Saving Ella (14 page)

The air is thick with smoke and hot, so hot I can barely breath
e. I glance down and notice I’m in my army fatigues, rifle cocked and steady at my shoulder. I know I am dreaming, but I can’t wake and I can’t stop the infernal nightmare from playing out before me. We had good Intel, the terrorist extremists were supposed to have been living here in this hell hole for two weeks now. We were doing a sweep of the dilapidated building, bricks and fixtures falling apart around us, suffering the explosive power of war. The door at the end of the hallway is closed and I move silently to it. With a hard shove, the door swings open and the stench of burnt flesh and blood makes my stomach roll. My teeth are clenched shut to try and stop the rising bile. With my gun held high I allow my eyes to sweep the room. Blood, so much blood. You can barely make out the bodies, they are blown into bits. Just random chunks of human remains scatter the room. I slip on the grizzly remains under my feet and as I scramble up off the ground, the room suddenly changes and I know immediately where I am now. The bright white tiles and smell of bleach fill my senses. It should comfort me after the blood and death of the desert I just left, but it doesn’t. I know what awaits me here. My eyes are squeezed shut and I turn, open them. There she lies like a broken doll, her small body slumped against the wall, a pool of blood a stark contrast against the white tiles. “Sarah,” I whisper. Her eyes are closed and she could be sleeping if it weren’t for the deathly pale look in her face and the blood. Fuck I’m sick of the sight of blood. Falling to my knees in despair I lurch forward and throw up.

             
I woke with a strangled roar, sweat drenching my naked body, the sheets thrown to the floor. The fear, the horror consumes me for a moment until I realize I am home, in my room, in my big ass comfortable bed. My heart eventually steadies, but I still tremble. This nightmare is like an old enemy, familiar and unwanted. It soaked its way into my darkened dreams after finding Sarah and obviously the many therapy sessions I had endured following that were only a temporary solution. Fuck how I wish I could scrub the bloodied images from my mind. I glance at my digital clock, four a.m. Not a chance in hell that I’m going back to sleep after that. I pull myself from my bed and climb into my clothes from the night before, still lying in a discarded heap on the floor. The shed out back of my home is immaculate and made simply for building furniture. Here I find my solitude, I can allow myself to be absorbed by my work and I can leave the vicious memories for a short while. This is how I understand Ella’s need to sketch, the need for her mind to simply stop and escape. I wonder how she slept last night. I had left her my phone number nearly two days ago now and she hadn’t used it, but that hadn’t surprised me. I wanted her to, hoped she would, but it was too soon. Girls like Ella are strong and resilient, and fiercely independent. I was also well aware that girls like Ella just wanted to be loved and desired, they wanted to feel safe. I wanted all that for Ella, I wanted to be all that for her even though I knew it was wrong. Shit, she didn’t need my nightmares on top of her own. But right now I couldn’t think of a way to stop myself from pulling her in. I wanted her, I needed her.

             
When I strolled into the shelter early Sunday morning the place was quiet. Mercy met me at the foyer, she was far more subdued than normal and it wasn’t just from the night shift. I could tell something was up. She moved towards me and wrapped her arms around my waist hugging me close. “What’s wrong?’ I asked, hugging her back. She scoffed and pushed me away.

             
“It’s called a hug you big oaf, deal with it.” Okay, she was snappy. Perhaps some of her mood was attributed to the night shift after-all.

             
I chuckled. “Don’t get your panties in a twist, I’m cool with the hug but you seem sad.” She plastered a big bright smile on her face and I could tell there was sorrow beneath it.

             
“I’m just tired honey, Dave is taking me to The Pit Stop for a greasy breakfast and then home to sleep the day away like a lazy sloth.” I groaned. I hadn’t had time for a Pit Stop breakfast and now I knew it would be all I could think about. Perhaps I would sneak out at lunch. Benny’s special breakfast was an all-day affair and the thought had me almost drooling all over myself. David came up and pulled Mercy into his arms, placing a chaste kiss on her forehead.

