“Baby, let’s get you cleaned up and out of these dirty clothes,” I tell her softly.
She blinks a few times and finally looks at me confusedly, almost like she didn’t even realize I was here. Then, she looks down at her hands that are still covered in blood, quickly moving her eyes to the front of her scrub top that is also stained red with quite a lot of what I assume is Finnley’s blood.
She starts panting, whimpering with each exhale of breath as she quickly scrambles up from the floor and starts tearing at her clothes.
“GET THEM OFF! GET THEM OFF OF ME!” she sobs.
I jump up in front of her as she starts raking her fingernails down her arms to try and remove the blood on her skin, crying and screaming the entire time.
“OH, GOD, IT’S ALL MY FAULT! GET HER FUCKING BLOOD OFF OF ME!”
I wrap my arms around her from behind to try and stop her as she scratches and claws at her face, pulls her hair and tries to physically rip the clothes from her body, but she’s like a wild hellcat. She rips her arms out from under mine and starts punching and kicking as I lift her in the air and move her over to the bed. The tortured screams coming from her make it sound like someone is killing her.
“Phina! Come on, baby, calm down and let me help you,” I shout over her, my heart breaking with each painful cry from her mouth.
I toss her onto the bed and manage to get her onto her back without an elbow to the eye, bringing her arms above her head and securing her wrists in one of my hands as I push my body down on top of hers. The fight leaves her as soon as I get her in this position and she stops struggling. Quiet sobs leave her body and I bring my other hand up, using my thumb to wipe the tears off of her cheek that is still covered in Finnley’s blood.
“I can’t…I can’t…get them off of me,” she whimpers softly this time.
I nod my head even though she’s squeezed her eyes closed and can’t see me.
“Okay, okay. I’m going to let go and I’m going to get you out of these clothes and then we’ll get in the shower,” I reassure her softly, trying not to sob right along with her.
When I let go, she keeps her arms above her head as I ease off of her body and stand next to the bed, leaning over her. She stares up at the ceiling with tears streaming down her cheeks as I grab the hem of her bloody scrub top and slide it up her body. For the time being, I’m glad she’s not looking down because as soon as I get her top off and unhook her bra, I see that her skin is stained with blood from it soaking through her shirt.
I move back and hook my fingers into the waistband of her scrub pants and her hands immediately come down to cover her face. Her shoulders shake as she continues to cry while I ease her pants down her legs and toss them to the side. I do the same with her lace boy shorts, quickly pulling them off and tossing them with the pants. My eyes roam up her legs and her thighs, stopping when I get to her hips. I slowly lean forward, pressing my hands to the bed on either side of her to get a closer look.
I know that when I look back on this night, I’m going to wish I could have stopped the gasp of horror that flew from my mouth. I’m going to wish I did a lot of things differently, but you can’t go back in time to fix your mistakes, no matter how much you want to.
“That motherfucking piece of shit,” I curse, bringing one hand off the bed to trace my fingers over a whole slew of burn marks that Phina never showed me.
She quickly sits up in bed and gently pushes my hand off of her skin. I meet her eyes and can’t hide the obvious rage in them. She stares at me and, even though she’s visibly exhausted from her freak out and all of the crying she’s done, there’s still a spark of hope in her eyes as she waits for me to say something else.
“I fucking hate the sick, fucked up bastard who did this to you,” I growl.
Her eyes immediately lose their spark and she drops her head. I try to backpedal, thinking I must have said something wrong, but how could I? Of course anyone who burns someone’s skin with a goddamn cigarette is clearly fucked up in the head AND a bastard.
“Funny, I hate that person, too,” she says softly with her head still down.
I shake my head in confusion, wondering why she sounds so fucking dejected. It doesn’t make sense. Nothing about what’s happening right now makes any sense.
She pushes herself up from the bed and walks around me, heading towards the shower. It’s then that I notice matching burns on her other hip and I growl and clench my hands into fists. She pauses halfway to the bathroom, but doesn’t turn around.
“You need to leave.”
I shake my head at her back and walk around the end of the bed, putting my hands on her shoulders to try and turn her around to face me. If she would just look at me and talk to me I could figure out what the hell is wrong.
“Phina, please. Talk to me,” I plead.
She yanks her body out of my grip and continues walking towards the bathroom.
“Just go, DJ. I don’t need you here.”
“PHINA!” I shout in anger as she opens the bathroom door.
She finally turns around and stares at me with lifeless eyes.
“Get. The. Fuck. Out. Of. My House.”
She slams the door closed and I hear her lock it behind her. I’m so frustrated and angry that I don’t know what else to do. I stomp out of her bedroom and down the stairs, figuring I’ll give her a little time to cool off. She told me to go, so that’s what I’m going to fucking do.
As soon as I get outside and see Jackson sitting there, my anger goes up tenfold. No fucking way am I leaving her here with him. I don’t care if he is her police protection and she doesn’t want me here, I don’t trust anyone at this point after what happened to Finnley. My escort, a ten-year veteran named Marcus Walker, is still parked behind my truck with his car running. I wave in his direction and point back to the house, indicating I’m staying and hoping he can see me, but the interior of his cruiser is dark.
