howl and heave and shake uncontrollably.
I'm aware of him sitting down, holding me on his lap and placing something soft and velvety...a cushion...on my chest, to cover me up. Then he hugs me, rubbing my back, smoothing my hair and shushing me.
“Shh, shh, take some deep breaths, Lissa, try to calm down.”
“I c..c..can't,” I splutter through my tears. But he carries on soothing and shushing, and it starts to filter through my distress.
I don't know how long we sit there like that. Time has no meaning. I hang around his neck, I don't want to move, to leave his safety and his warmth. It's so much more than just comforting. It's everything.
He's my hero.
“You... saved me...” I say, in between shaking gulps of air and sobs.
“Don't try to talk.”
He rocks me gently.
My shaking is subsiding, my crying fading out to a slow snivel. I feel weak and tired. I close my eyes, desperate to sleep and I drift away for a while. My mind shutting down and blotting out the whole event.
He wakes me with a gentle rub of my arm.
“Can I take a look at your shoulder. Is that alright?
“ No ,” I snap. I don't want him looking at me.
“I'll go get a towel. You can cover yourself up.”
I'm lifted and placed on the sofa. I put the cushion down and try to gather my dress around me. I can't find the armholes, they're lost somewhere in the chiffon and I'm too weak and confused to look for them. But he's back immediately with a large towel. Covering myself quickly, I wrap it around my bra gratefully. When I'm done, he sits at my side and looks me over.
“I'll just clean you up and then I'll sort your dress out,” he says calmly and matter-of-factly.
He leaves me again and returns with a bowl of water, a towel, a sponge and a first aid kit tucked under his arm. He puts everything on the sofa beside me and then gets a chair, placing it opposite. He sits down.
“I'll be really careful.”
I'm so touched as he washes me with the warm water. He gently sponges the bite mark, the long angry scratches on the rise of my breasts, my ripped and bleeding finger nail, and the grazes on my elbows, where I'd scraped them on the wall. His mouth is set in a tight line. I know he's so angry at what he's seeing, and it makes me start crying again, as it all comes crashing back in my memory.
“Sshhh, let's try and keep it together now. Come on... slow, deep, breaths.”
I puff a few, slow, deep breaths, as instructed. My hands are shaking violently. He takes them in his and his eyes meet mine.
A sharp ache swells within my chest, and through my tears, my breathing is ragged and uneven.
He huffs out a long sigh.
“I need some more water.”
He disappears again. I close my eyes trying to find some comfort in the darkness. I sit quietly, regaining some measure of calm. Then, feeling a little better, I open my eyes and for the first time I take a look around his studio.
Besides the sofa I'm sitting on, there's a bed, lighting equipment, a table and chairs, racks and racks of clothes. The walls are covered with large poster style images of him. I'm interrupted from scrutinizing his images any further, as he returns with a bowl of clean water which smells strongly of antiseptic and a mug of something, steaming hot.
“It's Maxine's. Sweet lemon tea. Drink it.” He places the mug in my hands. I sip at it gratefully. Nothing could taste better or be more welcome than this lovely, lemony liquid in my mouth. He puts two tablets at my side.
“Ibuprofen. You might want them.”
I pop them in my mouth and swallow with a little of the hot tea.
“Thank you.”
His cell phone rings, and I start, the noise is loud and shrill to my ears. He takes it out of his breast pocket and looks at the caller. Then he switches off his cell without answering it.
I'm guessing who it is.
“Jase?”
“Yes, but he can wait a while, you're far more important.”
He starts to dab at my cuts with the hot water. It stings like hell and I
I'm aware of him sitting down, holding me on his lap and placing something soft and velvety...a cushion...on my chest, to cover me up. Then he hugs me, rubbing my back, smoothing my hair and shushing me.
“Shh, shh, take some deep breaths, Lissa, try to calm down.”
“I c..c..can't,” I splutter through my tears. But he carries on soothing and shushing, and it starts to filter through my distress.
I don't know how long we sit there like that. Time has no meaning. I hang around his neck, I don't want to move, to leave his safety and his warmth. It's so much more than just comforting. It's everything.
He's my hero.
“You... saved me...” I say, in between shaking gulps of air and sobs.
“Don't try to talk.”
He rocks me gently.
My shaking is subsiding, my crying fading out to a slow snivel. I feel weak and tired. I close my eyes, desperate to sleep and I drift away for a while. My mind shutting down and blotting out the whole event.
He wakes me with a gentle rub of my arm.
“Can I take a look at your shoulder. Is that alright?
“ No ,” I snap. I don't want him looking at me.
“I'll go get a towel. You can cover yourself up.”
I'm lifted and placed on the sofa. I put the cushion down and try to gather my dress around me. I can't find the armholes, they're lost somewhere in the chiffon and I'm too weak and confused to look for them. But he's back immediately with a large towel. Covering myself quickly, I wrap it around my bra gratefully. When I'm done, he sits at my side and looks me over.
“I'll just clean you up and then I'll sort your dress out,” he says calmly and matter-of-factly.
He leaves me again and returns with a bowl of water, a towel, a sponge and a first aid kit tucked under his arm. He puts everything on the sofa beside me and then gets a chair, placing it opposite. He sits down.
“I'll be really careful.”
I'm so touched as he washes me with the warm water. He gently sponges the bite mark, the long angry scratches on the rise of my breasts, my ripped and bleeding finger nail, and the grazes on my elbows, where I'd scraped them on the wall. His mouth is set in a tight line. I know he's so angry at what he's seeing, and it makes me start crying again, as it all comes crashing back in my memory.
“Sshhh, let's try and keep it together now. Come on... slow, deep, breaths.”
I puff a few, slow, deep breaths, as instructed. My hands are shaking violently. He takes them in his and his eyes meet mine.
A sharp ache swells within my chest, and through my tears, my breathing is ragged and uneven.
He huffs out a long sigh.
“I need some more water.”
He disappears again. I close my eyes trying to find some comfort in the darkness. I sit quietly, regaining some measure of calm. Then, feeling a little better, I open my eyes and for the first time I take a look around his studio.
Besides the sofa I'm sitting on, there's a bed, lighting equipment, a table and chairs, racks and racks of clothes. The walls are covered with large poster style images of him. I'm interrupted from scrutinizing his images any further, as he returns with a bowl of clean water which smells strongly of antiseptic and a mug of something, steaming hot.
“It's Maxine's. Sweet lemon tea. Drink it.” He places the mug in my hands. I sip at it gratefully. Nothing could taste better or be more welcome than this lovely, lemony liquid in my mouth. He puts two tablets at my side.
“Ibuprofen. You might want them.”
I pop them in my mouth and swallow with a little of the hot tea.
“Thank you.”
His cell phone rings, and I start, the noise is loud and shrill to my ears. He takes it out of his breast pocket and looks at the caller. Then he switches off his cell without answering it.
I'm guessing who it is.
“Jase?”
“Yes, but he can wait a while, you're far more important.”
He starts to dab at my cuts with the hot water. It stings like hell and I
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