             
“Come on woman, Benny’s is calling you and bed is calling me.” He pulled my mom towards the front door.

             
“Jax,” I turned back to face her before entering the rec room. “Maybe you were right, Ella is special…she’s different. Take good care of her.” Okay, now I felt like I had stepped into a cheesy chick flick. Mercy smiled at the apparent look of shock on my face.

             
“Don’t be afraid to be what she needs. You could both be good for each other.” I tilted my head considering her words.

             
“Did Beth bring in some of her ‘special’ cookies this morning?” I asked, my hands putting ‘special’ in the appropriate air quotations.

              Mercy laughed and shook her head, leaving me standing there with no doubt a dumbfounded expression on my face. Yep, I was looking for Beth’s cookies the moment I had a chance. I moved through the shelter with a little too much excitement, I was dying to see Ella and make sure she was alright. When I discovered she had already left my mood quickly dropped to below freezing and Beth of course was quick to take note.

             
“What, didn’t you get lucky last night?” She snapped throwing another fuse at me. The damned thermostat was playing up again.

             
“Where are your cookies, and I mean the good ones, not the plain ol’ boring ones sitting in that container on the kitchen bench?” I demanded. Beth snickered as she leant against the door frame.

             
“They’re the only cookies I brought in and because you seem not to have noticed, I haven’t brought the good kind in for over a year now. All my baking is clean as a whistle these days.”

             
“Mercy was acting weird this morning, I assumed you snuck her one,” I rubbed my eyes and grabbed the fuse. “I’ll fix this, might work the bag for a bit too.”

             
“Good idea,” Beth murmured as I stalked past her.

I
was punching all of my frustration into that damned bag and it still didn’t help my mood. With every hit I imagined it was one of the men who had hit the women who came to Mercy’s. I wished I knew what Ella’s abuser looked like, it would have made the whole exercise more worthwhile. My fists connecting with the bag were the only sound in the damp basement and I soon shed my shirt and worked up a sweat. A gentle cough behind me had me snap around, surprised. No one ever came down here, especially not Beth, she was too damn scared of the ghost that she was convinced lived amongst the boxes and crates and no one ever snuck up on me. I was shocked to see Ella sitting half way down the stair case. Her eyes were glued to my chest, her cheeks flushed.

             
“You have a tattoo,” she noted a little breathlessly. I nodded. I had a tattoo. Selena was the only person other than the tattooist who knew about it. But I was the only person who knew what it meant. It was personal, not something I wanted to share. But I found myself wanting Ella to know about it, and sharing something personal like this would help with the trust we were developing. It wasn’t a small tattoo and how I had managed to keep it a secret was beyond me. It took up almost my entire back and I endured many hours of mind numbing pain just to now cover it and keep it a secret. I knew Ella would appreciate it from an artistic perspective. The entire tattoo was in shades of gray; a large crucifix drawn in such a way to give it a worn timber look sat between my shoulder blades and below it, in an elegant scroll was a quote. Ella stood and carefully descended the few remaining steps, walking cautiously towards me. I stood perfectly still as she moved to my back.

             
“He will wipe every tear from their eyes, and there will be no more death, or sorrow, or crying, or pain.” The silence grew almost uncomfortable before she circled to stand back before me once more. Her head was tilted in thought and she watched me carefully. Then, like turning off a switch her eyes brightened and she looked at the punching bag.

             
“Would you teach me?” She asked. I was thrown for a moment. I was positive she would ask about my tattoo, about what it meant and represented. I was prepared to tell her, a little of I’ll show you mine if you show me yours. But I was also relieved I didn’t have to explain, I guess I wasn’t as ready as I thought I was and perhaps Ella realized that. Or perhaps, like everyone else in this shelter, we would tell our own stories once we were ready without pressure or expectation.

             
“There’s not much to teach about punching a bag of sand,” I grinned.

