Roofers.

16. After the storm passes.

Scarlett POV.

I sat him in my bathroom, sitting between his legs as I wiped the blood from his face and put ice on his bruises. I tried my best to hold in my tears. I couldn't tell if my lights were dimming or if the tears were fucking with my vision. I was drunk with a rage I had to contain. High on questions to ask that I doubt he had the answers to. I felt the urge to ease myself by falling into old habits to get my mind off this race track. I chewed on my lips, peeling the skin off, not even thinking about the aftermath. I had to take my anger out on something, myself. It was all my fault.

"Whoever did this... is it the first time they..." My words trembled.

"No." He answered as he stared at me, his grey eyes piercing my hooded lids. He had a cut in his cheek, right beneath the eye. It wasn't deep enough to need stitching, but I hated that it was there. I cleaned it up and added cream to stop the pain and the scarring. He winced in pain, hissing and digging his nails into my waist as he drew me closer to him. It made me feel uneasy, but I tried to suppress whatever urges I had. I'd do that for him. He wasn't in the right frame of mind for all that.

I could tell he was staring down at me as I patched him up, looking around for anything else.

"Does anything else hurt, Jules?" I asked him as I finished examining him.

"Mommy?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah?" I replied.

"Can I kiss you please?" He asked me innocently.

"Yeah," I replied as he pulled me closer towards him. I was still in between his legs, I gripped onto them as he leaned into my lips. His lips grazed my own, gentle and teasing in nature. He placed his softened lips against my own, gentle in his every movement. His kiss was innocent, soft and gentle and slow, increasing in urgency and desperation. He moaned against my lips as I slowly took dominance over the kiss. I could feel his erection against my groin. He moaned again as he lightly ground into me. My hands slid over his pants, lightly teasing him. He moaned, backing away from my lips and giving me access to his neck. I kissed him harder, wanting my marks to be the only ones present on his body. I was angry. Enraged, even.

But it didn't feel right. Not with everything that had happened. I had to be responsible, make sure I only played with him when he was more stable. Right now, it was my job to make him feel safe — not to fuck him, even though I wanted to. I pulled away from him, making him whimper and squirm.

"Noooo!" He begged desperately. "Mommy, please don't stop. It makes me feel good. Better"

"I need you to answer my question," I asked, still breathing heavily. I was just as desperate as he was, but I had to hold off.

"What question?" He asked.

"Does anything else hurt?" I asked again.

"Oh, that." He huffed, nodding his head as he pulled off his hoodie. There was a large patch of bruising on his stomach too. I winced and he could barely look at me.

"Does it hurt a lot? Any sharp pain?" I asked, falling into concentration mode again.

"Not really," he told me.

"Are you completely sure?" I asked.

"Yeah momma," he replied.

"Okay good, if that changes you tell me immediately."

"You can kiss it and make it better though, that always helps," He said smirking with some newfound confidence.

"Is that so?"

"Mhm," he nodded.

"Okay," I laughed as I bent down and kissed his bruises, going lower and lower with each kiss. When I was down low, I shot him a mischievous glare. His eyes were already glazed over, teetering between dilated and normal. I traced my kisses down, going lower and lower until I reached the space right above his groin.

"Momma, what are you doing?" He groaned.

"Nothing." I laughed as I got up from the floor and headed to my bedroom. I heard him groan more as he followed behind me. I took off my clothes except for my underwear and bra, I looked back at the poor submissive boy as he frantically bit his lip and tried to pretend he wasn't ogling me.

"We should... go to bed." I said as I got under the covers.

"Uh... yeah... Okay," He said as he followed me in. I pulled him close to me, holding him tight as if he'd disappear if I let go. We lay there in a tension-filled silence. Questions still plagued me with the urge to ask him what happened, and it was difficult to keep calm about it. I wanted him to trust me enough to tell me. 

Eventually, he fell asleep, with his arms wrapped around my waist and his head buried in the cranny of my neck, his legs knotted with my own to make some kind of deformed pretzel. His deep breaths and light snoring tickled my skin as I lay awake. I revelled in how warm my bed was with him here, how he seemed to fill my room with his presence, how he seemed to breathe in my faults and become blind to them all in the name of innocence. He looked so innocent, with his soft brunette hair, with his plump pink lips, with those freckles of his that only ever seemed visible at night. I wondered if he missed this. I wondered if he missed me.

When my eyes shifted down to the bloodied plaster stuck to his face, the bruises that marked his cheeks and scattered around his body, the cuts and scrapes that glittered on spots of his skin. I felt helpless. I was his dominant. I was meant to protect him. I put my own selfish desires over his safety and look what happened. Look what I did to him. And I was so angry, I just wanted to know who did it. I wanted to know why. I wanted to know who thought they could just hurt him and get away with it. I wanted to know why Jules didn't fight back. 

His fists were one of the few parts of him without bruises and cuts, and I wanted to know why. Jules wasn't a small guy, he had the build of a football player; the capability to take down other big guys if he wanted to. I flashed back to the sight of him running down the street with a look of pure horror on his face; I remembered the rivers that had formed on his cheek; I remembered seeing my nightmare come to manifest itself right there on that street, in a part of town that wasn't too great.

I lay there for hours until my insomnia stopped keeping me awake. I fell asleep praying that the events of today hadn't happened. They reminded me too much of a memory I never wanted to remember.

Dear Rico, why does he remind me so much of you?

Why did he look just like you, the first time it happened?

Fuck!

Rico, why didn't you tell me!

I'm sorry for yelling at you.

 I'm sorry for treating you the way they all did.

I still miss you though, I still think you're coming back.