Whistler by K.L. Savage
Iroll over in bed and the sun peeking in from the blinds sears the inside of my eyes, causing me to flip over again. This bed is so comfortable, so soft, and I have room to stretch out since I have the bed all to myself.
My eyes snap open at the thought.
I have a bed all to myself…
Oh god.
I’m locked in a room again. I’m in trouble. I begin to breathe hard and touch areas of my body to see what hurts, but when I don’t feel any too alarming, I become confused. “Wha—What is going on?” I whisper to myself and finally take a look around the room.
I’m not home.
I don’t know where I am and I know I should be scared, but all I feel is thankful. I haven’t slept so well in so long and I think it’s because I’m always scared to close my eyes. I never know what Kenneth will do to me.
My neck throbs at the reminder and I touch the spot where he choked me.
I gasp when I remember what I did.
I bought a gun.
I was going to shoot him, but I decided to kill myself instead.
Oh, God.
I cover my face with my hands as my emotions hit me all over again. I almost ended my life because of Kenneth. I can’t believe I sank so low for me to get to that point. I let Kenneth’s venom poison my mind.
“Hey,” a soft, yet deep and tired voice has me turning my head and dropping my hands from my face.
“Wesley?” I say his name instead of his road name, I don’t know why. It feels more intimate after he saw me at my worst.
“I’m here. I said you wouldn’t be alone.” The bed dips from his weight and he tugs my hand gently to pull me closer. I don’t fight him. For some reason I can’t seem to understand right now, I go willingly and wrap my arms around his neck. “You’re okay, Cupcake. You’re okay,” he coos into my ear, the rumble of his voice vibrating against my chest.
“It happened? It really happened?” I ask him, pulling away so I can see his face.
God, he is handsome. I know I shouldn’t think like that, but he is. I’d give anything to run my fingers through his messy bed hair or stroke the whiskers across his cheek. He has full, plump lips and the top one is defined, a natural line outlining the shape. His nose is straight and not too big and his eyes, his eyes are what have me rethinking about how my life could have been. They are a rich brown with shades of gold and flecks of garnet.
“It did, but I don’t want you to be embarrassed about it, okay? We all have our moments of weakness. I know you’re going to feel guilty and nothing I say is going to change that. Only time and forgiveness for yourself. I got there in time and that is all that matters.” He wipes a tear from my cheek with the wide pad of his thumb and it’s been so long since I’ve been touched delicately that I lean into his hand.
He spreads his palm over the left side of my jaw and swipes his thumb back and forth. I break a little inside because I shouldn’t want this, but the touch is appeasing the desperate need I have to be cared for. My shoulders slump and it’s hard not to cry again, not to lose control, but this time it’s because I know what a kind touch feels like. Whistler will never know how much it means to me.
He doesn’t make a move. He doesn’t try anything. He just simply…holds me without making it complicated. A friend, if I had any, would do the same. My mom would do the same.
Granted, they didn’t make my heart race with desire.
And that scares me too.
I’ve learned desire means nothing, it’s who someone is on the inside that means everything.
Monsters swim inside everyone’s veins, some better at staying near the soul while others push against the surface.
What kind of monster is Whistler?
I don’t care what anyone says.
We’re all monsters in some way.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he asks with a tight, crooked smile. “I’ll never lay a hand on you unless it’s like this, Cupcake.”
“Why do I believe you?” My eyes water at the truth and I slightly hate myself for it. “I don’t want to believe you. You have no idea how much I don’t want to. I want to hate you. I want to hate every man I ever see.”
“You can hate me all you want until it makes you feel better. It won’t bother me to be your steppingstone, Charlie.”
“But I don’t hate you. I want to, but I can’t.” I press my hand over his and rub my cheek on his palm. “Just like I couldn’t kill Kenneth. If I hate anyone, I hate myself.”
