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Chapter Twenty
Point of View: Krystal


My throat felt like someone had made me swallow glass and chased it with peroxide. I grasped it as tears started pouring from my eyes, which I hadn't opened yet. I felt a hand take hold of my hands and pull them away from my throat. "Kryssie," he whispered in my ear.

The sound of his voice made the nightmare I'd been having fade away. It made a warmth spread through my body - a feeling of being safe fill me, like hot chocolate being poured into a mug. I blinked my eyes opened and looked up at him, at the soft curve of his face and the glistening of his eyes... He reached out his hand and his palm cupped my cheek.

Soft as a whisper, he slid his thumb across my eyelashes, swiping away the tears that still clung to them. He smiled down at me.

"I'm sorry," I whispered to him. When I'd called him I had never dreamt that he would actually come for me. But here he was - like a knight in shimmering, shining armor on the back of a white horse of hope, carrying a blazing shield of protection that he'd gathered me behind. I wanted to crawl onto his lap and curl up and inhabit his personal space forever.

"Don't be sorry, baby," Nick whispered back. He bent low and kissed my nose. He looked exhausted. Lines had formed around his face and bags under his eyes and his jaw was slack, as though he didn't even have the energy to hold it sturdy. He seemed slightly unfocused. "I'm so glad you called me..."

"I didn't know who else to call," I whispered.

Nick nodded, "I'm here now."

"He tried to kill me, Nick," I gasped.

"Who tried to kill you?" he asked, his eyebrows knitting together.

"Joe," I muttered.

"Your guy?" I nodded. Nick's eyes darkened. "Krystal, you gotta stop, you gotta come home. When you get outta here you're coming home, you can stay with me. Nobody's been at your house in months, I've watched it, your mom will never know."

Hot tears flooded me. "I didn't call you to become your charity case, Nick," I cried.

"So don't become my charity case," he answered, eyes pleading, "Become my girlfriend."

"You're crazy," I whispered.

"Yeah, but this ain't why," he replied. I was reminded of a similar conversation on board the boat where he'd insisted he loved me.

I shook my head, "Nick..."

"Krystal, please," he whispered.



Before I left the hospital the next day, the doctor gave me a bunch of pamphlets about drugs and alcohol and some flyers for counselors around the Tampa area. She eyed Nick suspiciously and added one about domestic abuse to the pile. "I don't need this one," I said firmly, handing it back to her, but she still looked doubtful that the bruises and bloody lip had been the work of someone else.

I didn't tell Nick.

I was clutching the pile of pamphlets as Nick drove me to his house. I stared out the window as he babbled about going grocery shopping later and about the kinds of cereal he had at home and that he'd buy paint so we could fix up the room he was giving me. It felt weird, when he pulled into his driveway and I glanced back at the house I'd been inhabiting when he and I met, to think that I now lived in the mansion across the street from the old home my grandpappy built that had once been a fucking mansion itself.

Nick led me into the house and we kicked off our Converse sneakers at the door. I looked around the foyer, which looked different than it had the last time I'd been in his house - when I'd gotten lost trying to get out of it. Nick tapped my shoulder. I looked over. He was smiling and holding out a rolled-up piece of paper.

"What's this?" I asked, taking it.

"You'll see."

I pulled a ribbon he'd tied around it off and tucked it into my pocket - I'd make something with it later - and unrolled the paper. It was a hand drawn map, made with crayons Nick had stolen from the waiting room at the hospital the night before. We'd spent the evening coloring together with them. Evidently he'd spent his coloring time making me a map of his house.

I grinned.

Nick nodded, "Hopefully it's accurate, I did it by memory..." he snickered.

I looked down at it and laughed, pointing to what, I assume, must've been his room. "Sex cave?" I asked.

Nick grinned. "In case you're wondering where to find the Nick Stick," he said, tapping his crotch.

"You're so twisted," I giggled. He'd labeled every room something goofy like that, though. Like instead of a kitchen, there was a Church of Food Consumption, and instead of a living room he'd labeled it Lazy Land Ruled by King TV".

"Do you like it?" he asked.

"It's perfect," I answered.

We spent the next hour testing the map. Nick would tell me a place to go ("the upstairs latrine!") and I'd have to locate it on the map and lead the way. He'd done a really good job. The map worked perfectly every place he sent us. He ended with, "The Princess' Lair" - aka, the guest bedroom, aka, where I would be staying.

"So typically, I don't have any guests over except Brian," he was warning me as I led the way up the stairs, following the map, "And Brian hasn't stayed with me since he got married last year, so the guest room has kinda become... well, kinda a storage room... It's got a bunch of random crap in it... And I didn't know you were coming so..."

I pushed open the door and found myself looking into a room with a bed and a desk pushed to one side and a collection of all of Nick's odds and ends, things like guitar stands and boxes labeled pictures and milk crates of ratty, used-looking notebooks and a laundry hamper (which was over flowing), and stacks of books. He blushed, "I'll work on getting this all out of here tomorrow and we can go and get paint at Home Depot and some new sheets and shit..." Until he'd said it, I hadn't even noticed there were Star Wars sheets on the bed.

"It's great, you don't have to rearrange your life for me," I said.

Nick shook his head, "I want to."

"You're a crazy person," I reminded him. "I'm not worth all this trouble."

"Says you," Nick said, shrugging. "I think you're worth this and more." He gently laid a kiss on my forehead. "Now... How about pizza for dinner?" He turned and waddled away, back down the hall. I stared at the room and smiled, even as Nick's voice was fading away as he babbled about the best pizza places in the area. I swallowed, my throat was sore. Maybe Nick really did give a damn about me after all.