RUSTY | frank castle

FORTY TWO

The room was buzzing, the surge of electricity in the lamp next to her head seemed to be the only thing bringing her out of her daze.

Wait. Was it even a daze?

Her eyelids were so heavy, she couldn't even let her eyes open a crack. She tried, but only managed to move her hand a couple of centimetre, turning it so that she could feel what was underneath her.

With her mind still completely stirred, Rusty felt soft material under the palm of her hand. It seemed lazily stitched - messy.

Soon, her focused changed to the sounds in the room. She heard slow breathing, though it was slightly hoarse. Quickly, her mind thought of the worst. What if Billy had took her hostage, away from Frank.

. . . Frank.

What had happened to him?

Was he alright?

Then, it flooded back. The memory of Frank on top of Rawlins, hitting him again and again, roaring with anger. She remembered he gouged the bald man's eyes out with his thumbs.

Well done, Frankenstein.

Rusty, although extremely exhausted, managed to open her eyes slightly so that she could see what was in front of her. Correction: what was above her.

She soon figured that she was laying on her back on a bed. She blinked, and saw a white ceiling. It was a little dirty, some stains melted into the white paint. There was a light crack to the corner where the ceiling and two walls met.

That's all she could really spy at that moment.

She grunted as she tried to lift her head, though it sounded a little more like a light moan. She was gaining some energy, but needed to wait a little before she could sit up properly.

Rusty's head was pounding, but she listened to what seemed to be someone jolting from their sleep. Her heart rate sped up, panicking as she didn't know where she was and who was around here.

The first thought that came to her mind was Billy. He must have re-located her to another facility after Rawlins's beating. She hoped that man was dead.

A rather small weight collected itself on the the bed next to her, and into her view came a slim shepherd. It was Lexi.

"L-Lexi?" The weak woman stuttered.

The canine gentle touched her wet nose against Rusty's cheek, where she saw no wounds, and nudged her affectionately. Fender threw himself onto the bed and flopped down next to Rusty as well, accidentally stepping on Rusty's thigh with his large and heavy paw.

The woman winced. It seemed as if the pain was all over her body.

She attempted to ignore it, however, and brought up enough energy to lift her torso onto the pillows on the bed. Now getting a good look, she released she was in a motel room.

With wallpaper as ugly as hell, and furniture old and visibly on its last legs, Rusty demoted it as a cheap roadside motel.

But who had brought her here?

Before she could reach for her gun, a figure came into the room. The person was greeted with a wag of the tail from both dogs.

Breathlessly, Rusty spoke. "Frank?"

He looked half dead. His face was purple with bruises, as well as almost the rest of the visible skin on his body. From his frame hung a new grey shirt, but it already had some blood on it (probably from the unhealed wounds), and cuts scattered his body.

His facial expression was one of mortified relief. His eyes were wide, as if he didn't know if Rusty would wake from her rest. His mouth was slighty agape at the sight of the beaten woman in front of him.

"You're. . ." He failed to form any speech for a couple of seconds as his eyes trailed over Rusty. "You're awake."

The woman frowned, confused. She soon looked at herself, seeing that she had only soft shorts on her waist and a bandage covering her chest. Everywhere else were cuts or bruises. She noted that her lungs were weak and her breathing hoarse.

Mallard had one hell of a beating, and she barely slipped out of death's grasp.

". . . I am." She smiled lightly, and Frank sat next to her, knocking some bowls with bloodied water and bandages on the way. He didn't care, though.

He put his hand gently on her cheek, and Rusty's skin tingled as it made contact with Frank's shaking fingers. He gently took her weak body close to his, enveloping her in a hug. She winced but she ignored the slight pain, what mattered was that Frank was okay, and that his skin was touching hers.

The dogs let them enjoy their embrace, laying their heads close to Rusty's body.

Soon, Rusty felt Frank's body rattle against hers, hearing a sniffle. She pulled back, taking his cheeks in her hands. Her fingers gently trailed his bruises and wounds, and she noticed his eyes water.

"Curt said you might've not made it." He whispered gruffly, their faces close. Rusty's golden eyes stared into Frank's worn-out ones. "I was so scared I would've lost you, too."

Rusty frowned. "Oh, Frank."

She pulled him back into a hug, and they lightly swung their bodies from side to side, savouring the intimate moment. A few minutes later, Frank spoke up.

"They would've taken you away from me before I could even tell you."

Rusty frowned again, pulling away from his sore shoulder. "Before you could tell me what?"

He brushed his fingers across her jawline while his other hand cupped her cheek. He didn't know if he should tell her, but it was now or never. Dropping his head with a small sigh, he looked back up. "Before I could tell you that I. . . that I love you, Rusty."

She gasped a little, finding this information so new. He loved her? Love is a strong word, and Frank knew that. He was so attached to his wife that Rusty never thought of this as a possibility, but nearly losing Frank, the person she cared so much for, showed her one thing for sure: she could never ever live without him, she cared for him too much. Way too much. 

With one thought on her mind, Rusty slowly leant in, but stopped before her lips could touch Frank's. Her breath tickled his skin, and he closed the small gap, their lips touching ever so gently. Rusty could feel a cut on Frank's lip, so she ensured she wouldn't hurt him as they moved their lips together. Their bodies moulded together perfectly, as if made by the gods so they could fit like a puzzle piece, and never break apart. Their hands roamed each other's bodies, feeling the skin and gently tickling past their wounds so they wouldn't cause each other any pain.

The two pulled away, needing oxygen in their bodies. Frank leant his forehead against Rusty's, feeling her breath on his skin again.

She seemed so intoxicating.

He looked into her gorgeous gold eyes and she smiled at him, to which he smiled back.

Finally.

Author's Note

Oy, oy, look who managed to end this book.

A quick but big thank you for those who have put up with me over the course of me writing this book. It's been a journey with some problems along the way, and I appreciate your patience.

Aannnddd, I may have a tiny suprise for those who really liked this book. . .

Thank you again, so so so much.