             
“I want to know how to punch a man, properly.” She explained.

             
“You live on the streets and never took a self-defense class? Many shelters hold them for free you know.”  She stiffened at my words, her lips pursed and ready to argue. I was pretty sure it was the ‘free’ comment that had her spine stiffen, Ella didn’t seem like the sort of girl to take handouts if she could avoid it. She was a proud little spitfire my angel.

             
“The first time I saw you, I walked you through the doors of this shelter and you stood with your fists clenched ready to sock me one if I so much as breathed wrong. I’m sure you’re more than capable of taking care of yourself, but I’d be happy to show you a few self-defense moves.” I reached out and took her wrist, feeling the ridges of her scars under my fingers. She flinched and I ignored it. “Clench your fist, like you did that night.” She was tense and as nervous as a rabbit, but she obeyed, clenching her firsts. I positioned them appropriately in front of her, one hand a little lower, protecting her torso the other higher protecting her face. She looked so damn cute and mad as hell. “If you thought I was suggesting you couldn’t afford to pay for self-defense classes, I’m sorry. Many people attend those classes, they aren’t just for people who can’t afford them. They are put on to be made available and accessible to everyone.” She seemed to relax a little, and when I say a little I mean the most minuscule, tiny of fragments.

“Now, let’s get one thing straight. Y
ou’re not weak.” I looked her right in the eye so she could see that I believed that was the god honest truth. “But,” I went on, “you’re tiny, like a doll. Hell, I have no doubt I could wrap you up and put you in my pocket.” Her brow furrowed.

“You could damn well try,” she snarled. I tried to hide my smile behind my hand as I continued on. “
Most men will have the upper hand over you because of size alone.” She nodded. “There are advantages to being small though. It puts you in a position to attack down here a little easier,” I pointed to my groin. Her eyes dropped and I tried hard not to think of the fact she was looking at my dick. “With your hands up like this, your attacker immediately thinks you’re stupid enough to try and hit him in the face.”

             
“I’m not going to?” She asked looking a little disappointed. I laughed.

             
“Not yet angel. First of all you are going to either knee or kick the fucker in the nuts.” She blushed. “Give it a try.” Ella’s eyes widened.

             
“I’m not going to kick you in the nuts,” she said shocked.

             
“I’d actually prefer you didn’t as well. Use your knee to attack my boys, just go slow.” With great hesitation and blushing furiously, she finally slowly raised her knee. “After you attack from below, punch, hard and aim for the throat or face.” She moved her fist forward, slowly. “Good girl. Now try it faster, put some effort behind it.” She didn’t look so sure. “Come on angel show me what you’ve got.” She did. A sharp kick to the groin which I blocked followed by a quick jab to the face, which almost connected. She had quick reflexes. She looked a little worried; actually, she looked a lot worried.

             
“That’s my girl, go again.” Some of the worry faded as she went through the maneuver again. We practiced the move a few more times and I corrected her stance, her fist. “Turn around,” I finally prompted. She hesitated. This maneuver would bring me closer, she would feel more defenseless at being attacked from behind. “You can trust me angel, I promise.” She turned, slowly. “If someone comes at you from behind there are things you can do to get free.” I moved closer, damn she smelled good. “I’m going to put my arms around you, okay. If you want me to stop, you just say so.” I approached her like you would a frightened puppy. Slow and steady, whispering words of encouragement. As I wrapped my arms around her shoulders I felt how rigid she was under me. Her breathing had accelerated and her eyes were squeezed shut. “Good girl, now you can break away from me easily. If you can get at the fuckers hands, you grab a finger and pull back, hard. Or you can raise your foot and stamp hard on his foot. With a bit of luck the grip will loosen enough for you to pull free. Try and grab for one of my fingers.” Her breathing was too fast. “Angel?” She didn’t respond. I immediately dropped my arms and moved in front of her. Her eyes were wide, her face pale. She looked completely and utterly terrified.