He dipped his huge, calloused hand under my scarf and across my collarbone, then dragged it down over my tits. When his hand stopped over my stomach we both realized I was shaking. Shaking like I was freezing to death. I tried to stop it but I couldn’t.
Wreck pulled away and a heavy blanket of dread crushed down on me.
“You don’t want this, do you?” he asked, leaning further back.
I scrambled for my pad and pen and scribbled emphatically.
“I do!” I wrote.
Wreck gave me a hard gaze as he mulled it over. Skepticism was heavy on his expression.
I dropped to my knees and groped at his belt buckle, opening it. When I went for the top button on his jeans he stopped me.
“Stop,” he said. His face darkened.
No no no no no no. I fucked up! I shouldn’t have startled like that. I should’ve…
I lurched forward for his jeans again. If I could just get his pants down I could satisfy him, I know I could.
“I said stop, goddamit!” Wreck growled. He let out a heavy sigh, ran his hand over his face and walked to the window.
I froze solid at his outburst then scurried along the floor and leaned against the far side of the bed. I didn’t move. I didn’t know what to do. This had never happened to me before. I’d been beaten, raped, abused, but they always got off in the end. My mind immediately went to Patrick. He’d been making plans with the MC to take over this whole city. He was going to be pissed at me if Wreck complained.
Then there was Wreck.
He was still here and now. What was Wreck going to do me now that I’d obviously upset him?
He put both hands on the windowsill and for a long time just gazed outside. I had no idea what was going on in his head. He shifted and knocked a book off the sill. Crouching down to pick it up he realized it was my sketch book and started flipping through the pages.
“You do these?” He turned to me. Whatever anger he felt was still very much there, but now there was something else too. A touch of awe.
I nodded, but he barely noticed.
“They’re all birds,” he said, absorbed by my drawings. For several long minutes he scrutinized every detail of every page. Just by looking at him you’d never expect he’d be the kind of guy with any interest in art.
I’d been wrong about him at every turn so far, what was one more thing?
“The word written at the bottom of these drawings- your signatures… What does it say?” he asked, angling the book closer to the window to get more light on it.
I’d always signed my pictures very small and hidden them in the art itself. The signatures would nearly be hidden if you weren’t looking for them specifically, because they were only meant for me to see. My art was the only thing in this cruel world that was actually mine. Whatever happened to the books after Patrick took them I at least always knew my name was on them. I never saw them again but it gave me comfort to know that they were mine.
“Is that…” Wreck squinted, flipping back and forth between the pages to compare against other signatures to be sure. Then he looked up at me, mostly convinced he’d figured it out. “Is your name really Sarah?”
I took a deep breath, closed my eyes and reluctantly nodded.
Not since the confrontation with Patrick had anyone ever cared enough to figure out my real name. It was ordinary, plain and not exotic at all, but it was mine.
“For someone as talented with a pen as you are your penmanship is absolute shit.” Wreck cracked an actual smile at me. His brown eyes soaked in the errant sunbeams in my room and glowed with warmth. “Why the fuck do you go by Jezebel?”
Jezebel. My mouth filled with the taste of ash. I hated that name.
“You don’t like that name do you?” He squinted at me slightly, studying me. The disgust I always felt at hearing it must have finally seeped through my usually very guarded expression. “It’s a shit name. Too on the nose for a whore. How ‘bout I call you Sarah instead?”
It was funny, now that I could no longer talk I’d never be able to say my own name ever again. I’d forgotten how much I missed it. Hearing my real name spoken aloud was a balm for my soul. It was like a reminder to know that I really existed.
But I also knew if the wrong people overheard him saying it to me then I would get beaten or worse. As far as Patrick was concerned Sarah was dead. Jezebel was all that was left.
“How ‘bout I call you Sarah when no one else is around?” Wreck asked, his smile fading into a quiet intensity. He must have seen the conflicted anguish in my eyes and face.
Wreck was so unlike any of the other men I’d been with. There was a capacity for great violence, and anger in him, but also something else… empathy?
Wreck’s expression darkened, but not at me as he closed the book, gently putting it back on the shelf.
“Are you here against your will?” he asked in a hushed tone.
I immediately started to well up. It wasn’t because of what he asked me. It was because he asked me at all and because I couldn’t answer. It was more complicated than he knew. More complicated than I could ever tell him.
Yes and no.
That was the answer I couldn’t give. Patrick had taken so much from me but this… Not being capable of genuine human connection was the most terrible. This was a hurt I carried with me wherever I went.
I shook my head.
The worst part was that I was telling the truth
