Ivory
Every inch of my body ached, screaming out in pain, begging for relief. Tight arms are wound around my waist lazily. A small glimmer of light seeps in through the parted curtains, allowing me to distinguish my surroundings. In his sleep, he seems peaceful, almost harmless, but I know better. With slow, steady movements, I wiggle out of his grip. After I am out of the bed without awaking the beast, I begin to search for my clothes. My eyes are clouded with forlorn tears as I sneak out of the room, careful not to disturb him. Every step causes an eruption of pain, but there's no use in turning back now. My body trembles with silent sobs as I bolt out of the prison without another look back.
No signs of a familiar landmark are seen on my route away from the dungeon. Lacking any clue of where I am or help for that matter, I continue to trudge forward. Most likely, my hair is strewn about wildly, and my clothes are wrinkled and tattered. Accompanied by tears, a few bruises the shade of purple decorate my skin. Looking for a source of aid, I search the small city. Eventually, I wander upon a vacant gas station. Not caring about my appearance, I waltz into the gas station with every ounce of pride I have left. The employee behind the counter is the only other person in the store. As soon as I have her attention, I speak up. "Do you have a telephone here?" I ask. Even though my voice quakes from weakness, my confidence exclaims I have the highest power there is.
The woman is a plump, short lady, about in her late thirties. Dusty, brown hair sweeps her shoulders. A crimson apron is tied around her sunny shirt. Genuine compassion overcomes the woman's features, and with a tender tone, she answers, "Right over there ma'am. Is there anything I can do for you?" Her eyebrows furrow, and it's obvious I look like I was hit by a train... multiple times.
I shake my head, hiding the frown I make when a sharp pain shoots through my joints. With a subtle limp, I make my way over to the telephone near the back of the store. I grasp the phone in my right hand, and my left index finger hovers over the buttons. Muttering a curse, I call out my problem to the lady, "By chance, do you know Hunter Richardson's number?" I can sense the widening of her eyes.
My back is still facing her when she rambles off his digits after a few minutes. She must have felt the inquisitive expression that I had because she quickly explains, "The Internet has everything." I chuckle softly at her resourcefulness before returning to the phone.
"Please pick up. Please pick up," I mumble under my breath as the rings dash by. Hunter can help. He will know where I am. He'll come get me. I'll be out of this hell hole. Away from the monster.
Just as I'm about to hang up the receiver in defeat, a deep voice saves my falling hope, "Hunter Richardson."
"Hey," I squeak. My voice that was so strong in my head cracks.
"Ivory! Oh my god! You're alright! You had me so worried. Don't you ever do that again," his tone grows hard and stern. I can hear the stress in his words as clear as crystal. He's angry... with me.
Ashamed, I hang my head. "I'm sorry. I was__was just mad," is the only words I can force out.
Irritated, ill-tempered Hunter is swiftly replaced by sympathetic, soft Hunter. "Ivory, it's okay. I'm worried about you. Where are you?"
"I'm fine. Hold on," I tell him before covering the mouth piece. "Miss, where am I?"
Without hesitation, she informs me of my location, "Reservoir Lane at City gas station."
I relay her response into the phone, and reassure Hunter that I am fine before hanging up. With a grateful heart, I return to the counter and endlessly thank the cashier. Humbly, she brushes my 'thank you's aside. Ushering me to the back room, she assists me yet again. "Let me help you with those nasty bruises," she says as she pulls out a case of makeup. Brushing some concealer over the marks, she is cautious with the amount of force she is using.
When she adds more makeup on the brush, I talk, "Thank you again, really! You've been a great help! Here I am, not even knowing your name, and you have helped me countless times."
"Shelby. There, now you know my name," the woman tells me. Laugh lines are shown by her florescent eyes as she smiles tenderly at me. Finding no need to break the silence again, I keep my mouth firmly shut while Shelby returns to making me seem presentable.
My palm lightly hovers over my cheek in astonishment as I gaze into the mirror's reflection with bewildered eyes. Not a single ugly bruise is noticeable. Shelby didn't layer tons of makeup onto my skin like a cake; no, she skillfully covered each and every gruesome mark like a thin bed sheet. I look perfect. No one will notice the brutal scars from my shameful mistakes. No one will ask. It'll be in the past. I drag my astounded eyes away from the image to express my gratitude to my new friend again. I throw my arms around her neck and pull her in for a massive bear hug, showing my appreciation. Shelby ushers me back to the main part of the gas station where I eagerly wait.
After what seems like an eternity, the doors are pushed open to reveal a highly discomposed man. I speedily straighten my posture, and rush to him. It is apparent that he is at his wit's end. His hair is ruffled and his tie is not the least bit straight. Shadowy circles are under his eyes and a slight stubble is peppered across his sharp jaw. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have left like that. I was so wrong," I begin to apologize, but he stops me. With a tenacious grip, he cradles me against his body.
"I was so worried," he murmurs into my auburn hair as he presses kisses to my head. His heart beats rapidly, and his body relaxes with ease. He releases me a bit to talk again, "Come on, Ivory, let's go." Our hands are tightly wound together, and I'm clinging onto his arm for dear life. The only time our bondage breaks is when he must enter his side, but then our hands join together again. Tranquil silence envelopes the car as we ride home.