He skims his fingers down my face until he slips them under my chin to lift my head. “If there is one person you should love, it’s yourself. I know there are a lot of toxins to work through and you can do that here. Safely. He’s done a lot of damage here.” He taps the side of my temple. “And here.” Whistler pokes my chest where my heart is. “Those scars are the worst, but one day, you’re going to allow me to help them heal.”
“Why?” I ask, not understanding why he would want anything to do with me.
“You’ll see.” He stands from the bed and stretches his arms over his head. The sweatpants he has on are grey and they hang low on his hips, showing an Adonis belt that I’ve never seen before. I shouldn’t be looking, but the way his shirt lifts up to show his tan abdomen is hard not to notice.
I glance away and wrap my arms around my waist, then take another peek through my lashes. He has turned and the greys sweatpants mold around him. I gasp out loud, and quickly look away.
The outline of his cock is visible. I can see…everything. The material is tight over his bulge and the length and width is impressive. My face flames and he turns around to give me his back, which isn’t better because I get a view of his ass.
I never thought an ass on a man was something I liked, but his is firm and perky, like he does a lot of squats, but it isn’t big or round. It’s just right.
What am I doing?
Yes, Whistler is a beautiful, and so far, a kind man. It’s okay to admit that. There. The truth is out in the open in my mind. I’ve recognized it and now I can move on from it. Plus, the thought of wanting him, while exciting, is too much for me to think about right now. How I feel around him is overwhelming and I can’t tell if it is a good thing or a bad thing.
“Here. I know they aren’t your size since they are my clothes. They are going to be huge on you, but I figured getting out of that outfit and a nice hot shower will make you feel better. Or a bath. There’s an awesome tub in the bathroom.” He points toward the door on the left side of the wall across from me. “I had One, my best friend, run and grab a suitcase for me of my clothes. I’ll be staying here with you to make sure you’re okay. I’ll be right on the recliner.”
I take the clothes he is holding out and place them in my lap. “You don’t have to do that.” As I shake my head and look down at the clothes, my hair falls, acting as a veil to hide my face. “I’m sure you have more important things to do. I don’t need to be babysat. I’m in enough trouble as is. Kenneth is going—”
“—You aren’t going back to Kenneth. Not ever.” He raises his voice and I flinch, automatically rearing back to get hit. “Hey, Cupcake. I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at him and like I said, I’m not ever going to hurt you, I know it will take time to believe. Go shower and then come downstairs. I’m making you breakfast and then we have a lot to talk about. It has to do with Kenneth.”
I nod. “Okay,” I whisper. “I’ll be down soon. Thank you for this, for saving me, for being there when no one else was. I’ll never be able to repay you.”
“You already have, Cupcake.”
Whistler disappears out of the door, and I’m left alone in the big, empty room. I lift my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around them while looking back and forth across the room. The air in the room feels different now that Whistler isn’t in here.
It’s colder and daunting like the walls are about to swallow me whole. I inhale and exhale as I try to relax. Slowing down the negative thoughts is easier here than it was at the house with Kenneth. “I’m okay here. I’m okay. You aren’t with Kenneth. You’re safe.” Whistler said I was safe, and I’m going to do something crazy.
I’m going to take a leap of faith and believe him.
I hold the clothes to my chest as I roll off the bed and scurry to the bathroom. I flip the light on, but it’s so bright, I turn the dial on the wall and the lights dim immediately. The soft glow calms me, and the tub does look inviting, but I want to shower quickly to find out what Whistler has to talk to me about.
The floor is made of pennies, a design I’ve only seen in videos, and the counter is granite. I run my hands along the polished black and grey top. It’s a woman’s dream bathroom. The square mirror hangs above the sink with a copper frame to match the floor and I wince when I see my reflection.
There are no new bruises, but I look like I’ve been to hell and back with the top down in the car.
I can’t believe Whistler has seen me like this. If he would have been Kenneth, I would have gotten punished for looking so rough and unkept.
He isn’t here, so I don’t have to worry about that. “Deep breath in and out,” I try to calm my racing heart again.
