Heathens & Hand Grenades (Book 1 of the Heathens Duet)

Chapter 61-Callie

Coffee in the air wakes me. I yawn and stretch out from my toes to the tips of my fingers wondering why I feel like I got zero sleep. The sleep dust clings to my eyes and my head feels heavy on my shoulders. Air swirls around my legs, goosebumps erupting along my skin. Too much skin. A quick glance down at the flimsy nightgown I slept in reminds me all too well of the hell I find myself in.

Dread fills each step out of bed, but I muster on. Knowledge is power and all that. Still, I chance a look at the windows. Two here in the bedroom and a peek in the bathroom shows one there as well, though smaller than the others. No razors or anything, at least none that I can find in my five-minute search, too paranoid that he'll come in at any moment or loud noise. Given how much effort he's made to get me back, he's most likely got them locked up somewhere. Fiddling with the windows proves useless. Either they're old and painted shut or he's made them that way. Regardless of the reason or method, I won't be counting on them to aid in my escape.

I will be escaping. Even if I don't end up back with my guys, I refuse to be Colt's again. If living on my own has taught me anything, I belong to no one but myself.

A few moments alone to gather myself and don my mask of light makeup, perfectly imperfect hair, and freshly laid out sundress and I'm as ready as I can be to face my demon. Armed with the tools he taught me to wield, no longer a shield against his actions but a blade forged through his sharpening blows.

"Good morning," I greet him.

"Morning Calista. How did you sleep?" He asks pleasantly while he doctors up his mug of coffee. Like this is some ordinary morning and we're an ordinary pair of lovers. If that's how he wants to play it, fine. I can play this part.

"Perfect. I slept well. You wouldn't happen to have an extra mug for me, would you?"

"I do. Just one question though," he pauses while reaching up to get a second mug and I hold my breath. I missed some invisible cue, I just know it.

"Yes?"

He pours my coffee the way I like, plenty of sugar and cream, the only visible sign of his agitation in the way his fingers whiten around the handle. "Who is Dario?"

Never would I have guessed that was the question. How does he know that name?

He turns to face me, those predatory blues alight with my fear reflecting back at me. "Lucky man," he sniffs. "To be the one you call out for while you sleep in my arms."

Yelling from Colt is frightening. Abrasive, loud, violence given voice. When he's calm and measured though, that is truly terrifying. A lion stalking his prey. I feel like that Bambi that Jaxson named me for.

Eyeing the cabin for some form of shelter from the anger I know is to come, I find the bedroom, a door I'm pretty sure leads to a bathroom, and a few other doors I can only guess at. Safety is not guaranteed and risking further anger for a chance, not happening just yet. His guard is up and I need it lowered before I attempt any sort of escape.

"I asked you a question Calista. Who is Dario?" His fingers dance along the side of my mug like a spider.

I weigh my options. The idea that I have any is laughable, but I hold back the bitter laughter welling up inside. He won't see the humor in my pitiable position. Lie and face his wrath or tell the truth and damn the man, men really, I was starting to fall for? There is no choice.

"A guy I was seeing back home. A few dates, nothing serious, but it had potential," I lie like my life depends on it about this mystery man.

I analyze everything about his reaction, from the way his body shifts against the counter, his hands, his eyes, and the subtle way he clenches his jaw. Rolling his shoulders back, he stands to full height and smiles with his mouth, his eyes glacial. "That won't be an issue anymore. Best forget he ever happened doll," he says easily.

"After all," he continues, prowling closer. I tense and take a fraction of a step back. He grins. "Who could love a face like that?" He utters calmly before hurling my mug full of freshly brewed coffee at my face.

"ARGHHHH!" The scream is more guttural than anything. I collapse in on myself at the stinging pain that consumes me. Tearing at my dress, I rush to pull the burning fabric off. I swipe it at my face, furiously wiping away the fiery liquid that feels as if it's taking my skin with it. Howling fills the room and I dimly wonder if taking my chance with the wildlife is better than the cruel beast I left behind me, but worse is the realization that the howling comes from my aching throat. The inhuman yowl is my own as I race from the room to try to shower it off as best I can, despite the sugar crystals making the heat cling tighter to my skin like some type of fucked up pain glitter.

The water makes it worse. Too cold at first, it sends a second wave of fire racing across my skin as it tries to regulate against the onslaught of different temperatures. The warmer it gets, the better I feel, but already I can see the white patches surrounded by red and pink where blisters are just waiting to form. That's only what I can see. My arms and my chest are covered. My torso is mostly just pink, protected somewhat by my dress. My legs, while uncovered, were able to get away relatively unscathed. They weren't the targets of his vicious attack.

The Colton I know would never try to mark my face or arms permanently. No marks anyone might inadvertently see. Nothing makeup couldn't camouflage until it healed. I'm worried about what I'll find when I look in the mirror. I did my best to throw up my arms, but a split second was all I had to defend myself. I doubt I deflected much. I feel it in the tightness of my face as I dab at it with a washcloth. Despite the urge to scrub off the coffee and sugar, I dab at my skin with the smallest amount of soap I could use. Everywhere I touch hurts, the skin raw and angry.

I don't care how long I spend in the bathroom. He can wait forever for all I care. If I go back out there now, I'll unleash all my anger, all of the words that have been held back over the years, and I'll spew them out all over him without sparring a thought for the consequences. The Colt I knew before wouldn't stand for that disrespect. I know what the punishment would be from him. This thing masquerading as some respectable member of society is fundamentally different. Flying off the handle at the slightest whim, I can't speak up. I can't lash out in anger and pain and fear. To survive, I have to swallow it down and apologize. It was my mistake, in a moment of subconscious weakness that uttered another man's name. This is the only way I can get through this.

I give myself the time to mentally prepare for the image that awaits me in the mirror while the steam evaporates. Two-face is what comes to mind. It would be fitting for the multiple faces I wear. Colt's malleable little doll and Callie.

I expect to find more of Colt's doll peering back at me in the mirror. Instead I find Callie Danvers, a little banged up, but steady. Her brown eyes blaze back at me, making me steel my own spine. Her bruised neck is on display, left eye surrounded by reddened angry skin that spreads down in random splotches of pink, white, and red like some screwed up game of paintball gone wrong.

It feels like Jaxson's right here with me. His voice whispering that my battle wounds are glorious and he can't wait to see the ones I inflict back. He would find the woman who stands before me beautiful. A warrior ready to take on anything. I channel her. I channel the adventurous, strong woman I dreamed of being when Aunt Rachel would tell me stories of her youth. I channel the princess who didn't back down from the barbs Rave threw my way in the bunker, the Calista who hustled and out smarted God.

I don yesterday's yellow sundress, toss my hair into a bun atop my head, cover God's mark on my throat, but leave Colt's burns as a reminder. To him or myself, I'm not fully sure. Perhaps to both of us. To remind myself, that he doesn't care about outside appearances anymore. There is no such thing as too far for him now. I want him to stare at my face while he tries to convince himself he loves me. Someone who loves me wouldn't hurt me like this. I know that now. I have men willing to fight for me. Maybe. It doesn't matter really.

I will fight for me. I will be my own saving grace.