Saved by the Cross (Cross 3)

4 - Pain

When Doyle woke, the pain hit her. Foggy snippets came to her. Mick. Gio. She put her hand on her tender belly. Her head throbbed worse than at dinner. The family around the table with Jimmy and Tate felt like a year ago.

Why did Mick betray her? She was going to kiss him. The cross. She felt her neck and found the chain. Her fingers ran along the chain until she felt the cross. If Gio had stolen it, her father would never forgive her. She held the chain through the cotton. What was she wearing? She opened her eyes and saw a shadow of a large man. Gio! She trembled.

"No. Don't kill me."

A voice she didn't recognize said, "You're safe. I saved you. Some guy was beating you."

One eye came into focus to see the face with the kind voice. He was big and built, but he looked like Adonis with his blond hair which was a little messy. Her eyes wandered to the ink peeking out of his sleeve. She would love to photograph his defined features.

"Do you? Do you need to get up?"

"Water. Head. Hurt."

"I'll get you something."

When he disappeared, she tried to sit up, but her head spun. She fell back down on the bed. As she put her fingers on her cheek to wipe her tears the pain ripped through her. Ever so gently she touched flesh that wasn't hers, except it was. Her eye was so puffy she couldn't open it. She could never go home. Where could she go? Baxter's? No, he would send her to rehab and lock her up. Tate's? No, her sister would feel responsible and Doyle would ruin her happiness. Her family thought she was with the band. Maybe she could go away and stay in a hotel. First, she needed to get out of bed.

He came back. "Here, drink this."

The cold water felt good on her throat. She felt like one of those girls who screamed the entire concert. Wincing, she didn't want to think about Mick.

"You feel warm. I want to take your temperature." He shoved something in her ear. "You have a fever." His face looked perplexed. "I've never heard of getting a fever from having the shit kicked out of a person."

She groaned. "I felt like crap before. Head." She had been cold at dinner, but warm by the end of the long meal. "Hot, cold."

His shoulders relaxed. "Maybe it's not your injuries. I can't have you dying from lack of treatment."

"I don't want to die. I want the pain to go away."

"Eat these."

He handed her crackers that tasted like cardboard. "Yuck."

"That's all I have. Some old matzoh."

She had heard the word, but her brain wasn't processing. It reminded her of when she struggled in school. She tried to swallow but needed water to wash it down.

"Here." He handed her pills. "Hopefully, your belly will hold it down. You need it for your face." He returned quickly and put an ice-cold plastic bag on her face. "Who did this to you?"

His gentle voice lodged in her chest. He was a virtual stranger, but he cared. She shook her head, unwilling to point her finger at the band's manager. Maybe she didn't love Mick. He had been fucking that girl. She cringed as she thought about the girl. Doyle had been with Mick, but she had become a person even she didn't recognize. After fighting against misogyny, she allowed herself to be controlled and treated as a sex object. She hadn't hidden her background from Mick, because he had never cared enough to ask her.

She cried for her own stupidity. She had been under a spell. The pain opened her eyes, not literally. The Adonis sat next to her on the bed and rubbed her back while she softly wept, and the warmth of his hand brought comfort and calm.