Maybe this is the chance I’ve been waiting for. This is what I needed to get away from Kenneth. I never have to feel his fist against my face again.
I’m almost free.
I smile at the thought and quickly undress, then hop in the shower. The touchscreen is new to me, but it doesn’t take me long to figure out. A few taps and the shower turns on. I’m even able to pick the temperature I want the water to be.
Scalding, please. Until my skin melts off, thanks.
I like for my body to be bright pink and hot to the touch when I get out of the shower. I stay warmer longer when the air hits me and threatens to ruin it.
As I clean my body, I notice yellow bruises, which means my body is healing. And what’s better is that the only new bruise I have is the one around my neck from when he choked me. I almost want to celebrate.
After rinsing my body off, I wash my hair with shampoo that smells like strawberries. I inhale deeply, loving the new scent over the coconut Kenneth made me use. I scrub my scalp and rinse, then just stand under the waterfall and tilt my head back.
I’m in paradise.
I close my eyes and begin to replay the dream I have.
My toes are in the sand. The sun is hot against my skin. The waves are crashing loudly in the distance and people are laughing with friends. I’m with friends too. None of them have faces I can describe, but I’m not alone.
A few guys walk by with surfboards and one winks at me, but a hand squeezing my ass and a loud growl has them scurrying away toward the water.
“I should drown them for looking at you,” Whistler says, kissing the spot between my shoulder blades.
I giggle and sip on my Tropical Storm Rachel we made up after mixing our own drinks. “No need for that. They know I’m taken by the hottest man here.”
“Damn straight you are.” His mouth crashes against mine…
I snap my eyes open and clear my throat, lifting my head to let the water wash away the forbidden dream.
Why do I feel guilty? Why do I care that I’m thinking about Whistler when I know Kenneth has affairs? When he hits me for no reason? He calls me stupid, ugly, a bitch, worthless, and yet I feel guilty for thinking about Whistler when I shouldn’t.
I wish there was a part of me that was a bad person, one who didn’t care about other people’s feelings, one who didn’t think twice or feel shame, one who went with the flow of things and never apologized.
But that will never be me.
I’ll always feel guilty for anything, for everything, because I always figure out a damn reason to care.
Kenneth, for instance, didn’t always hit me. I remember the times when everything was perfect between us, when he’d open my car door instead of closing my foot in it. It’s those little bits of memory that keep me from letting go, that keep me chained and broken.
Maybe Whistler can show me how to let go.
I press the off button on the touchscreen, snag the towel from the shelf, and dry my body off, then flip my hair over and twist it in the towel.
I notice deodorant sitting on the counter. Old Spice. It has to be Whistlers. I do something frowned upon and take the red cap off, smell it, and my eyes almost roll back when I scent him. It’s fresh, yet wild, nothing too heavy but not a delicate smell either.
And I lift my arm and put some on, then my other, then place the cap back on it and set it where it was before I picked it up.
Some people frown upon sharing deodorant, but I don’t have any here so that’s my excuse. I slip on his sweatpants, grey of course, and now all I can think about is his bulge. My cheeks heat again, and I wish I never would have seen it.
Okay, that’s a lie.
Bulges in sweatpants are a woman’s a-dick-tion.
I snicker to myself at my own joke, but the chortle falls short when his sweatpants fall to the ground. I click my tongue as I try to figure out how I’m going to do this. I pull them up my legs again and tie the strings as tight as they can go, then roll the waistband about ten times. Next, I tug the forest green shirt over my head and tie the extra material in a knot over my hip. It’s worn and soft. He must like this shirt more than the others.
That makes me feel warm and fuzzy in my heart, the one place I shouldn’t feel anything for him at all.
Letting my hair down, I hang the towel up to dry and dig through the drawers for a comb. It doesn’t take long. I find what I need in a plastic bin under the sink along with hair-ties. Mercy really did think of everything when he thought about what he wanted this place to become.
A safe haven for women exactly like me.
