Monday 10th June, 2019
"You're going to think I'm crazy!"
Julian sighed for the third time. "I'm not! Whatever it is, I'll believe you."
"But it's insane," I appealed, looking at the tiled floor. "Even I know it sounds whacko, but it happened!"
"Obviously it happened - I've seen the bruises with my own two fucking eyes. And you've been limping around all day."
"What are you going to do after I tell you?"
Just one look in his eyes, the furious determination in them, told me what he was going to do. "I'm going to kill them."
"Julian!" I gasped. "You can't -- that's murder!"
"I'm well aware."
"You'll be a criminal."
His mouth twisted. "I prefer the term 'outgoing'."
"There's nothing outgoing about killing someone!"
"Ambitious?"
"Not that either."
He frowned like he was thinking hard about something - about murder. "What, then?"
"Try illegal."
A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth, but he fought it back. Coming forward, my heart stopped in my chest as he placed his hands on either side of me, flat on the counter.
His eyes looked at me from underneath thick lashes. "Stop distracting me."
I was breathless. "Stop talking about killing someone."
"Just tell me, Brooke."
Julian was serious; I could see it in his eyes, hiding beneath black curls. Sighing, I pushed him away from me so I could form a sentence. He smirked, proud he'd gotten me to spill, and leaned back on the chair.
"What do you want to know?" I asked.
"When did it happen?"
"Last night."
Shock pulsed in his eyes, but he calmed himself. "What time?"
"Around half ten."
"At night?"
"Yes."
He crossed his arms over his chest, growling, "and what were you doing out on the streets at half ten at night?"
"Getting groceries."
"You're ridiculous. Have I not told you about the curfew?"
I scoffed. "You're the ridiculous one! That curfew isn't real - there's loads of people out on the streets at night!"
"Not real? So what happened last night wasn't real?"
We stared at each other, both fuelled by anger. "Is that really the point?" I asked.
"It's a very valid point." He pressed his fingers to his temples. "One I'll get to later. I need to know the whole story first."
I looked at him, waiting for a question. Really, I was just being difficult.
He knew it, too, and Julian glared hotly. "Where's your car?"
"It broke down halfway home. I walked the rest."
I flinched at his livid expression, directed at me this time. "Your phone?"
"Left it at home by accident."
He coughed out a cold laugh. "We're definitely having a conversation later. Did you knock at someone's house to use theirs?"
"There weren't any houses around." I was growing tired of going back and forth. "Should I just tell you what happened? I'm done being difficult."
"Fantastic." He rolled his eyes.
"Okay," I took a deep breath. "After my car broke down, I started to walk. I heard footsteps, but there was no one behind me. I turned again, and there was a man. I'd seen him before, in the forest outside town, but I didn't think anything of it. Until he sped up. He grabbed me and pulled me into an alley--"
"What did he look like?" Julian's voice was quiet.
"Bald, all-black eyes, quite bulky. He had these really sharp teeth--"
"All-black eyes?"
"Yes." My stare was unwavering, expecting to have to convince him, but Julian's mouth was parted, hands frozen at his sides. Instead of looking shocked, though, he looked like he was realising something.
"Go on."
"I asked what he wanted, and he said he wanted me. So I assumed this was sexual assault or something--"
"Sexual assault?" Julian choked. "Did he touch you?"
"No, no!" I rushed, pushing my hair behind my ears. "No, nothing like that. He strangled me - that's what the bruises are."
"Strangled?"
"Yeah. But I brought a knife with me, and just before I went unconscious, I stabbed him. He started pulling it out though, like it didn't even hurt--" I looked at Julian, who was smirking. "I'm serious!"
"I believe you."
"What are you laughing at, then?"
"Nothing." The amusement faded out of his eyes. "Proceed."
"Okay. . . Well I tried to get away then, but he grabbed my leg and raked his nails down it. They were like forks - really sharp."
Julian's eyes dropped to my legs, dangling off the counter. "Which one?"
"Left."
He nodded stiffly.
"But I got away and ran." I shut my eyes against the pain of the memory, the fear that came with it. "Until I got home."
Julian broke away from the chair, coming to lean next to me. From where I sat on the counter, he was the same height as me. "Did your parents get involved?"
"They were too busy watching TV." I smiled at him, pretending it didn't hurt. I didn't want pity.
"So who sorted out your leg?"
I shrugged, "me."
His eyes widened in horror.
"What?" I asked.
"You sorted your leg?"
"Yes. Why?"
He groaned, head falling into his hands. The curls stuck out between his fingers.
"Julian? What's wrong?" I poked his shoulder, confused. Electricity zipped up my arm when I did.
He looked up sharply. After a moment, he spoke, "I need to see your leg."
"It's fine!"
"Brooke, it's probably infected."
"I'm great at first aid. I was a brownie! I don't know why you're so concerned."
"A brownie? Seriously?" Julian stared at me, chewing on his lip. "Don't whine again."
"What?"