She blinks a few times and finally looks at me confusedly, almost like she didn’t even realize I was here. Then, she looks down at her hands that are still covered in blood, quickly moving her eyes to the front of her scrub top that is also stained red with quite a lot of what I assume is Finnley’s blood.
She starts panting, whimpering with each exhale of breath as she quickly scrambles up from the floor and starts tearing at her clothes.
“GET THEM OFF! GET THEM OFF OF ME!” she sobs.
I jump up in front of her as she starts raking her fingernails down her arms to try and remove the blood on her skin, crying and screaming the entire time.
“OH, GOD, IT’S ALL MY FAULT! GET HER FUCKING BLOOD OFF OF ME!”
I wrap my arms around her from behind to try and stop her as she scratches and claws at her face, pulls her hair and tries to physically rip the clothes from her body, but she’s like a wild hellcat. She rips her arms out from under mine and starts punching and kicking as I lift her in the air and move her over to the bed. The tortured screams coming from her make it sound like someone is killing her.
“Phina! Come on, baby, calm down and let me help you,” I shout over her, my heart breaking with each painful cry from her mouth.
I toss her onto the bed and manage to get her onto her back without an elbow to the eye, bringing her arms above her head and securing her wrists in one of my hands as I push my body down on top of hers. The fight leaves her as soon as I get her in this position and she stops struggling. Quiet sobs leave her body and I bring my other hand up, using my thumb to wipe the tears off of her cheek that is still covered in Finnley’s blood.
“I can’t…I can’t…get them off of me,” she whimpers softly this time.
I nod my head even though she’s squeezed her eyes closed and can’t see me.
“Okay, okay. I’m going to let go and I’m going to get you out of these clothes and then we’ll get in the shower,” I reassure her softly, trying not to sob right along with her.
When I let go, she keeps her arms above her head as I ease off of her body and stand next to the bed, leaning over her. She stares up at the ceiling with tears streaming down her cheeks as I grab the hem of her bloody scrub top and slide it up her body. For the time being, I’m glad she’s not looking down because as soon as I get her top off and unhook her bra, I see that her skin is stained with blood from it soaking through her shirt.
I move back and hook my fingers into the waistband of her scrub pants and her hands immediately come down to cover her face. Her shoulders shake as she continues to cry while I ease her pants down her legs and toss them to the side. I do the same with her lace boy shorts, quickly pulling them off and tossing them with the pants. My eyes roam up her legs and her thighs, stopping when I get to her hips. I slowly lean forward, pressing my hands to the bed on either side of her to get a closer look.
I know that when I look back on this night, I’m going to wish I could have stopped the gasp of horror that flew from my mouth. I’m going to wish I did a lot of things differently, but you can’t go back in time to fix your mistakes, no matter how much you want to.
“That motherfucking piece of shit,” I curse, bringing one hand off the bed to trace my fingers over a whole slew of burn marks that Phina never showed me.
She quickly sits up in bed and gently pushes my hand off of her skin. I meet her eyes and can’t hide the obvious rage in them. She stares at me and, even though she’s visibly exhausted from her freak out and all of the crying she’s done, there’s still a spark of hope in her eyes as she waits for me to say something else.
“I fucking hate the sick, fucked up bastard who did this to you,” I growl.
Her eyes immediately lose their spark and she drops her head. I try to backpedal, thinking I must have said something wrong, but how could I? Of course anyone who burns someone’s skin with a goddamn cigarette is clearly fucked up in the head AND a bastard.
“Funny, I hate that person, too,” she says softly with her head still down.
I shake my head in confusion, wondering why she sounds so fucking dejected. It doesn’t make sense. Nothing about what’s happening right now makes any sense.
She pushes herself up from the bed and walks around me, heading towards the shower. It’s then that I notice matching burns on her other hip and I growl and clench my hands into fists. She pauses halfway to the bathroom, but doesn’t turn around.
“You need to leave.”
I shake my head at her back and walk around the end of the bed, putting my hands on her shoulders to try and turn her around to face me. If she would just look at me and talk to me I could figure out what the hell is wrong.
“Phina, please. Talk to me,” I plead.
She yanks her body out of my grip and continues walking towards the bathroom.
“Just go, DJ. I don’t need you here.”
“PHINA!” I shout in anger as she opens the bathroom door.
She finally turns around and stares at me with lifeless eyes.
“Get. The. Fuck. Out. Of. My House.”
She slams the door closed and I hear her lock it behind her. I’m so frustrated and angry that I don’t know what else to do. I stomp out of her bedroom and down the stairs, figuring I’ll give her a little time to cool off. She told me to go, so that’s what I’m going to fucking do.
As soon as I get outside and see Jackson sitting there, my anger goes up tenfold. No fucking way am I leaving her here with him. I don’t care if he is her police protection and she doesn’t want me here, I don’t trust anyone at this point after what happened to Finnley. My escort, a ten-year veteran named Marcus Walker, is still parked behind my truck with his car running. I wave in his direction and point back to the house, indicating I’m staying and hoping he can see me, but the interior of his cruiser is dark.
