Key to Hell (Hell Night Series Book 4), page 10
“She overheard you and Eden talking about me the other night,” Rella says quietly.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize she heard us.”
Rella shakes her head and holds up her hand to stop Eden. “No. It’s okay. I think that’s why she talked to me. She felt a kinship, maybe. I was glad I could help.”
Eden still looks guilty, but she nods anyway. JW’s jaw tightens in regret also.
Rella smiles sadly at them both. “Really, it’s okay. I was part of Sweet Haven, so I’m sure most people know what happened anyway. I trust JW and I know he trusts you too. My… ordeal is no secret.”
Mae picks that moment to bring out our food. Remi asks her to sit and eat with us, but she refuses, saying she’s enjoying working too much. It’s on the tip of my tongue to demand she sit, but I refrain from saying anything. Mae’s a grown woman and knows her limits, even if she bends them at times. We’ll all keep an eye on her to make sure she’s not doing too much.
As she walks away, I notice Roy and Garrett once again looking our way. They’re young, mid-twenties probably. Rella’s a beautiful woman, so I know they are appreciating her looks. It’s going to get them hurt. Garrett says something to Roy, and his eyes move to me. The color leaches from his face, and he spins back around on his stool. He lifts his hand to Cathy, the other waitress, and she pulls her order pad from her pocket.
“I’ll be back,” I tell the group and ignore the questioning looks I receive.
I walk casually over to the bar. Roy and Garrett don’t notice my approach as they start pulling out their wallets to pay their bill. I come to a stop behind Roy and overhear his next words.
“I think I’m gonna try to talk to her. You never know, she may be up for a date.”
“Dude, you saw the way Emo looked at us,” Garrett says warningly. “He won’t let you near her.”
Roy shrugs, dropping a twenty-dollar bill on top of the bar. “He doesn’t own her.”
Before either of them can utter another word, I grip the back of Roy’s neck and slam his face down on the bar.
There are a few gasps, a couple of screams, and chairs scraping across the floor, but I ignore it all as I hold Roy right where I want him. He struggles to push himself up, but I press against his neck, making sure his face stays in the bloody mess on the wood from his broken nose. I step closer and put my face beside his.
“You don’t fuckin’ go near her,” I growl. “You don’t talk to her. You don’t look at her. You don’t so much as think about her. You fuckin’ got me?”
A hand grabs my arm. “Jesus Christ, Emo. What in the hell are you doing?”
I yank my arm away from JW, lift up Roy’s head, and slam it back down.
“Do you fuckin’ hear me?” I hiss. “Answer, or the next thing I break will be your goddamn arms, and I won’t stop there.”
“Yes!” he shouts nasally.
“Good.” I push off from his neck, and his face slides in the blood a couple of inches. “Now get the fuck out.”
As soon as my hand releases his neck, he jerks back and off the stool. I shoot Garrett a glare and watch as he scrambles off his stool as well. Neither looks at me as they practically run out the door.
“You wanna tell me what in the hell that was about?” Trouble demands.
I keep my back to him and try to slow down my heart rate. Dropping my head, I pull in several deep breaths, the anger still coursing through me heating my face.
“Emo,” Trouble growls.
“I didn’t like the way he was fuckin’ looking at her,” I snap and spin around. “He’s got no right looking at her. He’s got no right talking about her. He should’ve minded his own damn business.”
He steps closer. JW stands off to the side, his hands shoved in his pockets.
“What was he saying?”
I hiss out a breath. “He was going to talk to her. Ask her out.”
Trouble sighs, angrily raking a hand through his hair. He turns to the side, glancing at our table before turning back.
“Look. It’s obvious she’s not ready for anything like that. She won’t be for a long time. But there’s no way Roy could have known that. You couldn’t have talked to him instead of fucking up his face?”
“No,” I grate out.
Trouble growls in frustration. I don’t give a fuck. Unless Rella says it’s okay, there’s not one goddamn person getting close to her, and that asshole Roy thought he was.