A second later, his hand reached down and wrapped around my knees. I yelped anyway, but as he hoisted himself up on the counter at the same time as he brought my legs onto his lap, I didn't fight.
One, because it was impressive. And two, because the way I felt, hot and alive and whole, when he touched me, was something I didn't want to stop.
Julian gazed at me, brown-eyed, before gathering himself. Leaning over, he opened the kitchen drawer and took out some scissors.
"What are you doing?" I demanded.
"Cutting your jeans." He registered the disapproval in my face. "Would like to take them off instead?"
I flushed beet red. "N-no."
"Well then," he said with an amused smirk. "Cutting it is."
"Pervert."
"Don't you mean 'perbert'?"
I scowled at him, mocking the way I had spoken that night. "Don't be rude."
"I wonb't."
"Hey!" I reached out and whacked his arm thoughtlessly. After I did it, I froze in shock at my thoughtlessness. "Sorry, I--"
Abruptly, Julian burst into laughter. It was real humour, the sound loud and beautiful and deep.
"Stay still so I don't catch your skin." He said after he'd stopped laughing.
So I stayed still, looked out of the window next to me for something to do. Just then, it started to rain. I was grateful for the sound of it pattering on the glass, filling the silence.
I felt the denim being taken away from my left calf, from the knee downwards.
It showed a bandage beneath, wrapped from my knee to my ankle. That wouldn't look so bad, if it wasn't for the ugly patches of red staining the bandage.
My knees were grazed too, but I kept that quiet.
"No wonder you're limping." Julian said, voice dangerously soft.
I laughed, but it sounded forced. "Doesn't really hurt."
"Now who's the liar?"
He looked up, paler than normal. I smiled at him, "me."
"Let's get this sorted." He said, and took the scissors again. I watched him as he took off the bandages, not wanting to see the wounds again.
Julian's shoulders stiffened as he saw my leg. "Bastard," he hissed.
I looked down. There were four angry, deep scratches down my shin. Blood shone in them, the skin around it blotchy and red.
"They look worse than they are." I said, grateful I wasn't wearing my glasses.
"Why didn't you call me?" He asked, looking up.
"I left my phone at home. I said that--"
"No." He shook his head. "When you got home?"
"I was fine."
His mouth parted. "Don't lie to me."
"I'm not lying!" I looked him in the eye, then decided that was a mistake. He could tell I was in pain. How horrible last night really was.
But he'd already seen. "I would have come." Julian told me quietly.
"How did I know that?"
"What do you mean?"
"After last week. . . I would never have dreamed of calling you."
Julian sighed, looked away. Then he reached into the cupboard above his head, rooting for cream and bandages. I didn't ask how he knew they were there.
Wordlessly, he cleaned the cuts, put cream on them and bandaged them up again. "Thanks," I mumbled.
"You didn't wince."
"I told you that it didn't hurt that much."
Julian's eyes found my face, concentration in them. Like he was wondering how to say something.
"What do you want to say, Julian?" I said after a minute, covering my fear of what it might be.
"I have to go somewhere," he admitted. "And I want you to stay here."
I froze, panic setting in. "No! No, Julian, you can't!"
"Can't what?"
"Kill him! You can't kill him!" Tears pricked the backs of my eyes, but I realised that it wasn't fear for the man, but for Julian. That man was a beast - big, and Julian, no matter how strong he was, he was slender. The lean muscle he had was nothing to the bulkiness of my attacker.
"I'm not." Julian said.
"You are! I can see it in your eyes!"
His hand reached out, softly tucked my hair behind my ear. I stopped breathing, his fingers brushing against the top of my ear before withdrawing.
"I'm not going to kill him. I'm going to meet my friends."
"Why?" I wanted to lock him up and keep him from doing something stupid, but something told me nobody could keep Julian from doing something he wanted to. "So you can all fucking hunt him down? I don't think so!"
Julian smiled, amused. "I'm just going to tell them what happened."
I stared at him a moment, then squared my jaw. "I'm coming with you."
"You're not. Where I'm going isn't a place for you to be."
"I don't care." His eyes narrowed. "I'm coming."
"You're not, Brooke."
"I still haven't forgiven you for all the shit that happened last week."
His nostrils flared. "That's not a reason for you to come."
"Now you've made me curious. I'm coming, whether you like it or not."
"You'll just follow me in your car, won't you?" He looked at me, expectant.
"Yes. You know I will."
"Fine." Julian caved angrily, taking my legs off him. I already missed the warm denim of his black jeans under my skin.
"Great!" I stepped down. "Let me go and put some jeans on. Two seconds."
Limping away, I headed up the stairs, only to stop at the sound of his voice.
"Brooke?"
Turning, I saw him at the bottom of the stairs, watching me. "Yes?"
"When you come home later, watch the video."
I frowned at him. "The video?"
"The locker video."
"Oh. . . Why?" I thought he'd told me not to watch it. . .
"Just watch it." He smiled tightly. "Maybe then you'll believe I've never hated you. Maybe you'll forgive me."