Marshall pushes himself off the wall and comes straight up to me, taking my face in his hands. The blood from the bridge of his nose is dark and has now trailed down his neck as well. His eyes are still stricken with fear even though Butch and his entourage are gone.
"Are you okay?" He asks me, his eyes running all over me to see for himself. "Did they hurt you?"
"Marshall your face..." I say, bringing my hand to his chin so I can look at his nose.
"I'm fine baby, did he hurt you?" He presses again and I shake my head.
He nods quickly a couple times and then pulls me against his chest. I don't know why I'm not sobbing hysterically, but in a way I'm grateful for it. I'm happy the most I did was cry, if I had sobbed and pleaded things might've gone differently.
"I'm so sorry Rach..." He whispers to me over and over again, holding me close.
"Come and sit down." I say, separating us and having him sit on a chair in the kitchen. "Let me look at the cut."
I grab a bowl and fill it with water, also grabbing a hand towel. My mind wanders back to our first date when he got whacked in the face by a piece of beer bottle and I cleaned it out for him. He looks the same sitting here now, only this time I don't see a man who forced me out on a date. I see the man I love, the man whose been with me through the lowest points in my life, and the man who wants to keep being there no matter what. This seems to be what triggers my tears.
I let them fall free and I stand between Marshall's legs gently lifting his chin so I can get a better look at the cut. His eyebrows furrow when he sees me crying and I start on his neck and jawline, the blood coming off easier than I thought it would.
"Why are you crying baby?" He asks me in a soft voice.
"You have to go back there." I answer obediently, moving on up to his cheeks. "You have to, and I can't do anything about it."
He slides his hands around to the back of my thighs and rubs them in a loving way, letting me know that he's there. I use the towel to gently clean the blood from the cut itself and the rest of his nose, it's deeper than I thought. Whoever hit him must have had a ring on or something to cut his face like that. My eyes swell with tears at the thought of it and I close them, pushing the tears out.
"Oh Rach don't cry baby." He tries, pulling me closer to him.
"We can't even have sex without something like this ruining it..." I say quietly under my breath but I know he heard it.
He stands up, now free of blood aside from the redness of the cut. He takes my hand and then tilts my chin up with his other hand, making my eyes open.
"That's not true." He says with sincerity and sweetness at the same time. There's a certain concern in his eyes, one that makes then droop with the dip of his brow.
"Yes it is." I whisper, wiping a fallen tear away with the back of my hand.
"Don't talk like that baby." He says gently, beginning to lead me back toward his bedroom. "They don't take away any of that."
I shrug and feel some more tears heave their way out of me. Marshall grabs my phone off the bedside table and hands it to me.
"You need to call Thatcher, it's not safe for you here." He tells me, his voice transitioning into a more serious note.
"What about you?" I ask, and he opens his mouth to speak but I intervene again. "And don't say not to worry about you."
He closes his mouth, defeated and widens his eyes at my phone as if prompting for me to call. I turn my phone on and it's barely lit up when I'm spammed with notifications, all of them from Thatcher. Seven missed calls, three texts, and four voicemails. I don't need to read them, I know what they're about.