“Fuck, you’re such an asshole sometimes, you know that?”
My glower lets him know I don’t give a fuck what he thinks.
“She doesn’t need to see that shit. She’s already been through enough.”
It’s those words that get through to me. My anger changes direction, aimed straight at myself.
“Shit,” I mutter, looking over Trouble’s shoulder at Rella. Her head is turned our way, her thumb at her mouth as she chews her nail. The worried look in her eyes kills me, but it’s the lack of fear that has the air whooshing from my lungs.
I give Trouble a tight nod, letting him know I agree. It pisses me off, because I know I’ll go off the rails again if another fucker decides he’s interested in Rella. It enrages me that I can’t control myself when my mind goes black. And that’s all I felt when I heard Roy talking about approaching her. All I could picture was him tarnishing her. Putting his unworthy hands on her. His lips touching hers. My thoughts turned to even darker visions of him forcing himself on her.
In the back of my mind, I recognize that’s likely insane. Roy is a decent person. Always respectful, never doing anything he shouldn’t. He came to Malus years ago with his mom, Stephanie. She was out at a bar one night with her friends, celebrating a promotion at work, when a coworker roofied her. He raped her in the broom closet of the bar. The guy wore a condom and gloves, so there was no evidence he was the one who did it. Only her memory of it. With the lack of evidence, the bastard went free. Two weeks after the verdict, the stupid fuck was bragging about the rape, how he got away with it. A friend of a friend of JW’s overheard. He may have thought he got away with it, but the gravestone with his name on it says otherwise.
I leave Trouble and Judge to follow me back to the table. The others are watching my approach, but my eyes are only on Rella. Guilt clenches my gut, knowing she saw that side of me. It’s a side I used to relish, but that at this moment I hate.
I stop when I’m a couple of feet away and look down at her, letting her see the regret on my face.
“I’m sorry,” I choke out.
Her bottom lip gets tugged between her teeth and she nods. Her eyes dart around to the others before she settles them back on mine. “Are you okay?”
My brows slash down. Why in the hell is she asking me if I’m okay? She’s the one who just witnessed me smashing a guy’s face in.
“Yes,” I lie, because I’m definitely not okay. I’ve got too much shit flying through my head. Too many emotions running rampant. I hate it. Emotions have the potential to make a person weak, and I’ll never be weak again.
I SIT ON THE EDGE OF the chair, my knees bouncing and my hand roughly fingering the key in my pocket. Feeling the key through the thick denim doesn’t do shit for the anxiety running through my veins. Rella’s been in the bathroom for thirty minutes, meaning she’s been out of my sight for just as long. I know my need to see her at all times is irrational, but fuck if I know how to stop it, and I’m not sure I want to.
Getting up from the chair, I start pacing the room. I drag my hand through my hair in irritation, stopping when I get to my neck and gripping the muscle hard. My skin feels tight, and a cold sweat breaks out across my forehead. Shaking my head, I try to think about something else besides the fact that Rella never takes this long when she showers. Something feels wrong. She seemed fine after we came back from dinner and she went to the bathroom, but it could have been an act. It wouldn’t surprise me if her nerves were shot after witnessing what I did at The Hill. Maybe she’s as good as me at hiding her true feelings.
I shoot a look at the closed door. Worry has me walking over and pressing my hand against it, as if I’ll be able to somehow feel her on the other side. Steam billows from the crack at the bottom, and I swear, her scent comes out with it. I breathe in deep, hoping her smell will alleviate some of my restlessness. It doesn’t.
I hear something on the other side of the door that has my blood running cold. I lean closer and press my ear against the wood. It’s barely noticeable, but I make out soft sobs. My heart slams against my sternum and my stomach pitches.
I grip the doorknob, but pause. Should I go get Trouble? Or better yet, Remi? There’s no telling what I’d be walking into. She could be naked, so it might be better for a female to check on her.
Another sob comes, and I make up my mind. There’s no way I’ll waste the time getting someone else, not when she’s obviously in some sort of pain.
