Page 111 of Existential
The greatest pain, the biggest scar, will never be a visible one. An open, festering wound that I’ll carry in my heart, only to bring it out to the light every time a man touches me in that way, or looks at me with that kind of intention.
“I can’t get them all,” Hooch says, the pain he feels evident in the waver of his voice. “Jesus, babe. I did this.”
“Don’t be silly,” I chastise, angered that he’d even think that way. “Don’t.”
A large blanket is produced from the small group of men waiting off to the side, and I’m bundled in its security before being hoisted into Hooch’s arms again. Everything is a surreal blur as Hooch arranges for somebody else to ride his bike home while he travels in the truck with me. Dog drives, and Hooch settles me across his legs, curled into his chest on the passenger side. It’s awkward, painful, but the most perfect moment ever.
It’s love, security, and finally an affirmation that to someone, I’m worth everything.
***
Daylight paints the walls when I wake. I have no recollection of the journey home, let alone being brought upstairs to Hooch’s room. Something pulls at my skin, and I glance down to find bandages covering the worst of my cuts and abrasions.
Yet what covers me across my stomach is the sweetest relief of all.
Hooch tugs his arm tighter, pulling me gently against his front as he lies beside me, wide awake, fully dressed, just looking.
“You’ve got painkillers on the nightstand if you need them.”
It throbs, my most intimate parts burning slightly, but it’s not anything I can’t tolerate for now. I roll to face him, wanting to say how thankful I am that he found me, yet the words don’t come.
The events of the past day hit me like a ton of bricks, and instead of sharing my gratitude, I cry. I cry because he looks at me as though he adores me, even though I’m ruined. I cry because he has to have seconds when really despite all his faults he deserved it all. I cry because I wasn’t strong enough, or smart enough to out-play Digits.
But most of all, because I’ll never be the same person I was, no matter how well I recover.
This was one chapter I never wanted to add to my story. A chapter I’d skipped so many times, narrowly missing filling the pages when some grabby drunk got a little too close in my time travelling alone.
“What can I do?” Hooch whispers. “Tell me what to do, Dee.”
“For now?” I sniff. “Just stay.”
He wraps his huge arms around me, and for a brief moment nothing else exists. I’m not a naïve young woman, blindly stumbling through life. He’s not an outlaw biker who leads a group of criminal men. And we’re not two people who’ve screwed this up every step of the way.
We’re whole, complete, and happy.
We’re loved, and in return, we love.
“They found him,” Hooch says, his words vibrating where his throat rests atop my head.
I stiffen, the thought Digits is in the same building almost too much to bear. “And?”
“It’s your call.”
“What is?”
“How he dies.”
Jesus. “I’m not a killer, Hooch. I can’t condone that.”
“You don’t need to. It’ll happen either way. I just thought it might help.”
Does it? I want nothing more for him to hurt, but the stupid, stupid part of me that has faith in redemption wants one last moment with him to give him a chance to explain himself.
What would turn a seemingly kind man so vicious like that? What isn’t he telling everyone?
“Can I talk with him?”
This time, Hooch stiffens. “Why?”