Back in the Saddle (Jessica Brodie Diaries #1)(43)

“What did he do to you, Jessica?” Adam said in a shaky growl, almost a whine.

Moose followed his gaze. His eyes widened.

“The hurt is not my face or hair. It is more my pride...” I said quietly.

They looked William.

“He didn’t...” Adam started and then faltered. William just shook his head.

They both relaxed a fraction, if a couple of boulders could relax.

Adam was looking at me like a thunderclap right before lightening rained down on the village. He straightened up and started walking toward the right, determination and war on his face.

If William was Apollo, then Adam was Mars, the God of War.

Moose lurched after him, grabbing his shoulders, trying to stop the other man. William yelled for his dad to grab Adam as we were washed in blue and red. The police had arrived.

Hopefully someone had managed to grab Dusty.

That thought had the last of my fight draining away. My adrenaline had finished seeping out of my now weary body. I clutched harder, my knees not wanting to hold me up. In one quick movement, William scooped me up into his arms and carried me the rest of the way to the trailer.

William set me down gently on the bed in the back of the trailer. He sat next to me with a wet cloth and slowly reached up to dab my face. Even though he was gentle, and careful, each time he touched me a bolt of pain pierced the center of my brain.

When he was done he stood me up, scanning my injuries with his eyes, lingering on those he suspected but weren't visible.

“You need to check yourself over,” he said softly, making ripples in the hush. “Make sure everything is okay, and then we’ll take you to the hospital.”

I nodded, thinking the last thing I was going to do was go to the hospital. No sense in having the argument now, however.

I bent to survey the damage. My shirt was ripped at the bottom, and therefore ruined. There were scratches between my legs where he forced them open, but the skin was intact. There was no cause to worry about H.I.V.. My arms were bruised, as was my throat, but nothing that wouldn’t mend with time. The ability to feel safe outside again, however, wouldn’t be so easy to get over.

“Here.” William held out a stack of folded clothes. “Sweats, shirt, socks—let me know if you need anything else.”

“Will--ie? Is that what you like to be called? Or William? Or Davies?” I asked timidly.

“Any of those are fine. Just preferably not Will.”

“Which do you prefer?”

“William, actually. But everyone calls me Willie, so it doesn’t matter.”

“William?” I asked, deciding I liked his full name best—especially because he liked it best as well.

“Yes Jessica?” he said in a gentle whisper.

“This is going to sound like a weird request, but...”

His expression was guarded.

“Well,” I continued, flustered, “he touched my panties.” William flinched, but didn’t look away. “I mean, he tried... well, he didn’t get them off or anything, but he touched them.” I shuddered a little. “Could I...” I sighed. I might just get out with it. “Could I have some of your undies so I can throw mine away?”

He tilted his head with a lopsided grin. “That’s a first,” he said as he went to a clothes drawer. He brought back a pair of boxer briefs. “A woman generally wants to give me her undies, not take mine.”

It was my turn to c**k my head. “Really?” I asked jokingly, “you wear women’s underwear?”

His smile lit up his face. “Well, only sometimes. Some feel good on my Pagonis, but most of them chafe!”

We both started laughing; trying to laugh away the drama we were both faced with. Seriousness rushed back in with the stern knock on the trailer door. William looked at me in trepidation before getting up to answer it.

A portly man with graying hair and large sideburns sat down on a couch three feet from the bed. His hard eyes assessed my appearance as he brought out a notepad and pen.

“Hello Jessica. I am Sgt. Jacobson. I need to ask you a few questions.”

Did all interrogations start like that?

Suddenly my body was shaking. A few more tears leaked out of my eyes. William, ever my protector, hugged me tighter.

Then the horrible questions started. “Why did you go outside?”

“I was hot. I tried to get my friends to go with me, but they didn’t want to. The ones that were there, anyway. I didn’t know where most of the boys were.”

“Why did you wander so far from the door?” the Sergeant asked.

“I didn’t. I was in sight of the door. It couldn’t have been more than ten feet. Just far enough to escape the heat coming out of the hall. I was still in the light. Dusty dragged me away. By my hair.”

“Were there any people outside or passing?”

“None.”

“And then what happened?”

Images and pain flashed through my mind. My head bowed, my body heaved with sobs. From that position, I recounted what happened next, in detail. I could tell neither of the men really wanted to know, but had to.

When I was through, the Sergeant nodded. “How did you know how to defend yourself? Why did you do to him...what you did?”

I took a deep breath. “I had a friend that did—has done martial arts since she was little. She often talked about what to do when a man, or woman, was confronting me. She went through some basics with us girls. Normally when I panic I forget everything. But when...” I gulped and almost gagged. “And earlier in the night when he was in the chair next to me, digging his hand into my shoulder, I did panic. I couldn’t react to save my life. But when...”