Page 66 of Liberating Bells
His eyes trace the outline for what feels like hours. I finally reach for his hand, bringing it up to my neck. His fingers aregentle as I let him touch me, his shoulders trembling with controlled rage. I can see the fire behind those emerald eyes.
His touch against such a gruesome memory is therapeutic. I feel exposed. More explored than I did last night when he was making love to me and kissing every inch of my skin. Tears fall down my cheeks as he continues to stroke the still-tender spot.
Through the wetness clouding my eyes, I see his expression. It’s brutal. Eyes hardened, jaw slack. He looks as if I’ve just shot him in the gut. Another stroke down my neck, then his hand comes up to cup my cheek.
“Bells,” he whispers brokenly. Then his face contorts in anger as he pulls his hand away from me, turning to face the wall of the shower. He inhales sharply as he leans his forehead against the tile, squeezing his eyes shut. His fist comes up and slams against the wall.
The sheer physical pain I observe written across his features further triggers my tears. My hand flutters up to cover my mouth as a sob escapes. My knees are threatening to buckle underneath me.
Ryan whirls back around to face me, the anger dissolving right away. Strong arms wrap around my waist, and he pulls me into him right before I would have collapsed in this shower. His wet skin against mine warms some of the chill deep within my body from the truth of what I’ve just showed him. I let him hold me and lean my head against his chest. Ryan’s grip is tight as he lets me cry against him.
The water from the shower still pelts against my back, but I don’t care. I let it wash away all the hurt and embarrassment. It rolls down the drain as Ryan’s lips press into my hair, replacing those shameful feelings with love and tenderness.
23
RYAN
“Bells,”I whisper. I feel the energy coursing through me. Spinning around, I pound my fist against the wall, feeling the hit radiate down my arm. I press my forehead onto the cold tile, letting the chilled ceramic calm down my anger.
I hear a strangled sob escape Izabel, and I turn to her. Tears are streaming down her face as I hold her. Our naked bodies are pressed together. It’s an intimate moment, but more as if two souls are finally reconnecting. There’s nothing inappropriate, nothing even remotely sexual about this moment.
All I want is to take away her pain. Take away the shame she must be feeling or the embarrassment. She hid this from me. I can’t believe I didn’t notice during all the time we’ve spent together on this trip. I told her I couldn’t be that guy for her, and look what happened. Could things have gone differently if I had been around more?
After finding that letter and reading what she scribbled, I had to know if Mark hurt her in that way. If he pushed her up against the wall and pressed on her neck until she couldn’t breathe. Her beautiful neck. I think back to last night when she wouldn’t let me kiss her neck, and I suddenly feel sick to my stomach as the pieces come together.
The words she wrote whisper in the back of my mind as if she were saying them out loud:
“...and somehow, I end up with your hand against my throat, fighting for air.”
“I don’t want to be afraid of how badly you’ll hurt me next time we disagree.”
My body shakes I hold her tightly against me, afraid what will happen if I let her go. Her tears mix with the water from the shower. She settles down a few minutes later and pulls away from me, turning around to shut off the water. I step out first, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around my waist before handing her one. She steps into it, holding on to the edges tightly. As she turns to me, her eyes dart to the ground and her hand flies up to cover her neck, the bruises now hidden from my view.
“I’m sorry,” she mutters.
I narrow my eyes at her. “What areyousorry for? You didn’t do this.” She shakes her head, not meeting my eyes, but doesn’t respond. “When did this happen?”
“Last Wednesday, when I was supposed to meet you for dinner.” She peeks up at me from under her eyelashes.
I stumble back a step and feel my heart constrict. “Last week? Why didn’t you tell me, Bells? I could have helped you.”
As the words leave my lips, I remember how many times I ignored her calls. Shame drapes over me like a cloak, and I clench my jaw, trying to push it back.
“I don’t need your help,” she says back. Suddenly, I see the fire in her eyes, and I’m relieved it still exists. Mark didn’t extinguish it this time.
“I think you do.”
Izabel throws her hands in the air with a gruff sigh. She turns on her heel and storms out of the bathroom. “I never wanted this. I wasn’t going to tell you, but I knew you wouldn’t let meleave this room without spilling everything. So, now you know. What more do you want from me, Ryan? Was the sex not enough for you?”
“Of course it was,” I tell her incredulously as I follow her back into the room, though even as I say the words, something tells me it’s not the whole truth. “You are enough for me. You will always be enough for me. But you are so much more to me than sex. I wantyou, Bells. I want all of you and I want you safe. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
Another tear falls from the corner of her eye, but she swipes it away quickly. “I don’t need your protection. I can handle this. Iamgoing to handle this.”
“How? By writing him a letter?” I ask, pointing at the pad of paper on the desk. “I don’t think that’s going to magically turn him into Prince Charming! I hate that you feel like you have to write him a letter instead of talking about it to his face. Some relationship, that is.”
“It’s fine, Ryan. It’s none of your business.” Going over to her duffle bag, she starts digging through it, looking for some clothes. She groans when she can’t find anything, and then grabs my t-shirt off the ground, pulling it over her head. “Look, this has been fun and all, but I think we should go home.”
I feel my shoulders sag as I watch her. I don’t move an inch. We’re going around in circles right now, not making any positive headway. I conclude that I have to change my strategy here if I want her to hear anything I’m trying to convey. She’s got her weapons drawn defensively, but I’m not her enemy. I’m not even close to that, and I hate that she feels that way. I can see it clear as day by the gleam in her eye. She doesn’t believe that I’m on her side, and that guts me.
