I belonged to another man. I was in the home of another man. I was in the bedroom of another man. And yet, there I was, my lips pressed to someone else.
We were both still in shock; our adrenaline still rushing. He appeared upset, and kept an unnecessary amount of focus on the road in front of him, as if he needed some kind of distraction. I held my knees to my chest in my seat, feeling smaller than I ever had before. I didn't know what to do with myself. I forgot how to just . . . be.
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"Are you hurt?"
It had been so deafeningly silent for so long, I nearly jumped out of my skin at the sound of Joe's voice. Deciding not to respond, I tucked my head down into my knees.
"Shit," he mumbled; the first swear I'd ever heard him use. "Fuck." And there was the second.
Suddenly, Joe turned the wheel, and the truck skidded aggressively into an empty parking lot behind an old building. He shoved the gearshift into park then, and we jerked to an immediate stop. At the click of his removing his seatbelt, I lifted my head from my knees, running my fingers through my hairline as I stared at the floor.
"Demi, look at me. Please," I heard him whisper, so quietly that I'd almost missed it. Slowly, I turned my head, hesitantly lifting my eyes to his. He appeared distraught, yet concerned. I then watched his eyes slightly widen, and he brought a hand to my temple. "You're bleeding," he said softly.
Joe reached across me into his glove compartment and pulled out an old crumpled cloth. I winced as he tapped it to my temple, and at the sight of this, his frown deepened. I pulled my hands away from my head, dropping them to my lap once I placed my feet back onto the floor.
"What did he do to you?" He asked, setting the rag down onto the seat. I could tell he was suppressing his anger for my sake, despite his obvious frustration. "How badly did he hurt you?" I turned my head away, not sure that I wanted to answer either of those questions.
Then my hands became filled with shocks of electricity, and once looking down at them, I saw that Joe had filled the spaces between my fingers with each of his own.
Cautiously, I lifted my eyes to his once again, and in meeting them, I saw that they appeared heartbroken.
Desperate.
"Talk to me," he pleaded, his voice a whisper. As his thumbs stroked the sides of my hands, I felt a warm relief of comfort wash over me, and instantly remembered that I was safe with him.