I twist the knob and push the door open. I stop in the doorway, and my whole fucking world crashes down around me. My chest cracks open, and my heart splinters right down the middle.
Rella’s sitting down, wedged between the toilet and the shower, a razor blade in her bloodied hand. She’s only wearing a pair of panties and the shirt she had on tonight. The insides of her thighs are covered in blood. Her face is pale and crumpled in pain, tears running rivers down her cheeks.
She lifts her head and locks eyes with me. Shame and torment mix with utter despair.
On numb legs, I walk over and drop to my knees in front of her.
“What are you doing?” My whispered words come out tortured.
More tears fall from her eyes. “I just want it to stop,” she cries. “Why won’t it go away? I don’t want to be like this anymore. Please, Aziah. I don’t know what to do.”
I reach out and take the razor blade from her shaky hand. She doesn’t try to stop me, and I drop it in the shower. I grab her under her arms, lift her up, plop down on my ass, and set her down across my lap. The thought of her reacting badly to me touching her doesn’t even cross my mind. Apparently, it doesn’t cross hers either, because she clutches my shirt, getting as close to me as she can.
A boulder sits on my chest as I listen to her cry against my shoulder. Her fingers fist my shirt repeatedly. I feel so Goddamn helpless because I don’t know what to do to help her.
“Shh…,” I whisper over and over and run my fingers through her thick brown hair. “Everything is going to be okay.” I don’t know if I speak the truth, but I hope like fuck I am.
I don’t know how long we sit there, but my eyes stay glued to the blood on her thighs the whole time. My chest tightens each time a fresh bead slides from the cuts.
I lift her head from my chest and cup her tearstained cheeks. “I need to get Trouble so he can take care of those.”
“No!” she cries, grabbing my shirt and pulling my face closer to hers. “Please. I don’t want him to know.” Her voice lowers and cracks with her next words. “He would be so ashamed of me.”
I shake my head. “No, Rella. He would never be ashamed of you.”
“Please,” she says emphatically. “He can’t ever know.”
At her desperate look, I give in and slowly nod.
Her shoulders droop and she licks the tears from her lips. “Thank you.”
Her eyes move to my shoulders, down my arms, to my hand resting on her side before darting back up to meet mine. They widen in surprise. I hold my breath, expecting her at any minute to scramble from my lap. Anxiety surfaces on her face as she bites her lip, but she makes no move to get up.
We stare at each other for several long moments, both wondering what’s going on, until I remember the cuts on her thighs. Planting my feet on the floor, I press back against the wall and slide up with her still in my arms. I put her down on the counter by the sink and reach beneath for the first aid kit and a washcloth. I debate on whether to leave to let her clean her own wounds, but I just don’t have it in me to leave her yet.
I wet the rag from the shower before turning it off. I look up at her in question. She purses her lips and nods. With all the blood, I don’t know how bad the cuts are or how many. Not wanting to hurt her any more than necessary, I start by just gently pressing the rag on one of her thighs to soak up some of the blood. We both stay quiet, but I have a hundred questions running through my head.
“Why did you do this?” I ask quietly.
She grips the edge of the counter, her knuckles turning white. I don’t know if it’s from the pain or if it’s the question.
She takes so long to answer, I start to think she won’t.
“Because it’s the only way to make the pain of everything else go away,” she answers sadly. “It’s the only way I know how to replace it. For a little while, anyway.”
I swallow past the lump in my throat. She’s like me. She hurts herself to mask the horror of her memories.
I lift the rag, rinse it, and set it back down on the same thigh.
“Why tonight?” I ask hoarsely, afraid I already know the answer.
Rella rests her hand on the back of mine. “Aziah, look at me.”
I squeeze my eyes closed for a moment, gather my courage, and look at her. She leans closer until her face is only inches from mine.
“It wasn’t what you did to that guy. It was him looking at me. It’s stupid and wasn’t his fault either. All he was doing was looking, but it still made my skin crawl. My head is so messed up. I understand why you hurt him. You felt you were protecting me, and I’ll never fault you for that. Ever.”