My eyes water as I brush my hair, and I blow out a shaky breath knowing I’m that woman. A woman I never thought I’d ever be. It’s a hard pill to swallow, but here I am, swallowing one hard truth after the other.
Luckily, overdosing on the truth isn’t a thing or I would have died the moment I got here.
I throw my hair up in a messy bun and don’t bother giving myself a once-over. I can’t care how I look for Whistler. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is figuring out what is next for me and how I can get away from here.
I’ll go to the beach, and I’ll be alone because being alone is better than being with someone who installs fear in me every day.
The soft tap of my bare feet patter against the floor as I tiptoe to the doorway. I press my hand against the solid wood trim and look left to see where I’m supposed to go. I notice sunlight coming in from the other side of the hallway, so I go in that direction, passing a few closed doors. I come to the grand staircase that’s familiar to me since I’ve seen it from the main floor which gives me a sense of direction.
My hand slides down the rail as I timidly take each step until my bare feet hit the bottom. I hear noise coming from the kitchen and I twist my hands together anxiously. I’m not sure if I want to go in there. Won’t there be a lot of men? I don’t want to be around a lot of men. I don’t know them.
I need to get out of here. I begin to breathe heavily, and my mind becomes a confusing mess. I can’t remember which way is out or in. I spin in a circle and whimper when I feel trapped. I hold my hand against my chest when it feels like there is a weight on it. I gasp for breath and the room begins to spin. I stumble and grip a chair, but it clatters to the ground and cause a bunch of noise.
The kitchen doors swing open, and I hear my name being shouted in the distance.
His hands are on me, cupping my face, and I don’t jerk away.
I know those hands. I know that touch.
“Whistler,” I sigh and drop my head against his shoulder, calming while I match my breathing to his. The rise and fall of his chest is comforting.
“What happened, Cupcake? Did someone bother you? Who was it?”
“No, it’s stupid. I’m fine. It was just a silly reaction.”
He lifts my chin with his finger again. “Don’t ever put down your feelings. You aren’t going through something simple. You’re trudging through a trauma. Talk to me or I can’t help.”
I ring my fingers together again. “I heard a bunch of men talking and I became afraid.” I sound so small as my voice breaks.
I hate how weak I am. I can’t let Kenneth win. I have to get stronger for myself again. I need to change.
“That’s normal. And every man here will protect you, but it’s just me, One, and Mercy right now. No one else.”
“No one?”
“Well, there’s you.” He boops my nose and gives me a playful grin. “Hungry? You feel up to eating or do you want to rest for a minute?”
The man has the patience of a saint and I’m the damn test that tries him.
“I could eat. Is there coffee?”
“Oh, Cupcake. There is always coffee here. Always. If there isn’t, run far away.” He guides me into the kitchen where the smell of coffee, bacon, and eggs has me inhaling deeply.
There are big tins buffet style along the counter with metal tongs in each for us to help ourselves. I lace my fingers together again and ring them like I would a rag. I’m so out of place, so nervous, but having Whistler here brings me comfort.
I bet he has that effect on a lot of people.
“That’s a lot of food,” I say, and I know my face shows it as I stare at the mountains of bacon.
“There’s a lot of men here we have to feed, but you’re first so it will be just us for a while,” he informs and that has me untangling my fingers and relaxing. “Sit. I’ll make you a plate. How do you take your coffee?”
“Do you have creamer?” I ask, hoping I’m not being a bother.
“Yes, we do. Princess likes his coffee with sweat cream. I’ll bring it to you, Cupcake.”
“I can do it. You don’t have to go out of your way.” I see the fridge to the left of him and reach for the handle, but he steps in front of me, his hand hovering over the middle of my chest.
“Charlie, don’t you think you’ve done enough and deserve for someone to bring you a plate of food and a simple cup of coffee?”
I stare down at the black and white tile floor, counting the squares. “I don’t want to cause you any trouble.”
“Taking care of you is far from being trouble, Charlie. Go sit. I’ll be in there in a minute.” He kisses the middle of my forehead and a blanket of safety wraps around me. “Go on.” He juts his chin to the corner where three booths are.
