember that he is dangerous. No matter how dick-matized I may be.

I think the weight of everything is just finally catching up with me. Today is not a good day. I’ve been so angry, like no matter what someone did or said, it just ticked off another check on my ‘what could piss me off today’ board. I'm sore, ALL OVER, exhausted, anxious, and I cut my finger pretty badly while I had my last client. Right on the knuckle of my left middle finger, almost taking it off completely. So, every time it bends, it breaks back open, and bleeds all over the place. I was so distracted from my previous client’s profane words, that I wasn’t paying attention to how fast I was cutting.

I'll never understand where men get their audacity from. Earlier today, after I washed a man’s hair, I told him he could dry his hair with the towel around his shoulders and go back to the cutting chair. This older, leather bag looking man had the gall to the look at me and say ‘That didn’t really feel like you wanted me to leave’. What a pig. I just washed his hair!

I can’t stand comments like that. Well, from anyone except Damien, and that makes me even angrier. Why is it that he says something crude, and it turns me on, yet another man tries to get mouthy with me and all I see is red? What is up with that?

I unravel the bandage from my finger, and it’s still pouring blood.Damn, I got it really good this time. Following the normal routine when I cut myself, I rinse it off, pat it dry, and attempt to swipe the liquid skin Emmett gave me over top of it. Though, it doesn’t help this time. It’s all just running down my finger and into the white porcelain bowl. The amount that it’s still bleeding might actually be concerning, but I think it’s just from the placement of the cut.

“What the fuck happened?” I jump when I hear Damien’s voice behind me, and I look back up in the mirror to see those electric, ocean blues staring at me in the glass. Somehow instantly calming me the moment I see him, and that only makes things worse. My body shivers as it calms and rages at the same time, and I can feel the opposite reactions fighting their own war deep within my chest. I attempt to gather whatever self-preservation I have left and straighten my spine.

“Well, you’re early tonight.” My eyebrow flicks up as I force my attitude into my observation. It is early for him, only about eight in the evening.

“Who am I killing?” His eyes narrow, seemingly turning dark as the words make me shiver with their forceful anger.

“What!?” I choke out.

“I asked you a question.” His tone is hard, and sharp tonight, as if I’m not the only one in the room who had a bad day.

“You know, I love how you just get to break into my apartment and demand answers from me. It might be my favorite part of this crazy situation.” I roll my eyes and go back to cleaning my finger.

Stay strong, Ashia. You can do this.

My words backfire, and I can’t stop the small flinch as his boots slap against the floor, clearly showcasing his anger. He walks up behind me and grabs my hand. Lifting it up so he can see it and causing blood to run down my wrist. His other hand raises up to grasp my chin and forces my eyes to look into his. The grip firm, but not enough to hurt me.

“What. Happened.” He stares down at me angrily. I feel my strength begin to crumble at his tone, and my body attempts to cower into itself and away from him.

Don’t back down. Don’t back down.

“I cut my finger during my last client.” I jerk my hand away from him. Immediately holding it over the sink again so it can drip onto another surface other than my arm. “It’s not a big deal.” He grabs my hand for the second time, tighter than before. The anger in his grasp is still present, but now more of a worried look shoots across his eyes. The color in them seemingly lightens as he side steps to stand next to me instead of towering over me from behind.

“Stop being so damn stubborn and let me look.” His grip softens as he takes a washcloth from the small hanger on the wall and presses against it slightly. “Fuck, that actually might need stitches. You got yourself pretty good.”

“I said it’s not a big deal.” I almost plead. Please no more stitches, I’ve had enough for two lifetimes…

“You’re bleeding, it’s a big deal to me.” His gaze softens, as well as his words, and he begins looking through the medicine cabinet for supplies. I sense a tad bit of embarrassment? Maybe from such a large reaction over a small cut that I inflicted on myself? “You got anything for this?”

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