Fix You

Chapter Twenty

I sit in the police station. It's cold. I'm alone. I want to go home.

I don't know where Uncle Jack is. I overheard earlier that they sent police to his house.

I have a piece of paper in front of me. And a pen. I'm supposed to write everything he did.

How do I contain years of suffering to one piece of paper?

I write when it started. The extent of it. How many times it happened. When he beat me. Everything, there on that piece of paper.

I read over it again.

I'm in shock that five years of hell fits on one piece of paper.

The door opens. I look up. My mom, dad, and a police officer are there. My mom is pale. Her eyes are red from crying. She looks like she's aged 20 years in two hours. My dad looks angry. His face is red with anger. His hands are clenched by his sides.

The police officer looks serious. His eyes have sympathy in them when he sees me. "Did you finish your statement?"

"Yes," I say. I gesture towards the paper.

"Are you ok?" dad asks.

"No," I murmur. "I won't be for a while. If ever."

   

I sat up and groaned as I stretched my back, arms in the air. Carter was lying beside me, still sleeping. I groggily got up, making my way over to the bathroom. I washed my face quickly, putting in my contacts.

I gasped in horror when I saw my reflection.

Right on the side of my neck, close to my collar bone, was a huge hickey. I was horrified; I'd never had a hickey before. I had mixed emotions about it. Part of me was horrified that he'd left a physical mark on me, yet another part was turned on by it.

I shook the thoughts out of my head, rubbing my eyes again. It's too early for this bullshit.

I left the bathroom and made our way to the bed. He was awake by that point, laying on the bed and resting his head on his hand, arm resting on the bed while he was on his side. He smirked devilishly at me, asking, "Notice anything different?"

I crossed my arms across my chest, glaring at him. "You gave me a fucking hickey?"

His grin widened. "Yeah, I did."

He obviously didn't see my anger yet. "Why did you do it?" I said pleasantly, smiling. It was obvious to him that I was faking pleasantries and that I was seething with anger on the inside, my smile fake.

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "You're mad?"

"Yes, I'm mad!" I hissed, my temporary façade crashing down. "You give me this hickey to mark me as yours, like I'm some object that you can claim!"

He stood up, striding over to me. We were both undressed, so I had to quickly shove down the urge to kiss him. I need to hold my ground on this one. I can't let him walk all over me.

We were a few inches apart, his eyes dilated with lust. My breathing deepened and I could feel heat radiating off him in waves, crashing into me. God, I want this man.

His fingers lightly trailed up and down the sides of my arms; I barely held back my moan. He whispered huskily, "I didn't give you a hickey to mark you as mine like a fucking object. I gave you a hickey so that whenever you see it, you'll think of my hands on you, how much I love you, all the times I've made love to you."