I nod and tuck a piece of hair behind my ear, peeking at him over my shoulder as I head to the booth. Sitting down, I tuck my hands under my thighs as I wait.
To the right are condiments like ketchup, mustard, steak sauce, salt and pepper, and a small tin stuffed with napkins.
“Here you go, Cupcake.” Whistler sets down a cup of coffee along with a plate full of food.
Too much food.
“Uh.” I stare at the hills of eggs and bacon, then to the side at the six pieces of toast. “I can’t eat all this.”
“I know,” he chuckles. “We’re going to share.” He takes a seat in front of me, and One hands him some coffee next.
Mercy drags a seat to the side of the booth and gives me a tight grin, thumping his elbows against the table.
After One gets settled next to Whistler, a tense silence falls between us as I poke at my food. The bacon is crispy, and the eggs are fluffy. I eat a few of the eggs and three pieces of bacon, then nibble on a piece of toast.
Mercy’s eyes peer over his mug to Whistler and One gives a quick glance to Mercy.
I wash the toast down with warm coffee and wipe my mouth with a napkin, leaning back against the booth. “Why do I get the feeling you guys know something I don’t? You aren’t too subtle.”
Whistler sighs and stretches his arms across the table, his palms up as if he wants me to take them.
I give him one, not both, but I do want to meet him halfway.
“I don’t really know how to say it, so I’m just going to say it. I did some digging on Kenneth and you. I didn’t want to invade your privacy but I needed to.”
“You could have asked. I would have told you whatever you needed to know.”
“Ah, come on, Charlie. You and I both know you would have been pissed if I asked.”
I tug my hand away from his and cross my arms. “Okay, what did you find out? Kenneth is a lawyer. We got married on—”
“—You aren’t married. That’s what I found. You aren’t married. You’ve never been married to him. He’s been using you because of some grudge his father has with yours.”
I flinch as if he has hit me and stare at the table, my eyes watering as I think back over the years. “That’s impossible. We got married. He filed the license.” And for some reason, I hoped. It’s ridiculous though. I’m married. I’ve been married since I was nineteen.
Haven’t I?
I circle the band on my finger.
“He has friends at the courthouse. There’s a fake wedding license on file, but your name is spelled wrong and it isn’t your social security number.” He slides over a manilla envelope with a few papers on top, then spreads them out. Mercy takes the plate full of food away and stretches to place it on the counter, so it is out of the way. “See. Here. And here,” he points. “He has always had his freedom while draining yours.”
“I’m not married?” the question is a rasp, and a tear hangs on my lower lash line. “You’re sure?”
“Positive, Cupcake.”
I sag against the booth and pick up the papers, the proof, and stare at them. How could he have convinced me all these years? How did I not know? Am I not intelligent?
As if Whistler can read my mind, he tells me, “This isn’t your fault. No matter what you think, he is a master manipulator. You aren’t dumb. You believed and trusted someone who should have protected you and loved you.”
“I’m…free?” I whisper, dragging my eyes from the papers to meet his.
“I understand if you might be upset at the news,” he starts to say but I stop him.
“I’m free?” I ask louder. “That’s what you’re saying. I’m a free woman. I’m not stuck with him?”
He doesn’t know what to say to my reaction. He scratches the side of his head before he nods. “Yeah, Cupcake. You’re free. You aren’t stuck with him. You never were, he only made you think so.”
A laugh bubbles in the back of my throat and One shares a worried glance with Mercy. I laugh harder to the point it’s hysterical. “It’s funny.” I stab the paperwork with my fingers. I’m gasping for breath. “I…have nearly died because of him. I believed his lies…I believed him. I’ve been so scared to leave…” the words come out high-pitched and uneven. “When I could have just…left!” I screech the last word and wipe under my eye from laughing so hard. “I’m so fucking stupid.” I catch Whistler staring at me and the concern he has written on his face causes the laughter to break.
I’m so stupid.
