“Yeah, the cunt thinks she can take her sweet motherfucking time!” the woman shouts, her face going red.
I stalk to the stall and it’s only then the women notice me. “Hey, go get your dick sucked somewhere else!” I shove her out of the way, not caring where the fuck she goes, as long as it’s away from the door.
“Cara,” I call but there’s no answer. I slam my shoulder into the door once and the flimsy piece of wood gives way. I slam it all the way open and then my heart sinks.
“Fuck, Cara,” I breathe.
She’s somehow wedged her body into the small space between the toilet and door. I rush in, wondering how the fuck I’m going to get her out.
I touch her jerking shoulder lightly and it sets her off. She screams and rears back even further. Her arms swing out and her tiny fist connects with my chest. Her face is wet with tears and snot, and her breaths are strangled gulps.
I grab her face in both my hands and hold her steady. “Open your fucking eyes,” I bark at her and they snap open. There’s no recognition in her eyes, only terror.
“Cara, it’s Damian,” I try a different tactic but it doesn’t seem to work.
Her eyes jump wildly around the small space and the pain I see on her face eats at me like a fucking cancer.
“Cara,” I say in the neutral tone I used when I first found her, “you’re safe. I’ve got you.”
Two seconds pass before her eyes flick to my face. “Damian?” she squeezes my name out in a pathetic whimper.
“Come to me,” I say, my voice gentle.
She starts to struggle in the small space. Fuck only knows how she got herself in there. I grab her shoulders and I yank hard to get her out. Rather the quick pain than another panic attack because she’s stuck.
She comes free and with a broken cry she slams into me. Her arms go around my neck and she clings with all her might. I pick her up and when I turn around, the women scatter back. I give them a dark glare. If they were men I’d beat the shit out of them for what they did.
I stalk out of the toilets and I don’t stop until I reach the car. I quickly unlock it and place Cara on the passenger seat. She doesn’t let go of my neck and I have to pull her arms back. I put on her seatbelt and then close the door before I run to the driver’s side. I don’t care about speed limits as I race home.
My heart is pounding hard and anger burns through my veins. I’m angry at myself for pushing her to go out. It was too soon. Fuck, I’m an idiot. I’ve just undone all the hard work of the past month.
I glance at her small frame where she’s curled up on the seat. Her whole body is jerking and every few seconds a lost sob shudders from her.
All the rules I’ve lived by fly right out the window. None of them work for Cara. She’s not just another package. I don’t know what she is but she’s not a job anymore.
Cara~
My head is pounding as hard as my heart. I feel drained of the little life I’ve managed to get back over the past few weeks.
I feel filthy.
Disgust swallows me in thick smutty swells.
I’ve been poisoned by their vulgarity and cruelty, and it’s killing me fast.
I’m not going to make it.
The car jerks to a stop and it only takes seconds for Damian to open my door. He yanks the seatbelt off and then he pulls me out of the car. My body feels numb as he presses me to him. My arms hang lifelessly next to my sides while his are steel clamps that are holding me so I don’t shatter to pieces.
“I’m sorry, Cara,” he whispers. When he picks me up, I’m thankful, because I can’t make my legs walk.
He moves fast and only once we’re in the house does he slow down. He kicks the door shut and then he sits down at the bottom of the stairs. He cradles me on his lap, and again, he holds me.
I rest my pounding head against his chest and fresh tears warm my cheeks. It feels like I’m going to explode but instead my voice is empty when I whisper, “It never stops.”
“Come on. Let’s get you in bed,” he says. He gets up, never letting go of me. My tears wet his shirt but I don’t care.
When he walks into my room, he doesn’t put the light on. The darkness is only broken by faint moonlight streaming in through the window. His movements are nothing like when he first found me. It doesn’t feel clinical anymore.
He sets me down on the side of the bed and then he walks over to the cupboard. I watch him take something out and then he comes back.
“Shirt off,” he growls, but the bite is gone again, and it makes him sound caring.
I take hold of the hem and I pause. Damian tilts his head. “Should I leave?”
I shake my head quickly and then strip the shirt off. He holds an old t-shirt out to me and I grab it, quickly yanking it on. It falls to just above my knees.
“Are you going to sleep in the skirt and boots?” he asks.