How in the hell this woman ended up so amazing is astounding. She claims her head is messed up, and yes, she has some issues, just as anyone would who’s been through what she has, but that doesn’t make her any less special.
I lift the rag again, and most of the blood is now gone. There are two two-inch cuts on her inner thigh. But that’s not what holds my attention. It’s all the old scars surrounding the new wounds. There’s a shit ton. They go from her knee all the way up to a few inches before the crease where her leg meets her torso. I have no doubt her other thigh looks just the same.
“How long have you been doing this?”
She shifts nervously on the counter, and when she speaks, her voice is so low, I barely make out her words. “About ten years. I started right after I left with Deanna and Mick.”
I grind my molars together.
“You do it too, don’t you? With the key you told me about.”
I glance up. Understanding softens her expression. I want to deny her claim, because I don’t want her to think less of me, but maybe it’ll help her if she knows she isn’t alone.
I nod and go back to cleaning her other thigh. Just as I suspected, her skin is riddled with small lines, some old and some newer. I grab a cotton ball and uncap the peroxide. After soaking the cotton, I start dabbing the fresh cuts.
“I keep waiting for it to get easier, but it never does.”
A lead weight settles in my stomach.
“It will. Being here, surrounded by people who love you and will protect you, it’ll get easier.”
It has to. For her, anyway. The thought of her suffering makes me feel nauseous. I’ll do everything in my power to help her, no matter what it takes, to lessen her misery.
Remembering my promise to Maisy to use antibiotic ointment on my own wounds, I squeeze some on the bandages before placing them over Rella’s cuts.
After putting everything back where I got it from, I stand back and regard her. Her long hair falls over her shoulders in soft waves. Her face has regained some of its color, especially in her cheeks. Her hands are clasped tightly together and resting on her lap, and she gazes back at me.
As if my eyes were waiting until after her wounds were taken care of, they stray to the parts of her I have no business looking at. Her legs are closed, but I still see a small triangle of her white panties, and the dark shadow of hair beneath it. I’m a sick bastard, because just that small glimpse has my dick twitching. Nausea rolls in my stomach.
“Thank you,” she whispers. “And thank you for not telling Trouble.”
I think he needs to know, but I understand her reluctance. It’s her decision to make.
“Promise me something,” I ask, shoving my hands in my pockets and averting my eyes to the mirror behind her. The tip of my finger touches the teeth on the key, but I don’t press down. Just knowing it’s there is reassuring enough at the moment.
“What?”
“Tell me the next time you have the need to do that.” I tip my chin to her thighs without moving my eyes there.
She chews on her bottom lip for a moment before she nods. Her answer says a lot. I’ve read up on self-harm quite a bit. Most people keep the addiction to themselves, feeling shame over what they’re doing to their body. For them to tell someone about it most often means they trust that person inexplicably. Rella seems like the typical case, so for her to tell me when she has the need means she must trust me. I still don’t understand that part, but I’ll take it. It means I may be able to talk her down from her need.
“I’ll leave and let you get dressed,” I mutter and turn to the door.
“Aziah?”
I turn back. Indecision wars in her eyes for a moment before she slowly walks over to me. My breath freezes in my lungs as she steps so close the tips of her toes touch the tips of mine. She looks at me for several seconds before she rests her hand on my forearm, rolls to the balls of her feet, and presses the gentlest of kisses against my cheek. I close my eyes and relish in the sweet gesture. When I open my eyes again, she’s several feet away, her expression unsure.
She has no idea the gift she just gave me. Her emotions were out of whack while I was comforting her and tending to her wounds. That was the only reason our close proximity didn’t frighten her. For her to be so close and to touch me on her own, to kiss my cheek, is something I’ll cherish for the rest of my life.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
RELLA
The Past
MY VISION IS BLURRY when I first open my eyes. The room is dark and my head hurts, so that makes it harder to see anything. I blink several times and it helps.
