Page 30 of Clover

Checking the cut on my hand reminds me I should check the bandage I put on my butt. I still haven’t told anyone what Braxton did to me over the past couple of days, so they don’t know about the cut. Explaining how it got there is too embarrassing. Admitting that he got the better of me, admitting I was weak, that I’m now feeling the withdrawal the Harley caused. The slight tremors in my hands aren’t from adrenalin or anxiety or fear but my body screaming out in anger at the loss of the stimulant in my blood. I just can’t do it, not yet.

I spend a good five minutes calming myself and checking my wounds before switching off the light and stepping out back into my room. Silver moonlight streams in through the sheer curtains, and the massive body that was in my bed when I left is no longer there. My feet stop only a few paces outside the bathroom when I notice Nix is gone. A small flash of panic at being left here alone heats up my skin from the inside of my chest and begins to expand up my neck. When I turn, to see him leaning against the dresser on the wall by the bathroom door.

“Nix. What are you doing over there?” The hot panic disappears when I see him. Relief cooling it like ice-cold water on hot coals.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay.” His eyes are dark and filled with his own brand of pain and concern. He doesn’t move, but his eyes roam over my body. Over the material of my white tank top and matching white underwear. It’s not a hungry gaze. He’s taking a mental inventory checking again to make sure I’m here and whole. I’m here, but I’m not quite whole yet.

“I’m fine.” I try to reassure him with false strength.

“Then why is there a bandage on your butt cheek?” Reflexively, my hand reaches out to cover the spot on my backside.

“Oh. It’s nothing.”

“If it’s nothing, then let me see it.” He does move now, pushing himself off the dresser and stepping closer to me. I step back, keeping space between us. I don’t do it on purpose. My body just reacts protectively.

“You really don’t need to. It’s fine.”

“Please, chipmunk. I just want to take care of you and make sure you’re okay.” Again, he takes another step, this time reaching out to me. Again, I step back and curl my arms around my body out of his reach.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Clover. I would never hurt you.” He sounds pained that I would think he would hurt me. His brow furrowing as a small frown turns down his lips. I know he won’t. I just don’t want to be forced.

Nix watches me as I twitch a little and watch him. The ex-man-whore who used to not even remember the girl's name or give them a second thought once they left. The mountain of a man that can snap a man’s bones with one hand. The cocaine snorting party boy that starts bar fights for fun. The man who carried me out of the club to protect me from Braxton that ordered his cousins to guard me and watch me. The man with the exterior of elephant skin and insides of a warm gooey brownie. With shelves of sketchbooks filled with emotional art and a mind so much more than the brute force he appears to be. Who broke his only rulefor meand holds me tenderly in his muscular arms at night while I sleep. Like I am the most precious thing in his world.

Nix will not hurt me and has proven he will protect me. When he reaches his hand out again, not to grab me or pull me to him, just waiting for me to allow him to touch me, I do. Nodding but not moving. Nix steps closer and slides his large warm hand around my waist, and instead of forcing me to turn, he pulls me into his chest and presses a kiss to my forehead.

“May I please see it, Clover?” Again I nod, this time turning to the side so he can see the wound. With hands far gentler than the monster hands he has, he lifts the hem of my shirt and slides my panties down just enough to reveal the gauze pad held down with two pieces of surgical tape. Pealing up one side, he lifts it, and I can hear the audible gasp when he sees it. I know it looks worse than it is because I didn’t have Neosporin or proper bandages in Braxton’s cage. Now it’s dressed with butterfly bandages and some cream to help it heal and not get infected. It’s still red and angry, but the swelling has gone down.

“Jesus, sweet cheeks, what did he do to you?” The words are strained; Nix’s voice is low and scratchy, unlike his fingers. Which are soft and gentle as they caress the tender flesh around the cut. Placing the gauze and tape back in place and gently cupping my ass over the wound.

“Doesn’t matter.” I croak out in a whisper.

“It matters to me. Why didn’t you tell me? We can get this looked at by a doctor properly.”

“Like you got your stab wound looked at by a doctor?” I don’t mean to snap at him, but that’s how it comes out. I don’t want to go to a doctor and tell him what happened. I just want to cover it up and move on.

“I was stabbed by a drug dealer in a delivery gone wrong. Not by a psychopath who kidnapped me.”

“What’s the difference? Still a knife wound.” I counter. He doesn’t seem to like my answer, and out of the corner of my eye, I see him scowling softly at me. Giving me his‘are you fucking kidding me?’ look.

“The difference is mine wasn’t paired with psychological trauma, and I instantly killed the fucker who stabbed me.” He’s getting angry now. I don’t want to talk about this, any of it. I pull away and head towards my bed.

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.”

“How would you know? We barely know each other.” I don’t have to see him to feel the hurt radiating from behind me. I hurt him.

“Well… I know your real name is Hillary.” I spin to face him and discover he’s moved closer to me, standing mere inches away. His expression is odd, something I’ve never seen from him before. A mix of pain, determination, and tenderness.

“How do you know that?”

“Blake found it when we were searching the internet trying to find you.” Blake? I remember Blake. He was the guy I met at Nix’s tattoo shop. He was nice, sweet. I don’t know how he got roped into all this, though.

“Does it matter what my real name is?” reaching down, I pull back the sheet so I can get back into bed and hide under the blankets and hopefully end this horrible conversation. Nix doesn’t let me run away from him, though. Reaching out and wrapping his strong arm around my stomach, gently forcing me to turn back to him. He keeps his hand planted on my low back, keeping me wrapped against him. If I really wanted to, I could easily remove myself from his hold. It’s not tight or demanding. Just a firm tenderness.

In this position, I can’t help but look up at him. It’s either that or stare at his bare chest, which only makes me want to touch him and right now is not the time for that. Instead, I stare into glowing golden hazel eyes watching down at me.

“No. It doesn’t matter what your name is. It could be Archibald for all I care. But I do know you. I know how easily you blush when I say dirty things to you. That you don’t take shit from any man. Especially big guys with pervy minds.” He chuckles a little before continuing. “I know that you’re kind and care deeply for the people you love. You gave up your dream to be an artist to take care of your mother. You’re a hard worker and way fucking smarter than me. I know that you’ve been through some horrible shit in your life, and yet you’re still smiling. You don’t let life get you down. You pick yourself up and keep going. Because you’re strong and determined.”

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