I'm surprised when his car pulls up to my house instead of his. Before allowing me to leave the car, he turns to face me. "Ivory, I'm not mad at you. I don't want you to think that I am. When you called, I was in a meeting, so I need to return," he explains with a formal aura that he would use with a business partner, not a fiance, but I'm not exactly a fiance. His words are weights, sinking me deeper. He called me Ivory. Not Princess. Not Miss Ivory. Just plain Ivory. I must conceal my dismay poorly because he squeezes my hand with his in a reassuring gesture and says with a voice you would use when dealing with a child, "Ivory, please don't be upset with me. I just want you to be safe."
Being the stubborn woman I am, I refute, "But I'm safe with you." It's true, so why can't I just stay with him? Why can't he stay here with me? Why can't it be easier?
"This isn't open for discussion," his steel words morph the mood to a brewing storm. My eyes fall sheepishly to my lap. I shouldn't have questioned the arrangement. "Look, Princess, I'm sorry. I have a few work things I need to take care of, but I promise I'll stop by when I'm done. I need this stuff done before the wedding. I'll be finished soon. Okay?"
Right... the wedding. Our wedding. The wedding that isn't really a marriage at all. The wedding that isn't caused by love at all.
I nod reluctantly. Without another glance at him, I step out of the car and sulk to the house. I slam the door in my moody fit of rage. Exhaling deeply, I plop onto the couch. Anger is quickly replaced with a forlorn sadness. I want him here to comfort me, to tell me everything is alright. His arms wrapped firmly around my fragile body. His sea colored eyes locked with my grass filled ones. His calm voice like the chorus of my favorite tune. A few hours seems so long!
Finding no better activity to do, I trudge to my bedroom, and bury myself under the thick covers on my bed. Sleep encloses me within minutes.
When I awake, I groggily open my eyes to find the covers wildly flung around the bottom of the bed in a heap, most likely brutishly kicked away by a dreaming me. The dream was not the least bit pleasant. Disgusted by the layer of grime I feel on my body, I jump into the warm shower. I relish in the sensation of the beads running across my skin. After I am thoroughly clean, I encircle my body in a towel. Stunned, I yelp when I notice that I am not the only person in my bedroom.
"Hunter! What are you doing in my bedroom?" I holler as I clutch my towel tighter. Sitting on my bed, relaxed more than ever, is my fiance. For most people, it's normal to have their fiance in their bedroom, but I'm not like most people... not even close.
With a 'duh' expression, he states, "I'm waiting for you." Completely unfazed by my clothing, or lack of it, he motions for me to come nearer. Reluctantly, I close a bit of the distance between us, but I halt before I am in his reaching zone. A bewildered expression crosses his face, but it soon turns cold and hard. In seconds, he is on his feet and inches away from me. He warily reaches out, and his fingers brush my cheek. Sheepishly, my eyes stare at the carpet, avoiding his demanding gaze. "Who did this, Ivory?" he tenderly asks; his voice remains calm and collected as if he's afraid to break me. When I don't respond, he repeats the question louder now, "Who did this?" Still I keep silent. "Dammit Ivory! Answer me!"
I shake my head vigorously. "It's nothing," I insist, ashamed of myself.
Trying to stabilize his emotions, Hunter closes his eyes and breaths deeply. When he opens his eyes, there is nothing but anger harbored in the dark depths. "No one has the right to hurt you in any way. You have one more chance, who did this to you?" Sharp words as hard as steel slice through the air, commanding to know my mistakes.
"Hunter, there's nothing you can do! You can't undo what happened! You can't erase the marks! The best you can do is pretend it never happened!" I whisper harshly, my words bitter and as cold as his.
"Marks?" he wonders. Realization rapidly dawns on him. "Oh my god! There's more, isn't there?" His fingers lay over top of mine at the hem of the towel, guiding my hand to move. The cotton towel soundlessly falls to the ground, and Hunter's startled gasp fills the silence. The tips of his fingers lightly graze each one. I wince slightly when he touches a quarter sized, purple bruise on my stomach.
"I'm so sorry, Hunter! I shouldn't have left. I shouldn't have went out. I shouldn't have went with him. I shouldn't have done this," I ramble off regrets.
In a fragile whisper, Hunter asks me again, "Who did this?"
"You won't believe me. It won't matter. You can't help this," I state the cons of the situation, refusing to give him the answer he wants.
Shock, forlorn, grief, angst, remorse, and a bundle of emotions I can't identify flash through his blue eyes, but one stays. Hurt. What happened to the suave man that flirted with all the ladies? What happened to the arrogant man that knew exactly who he was? What happened to the invincible man that even the most brutal wind couldn't shake? I broke him. "Please, Ivory, tell me who did this to you, please," he begs, the torture evident in his tone.
My wall surrounding me tumbles effortlessly to the ground, and I give in to his request. "Ryan."
Author's Note:
Thank you all so very much for the amount of votes and reads! I'm up to 71 followers, and 453 votes! The endless motivation is astounding!
Now back to the story, what has Ivory emerged herself in? She's constantly running from her past, and soon, it will catch up. Is the wedding too much? Is Hunter too much? Would she rather it all return to normal, whatever that is?
A few questions for you:
Should I try to make my chapters longer? Do I need urgent editing? Should I have a few easy going chapters? Would you all mind reading a story idea and telling me if I should pursue it once "BwtB" is finished?
Please get back to me!