Chapter 280: Silent Nightmare
*If you’re not going to help support the family, stay silent in your precious closet. – Donna Leigh*
Rye was walking home from the bus stop to the cheap apartment in Biloxi when she felt someone following her. Images from a few nights ago of Leigh Anne being held down and raped flashed through her mind.
She sped up digging out the single key from her jeans pocket. Just as she reached her stoop, the man grabbed her. He was never in her sight, but his scent and touch would forever be branded in her mind.
Whiskey. Sweat. Chewing tobacco. Foul breath. Rough calloused hands. Greasy hair and skin. Fingernails that are too long and pointy. Scratchy facial hair.
Her backpack was torn away as he shoved her inside. Rye stumbled as she tried to grab the bag. A large hand shoved her to the floor, and she heard material rip as her shirt was pulled away.
Screaming for help, Rye struggled to get away. The man released her shirt to cover her mouth. She bit the man’s finger as hard as she could.
“You bitch!” he slapped her across the cheek exposed to him.
She felt him sit up and heard his belt being undone. Rye knew that if he got the belt on her wrists or neck, she was done. Leigh Anne still had the bruises on her neck from the other man a week ago. Rye didn’t know if this was the same man.
With the man distracted, she reached for and grabbed her bag. He laughed as she pulled out her black flashlight. The switch on the bottom side moved under her thumb.
Quickly, she jabbed it into his thigh and pushed the small red button activating the tazer. His body jerked and he fell off to the side.
Rye grabbed her bag and ran out the door. Unsure of where to go, she went to the corner store. When she returned to the apartment three hours later, she was greeted by her bloody and bruised mother.
“Why must you be so fucking difficult?” Donna Leigh demanded. “We have to move because of you!”
The memory faded from that one to another. Rye had learned years ago; silence would keep her alive. She could smell the alcohol, feel the hard floor and walls of yet another closet and hear the men taking their turn.
To keep from sobbing out loud, Rye put her fist in her mouth. There was a sound in the distance. It was a new sound that did not belong. Swallowing a whimper, she curled up tighter into the ball as the strange noise went away.
She remained trapped inside her memories. Inside the closets. Between beatings and moves, she hid in the floor. Other than school, it was her safe place. Neither were very safe.
A new voice penetrated her mind. A man’s voice that was familiar but should not be in the closet.
“Rye, Duchess, wake up.” The voice called gently. “Come back to me, Duchess. It’s safe here. Come back to me.”
Slowly her eyes opened and focused on the man at the side of her bed. He was shirtless and kneeling on the floor. His dark hair and beard were tousled from sleep and nervous hands running through his hair. His blue eyes were concerned, and his mouth was turned up in a smile.
Rye reached out and touched Chance’s beard as she removed her hand from her mouth.
“It’s soft.” She murmured.
“Do you want me to shave it off?” he asked.
She shook her head no. “His was scratchy. I could feel it.”
Chance closed his eyes so that she would not see his anger. He turned and pressed a kiss to her palm. Once he felt in control of himself again, he looked back at her.
“What do you need?” he asked softly.
“I need to feel clean.” She whispered. “I need to wash his memory off me.”
Chance nodded. “Do you want me to go back to the couch?”
“Stay.” Rye whispered just above a silent whisper. “Please.”
“Anything you want, duchess.” He whispered back as he stood up and pressed a light kiss to her temple.
She spent nearly an hour in a hot shower scrubbing her skin raw. When she came back to the bedroom, she found Chance sitting on the bed with his back against the headboard. She got under the covers and slid over to him.
Softly, hesitantly, she began to tell him about her nightmare. It came every night. Sometimes it was Biloxi. Sometimes it was Monroe. Sometimes it was Mobile. But she was always hiding in the closet.
He held her close and listened, occasionally reminding her that she was safe. Rubbing his hand up and down her arm, he encouraged her to continue.
Chance wondered if he could find these men. Anyone who would attack a child should die. These men tried to rape her. They should die at his hand.
Her finger lightly traced the same tattoo that his brothers also had. A tribal stag and underneath his had the Roman number five. Mia recently got a tribal doe with the Roman number four.
“I know that I said that I would marry you, but I don’t know if I can…”
“Rye.” He swallowed hard. “It’s not always like that. Making love to someone special is wonderful. It’s sweet. Tender.”
“It’s all I know. It scares me.”
“I know, Duchess. When you’re ready, we’ll go slow. Believe it or not, I’m a very patient man.” He kissed the top of her head as Michael began to fuss. “I’ve got him.”
After changing the diaper and giving Michael a bottle, Chance burped him and rocked him back to sleep. He placed the sleeping baby on his back in the crib and covered his little body with the quilt that Evie’s mom had made.
Standing in the nursery, in the pale light of a constellations being cast on the walls and ceiling, the man watched the baby sleeping. Suddenly, he understood why Molly had so many children. Stifling a yawn of his own, Chance went and washed the bottle before checking on Rye.
Her hair was still slightly damp from the shower. Brushing her hair out of her face, he kissed her temple lightly before going back to the couch. It was not the hideous olive-green couch. But he was starting to seriously dislike this couch almost as much.
