When I opened my eyes the next morning, I groan in pain. Everything ached, and my arm was still dislocated. I felt bruised, and I didn't want to move. I knew I had to get to the doctors, but I didn't have the money for it. Shaking my head, I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, lifting myself one handed onto my feet. I walk to the bathroom, looking at myself. I had a hand print one my face that was still red. I sigh. I knew that eventually he would come after me, but I hadn't expected him to ever find me. I had changed my license plate, my phone number, my life. I had told no one where I was going, but now that the confrontation had happened, I didn't know what to do next. I splash water on my face before leaving the bathroom. I make my way down the thin hallway to the living room where I stop and stare. Mac is there, sitting on my couch. He looks upset, and I lean back against the wall, cradling my arm.
"You didn't lock your fucking door." He grunts.
"I know."
He shakes his head. "Why didn't you?" I shrug one-sided. He notices me holding my other arm, and I try to play it off, but once he stands to his feet, I know there is no hiding it. "What's wrong with your damn arm?"
I sigh. "I think he dislocated it."
He growls, reaching out. I hold still, letting him closer. For some reason, I've noticed that Mac is gentler with me, not trying to scare me, and I've been trying to figure it out ever since I got here. He left women bloody, cut up, abused, and alone. Why was he different with me? He touches my arm, feeling around my shoulder joint. He shakes his head, taking a hold of my arm and my shoulder. "This is going to hurt like a bitch." Then without pause, he jerks my arm back into place. I cry out, grabbing his shoulder as tears fill my eyes. "Told you."
Slowly, I roll my arm. The pain is still there, but it grows faded as I move the muscle. "Thank you." I breathe.
"Who the hell was that guy?"
I look up into his blue eyes. "He's an ex of mine."
"Why the fuck was he here?"
I shake my head. I didn't want Mac to know, and for some reason, I had felt as though he wasn't the man for stories. "He was abusive."
"That's not what I asked." He says.
I sigh. "I left him because he was abusive and he was obsessive. He said that if I ever left that he would teach me a lesson, or kill me." I begin to walk past Mac, but he stops me. I look up at him. "Thank you for doing what you did, but that was my problem. You didn't have to."
"Yeah, well if that fucker ever tries to do anything else, I will fucking kill him." He grunts, rubbing his chin and the hair that litters his face. I smile at him.
"I have things to do Mac, so um, if you don't mind I need to get to them." I gesture to my door. "My truck needs work, and I can't stand here talking to you all day."
I turn from him, walking outside. At first I am blinded by the bright Utah sun, but after I blink and shield my eyes a bit, I could see. The heat was warming up earlier than usual, and I was already starting to sweat. I know that Mac is following me, and I see his truck parked near mine. Rocks crunch under my boots as I near my vehicle, but the closer I got to the truck, the more it looked, fixed. The windshield was in place, the tires new, and when I peek through the windows, I am met with perfect, uniform seats. I smile. I turn around, catching Mac before he slides into his truck. I stop the door. "Can I pay you back?" I ask. He furrows his brows.
"Why?"
"It must have cost a lot to fix that. I want to pay you back." I say, insistently. He looks me over and I know that at least one of the theories is correct. He does take sex as a payment.
"Don't worry about it."
I furrow my brows and smirk at him. I lean into his truck, holding the door open with my ass. I reach out and palm his cock through the rough material of his jeans. He grunts, looking at me with that twinkle in his eye. I press forward, connecting our lips together. At first, Mac responds, but then he's pushing me away. I look at him, confused. "I ain't asking for a fuck, bitch." He growls. He didn't push me hard, and his voice isn't harsh. He's just putting up that front he always has.
"Mac," I breathe.
"Fuck off, I have shit to do." He turns the engine over, slamming his door shut. He throws the truck in gear and then he's gone. I just stand there, confused, hurt, and feeling something I hadn't felt in a long time.