I close the door to my room and stand with my back to the door unable to move. Many minutes later, I make my way over to the bed and sit. I haven’t turned the lights on, and I sit in darkness for a long time. I am mortified, but through my mortification I keep going back to the sight of him. It is early yet, but I stay in my room for the rest of the night. He makes no attempt to disturb me, and I thank god for that. I don’t think I could bear seeing him right now. He must think I’m the stupidest girl in the world staring at him as if I’ve never seen a penis before. I finally drift off to sleep uncomfortable about the coming day. I set the alarm clock early, intending to go home before he gets up, and I sneak from the apartment shortly after five o’clock.
I wake from a restless night sleep. I know I should have gone to her last night and tried to explain, but I just couldn’t get past my own embarrassment. I don’t want her to see me this way, like some testosterone-driven animal. I will have to talk to Rowan about what happened this morning, but I am dreading the conversation. Humiliation is not an emotion I experience very easily, and I am not a big fan. As I shower, I can’t help but remember the look on her face as she was staring at my cock. The humiliation has only just started to subside, and I can’t stop seeing those intense stunned eyes on my body. Were they on me for the right reason and not pure terror, they would have been an unmatched turn on.
Am I really such a cock that I lose my sense of hearing just because I have a fucking hard-on? How could I have not heard the door open? I have to admit I’ve fantasized, on more than one occasion, of Rowan watching me pleasure myself as I watch her do the same, but this was not what I had in mind. I step from the shower and finish getting ready, mentally preparing myself for the “birds and the bees” discussion that will ensue.
I knock on Rowan’s door and get no answer, and it occurs to me, given her past history of fleeing my apartment, she likely left long ago. I enter the room and, not surprisingly, find it empty with the bed made. Irritation starts to build as I remember the last time she sneaked off to avoid me. These little immature games were going to have to stop. I suppose I’ll just add that to the list of fun topics we’ll be discussing next time I see her. Only problem is, I never have any idea when I’m going to see her.
I’m late for a meeting with the DA and have to rush around to get there in time. The day is long and as much as I’m not looking forward to our discussion, I’m looking forward to seeing Rowan.
Chapter 10
After Rowan sidestepped me in the morning, I’m ready to see her come evening. But she doesn’t make an appearance, and I’m left disappointed. Boredom getting the better of me, I decide to hook up with my friends at The Inn for some pool and darts. On my way there, I drive by the Bistro and see Rowan’s car parked out back. At least I know she’s there and safe. I then spot her father’s car at his shitty bar of choice. I can’t help but feel a sense of excitement at seeing his car. If he’s there, she’ll be coming over when she gets off work at ten o’clock. I can’t keep my eyes off my watch all night, annoying my friends. After a few beers and a few hours, I’m ready to leave but decide to wait until I hear from Rowan.
As much as I enjoy spending time with my friends, I’m still missing Rowan and yearning to see her. The time is now ten, and I should hear from her anytime within the next half hour. Even though she knows she doesn’t have to call, she nearly always does, except, conveniently, when I happen to be masturbating to my fantasies of her. As soon as she gets home and sees that her father’s car is gone, she’ll call. But she doesn’t. I start to get anxious around ten forty-five when I can’t reach her, and I’ve still not heard from her. I decide to drive by her trailer just to make sure everything is okay.
As I round the corner onto Rowan’s street, I see her father’s ancient piece of shit car parked in the driveway, and to my horror, I see her car parked beside it. A chill runs down my back when I realize his car is partially pulled onto the lawn in an obvious drunken attempt at parking. I pull up quickly, and as I approach the house, I can hear him yelling and things being thrown against the walls. I slam open the door, yelling for Rowan in a full-on panic. The yelling and commotion is coming from her room, and I burst into the room in an instant. Rowan is curled up in the fetal position on the floor, and he is kicking her in the backs of her thighs, buttocks, and any other area he can land a foot.
He doesn’t even hear me enter the room through his drunken rant, and I have him in a headlock before he even knows what has happened. I pull him backward into the hallway and out into the living room, not at all sure what my next move should be. He is struggling quite effectively, given his drunken state, and I opt to let him go and face him head on. I can hear Rowan in her room crying, and my fury hits an all-time high. I throw the first punch, hitting him square in the jaw and sending him to the floor. For good measure, I kick him in the gut. I look down the hallway to see Rowan standing hunched over and in obvious pain in her doorway. Her mouth is bloody and her face tear-stained. I want to run to her but am afraid to turn my back on her father. He is restless, and while he hasn’t made any attempts to get up, I won’t give him the opportunity. I watch Rowan as she stumbles in pain down the hall toward me, glancing constantly down at her father still moaning and groaning on the floor. As she approaches me, I reach for her hand and hurriedly usher her out the door to my car.
Once safely in my car and blocks away, I pull over and turn desperately to her. She is still crying, and I have no idea how badly injured she is.
She doesn’t even give me the opportunity to ask before interjecting. “I’m fine. Just take me to your place, please.”
“Please let me take you to the hospital.” My words are quiet. I know she’ll refuse, but I’m begging.
“No.” She doesn’t fail to deliver. And the quiet resolution in her voice ends the hope I had. Not enough to stop me from continuing to plead with her, but eventually I give up, and I watch her in defeat.
She has wiped her bleeding lip on her shirt, and I touch her face, gently turning it from side to side to see if there are any other facial injuries that might imply a head injury. She allows my touch without hesitation, and when I ask her if he kicked her in the stomach or chest, she assures me he didn’t. I begrudgingly take her to my apartment, wanting instead to drag her to the hospital, but it isn’t my choice. She is silent the whole way there, and I help her slowly up the stairs when we arrive home.
I lead her to my room and get a wet washcloth from the bathroom. I wipe her lips and face clean and can see that the split lip has stopped bleeding. I then start undressing her. She doesn’t object, and I’m as gentle as I can be. I pull her shirt up and over her head, finding that she is braless. I look over her stomach and small breasts carefully, finding no injuries or signs of bruising.
When I turn her around to look at her back, though, I see the trailing ends of red welts that disappear below the waist of her jeans down onto her clothed bottom. I turn her back around to face me and see that while she isn’t audibly weeping, she has tears running down her cheeks. Her arms are up covering her exposed breasts, and she is shaking. I ease her arms away from her hidden breasts, pulling her into me. She relaxes in my arms, wrapping her own around me. After a long moment of stillness, she asks if she can take a bath. I quietly but adamantly tell her that I want to finish looking at her.