"Don't judge yourself by what others did to you." — C. Kennedy

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Chapter 11
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Maggie

My phone blared, again, for the umpteenth time today. Between Luke's car, and the attempt at not bashing his head in, I hadn't found any time to check it.

Luke, who was as comfortable as ever in his lawn chair, turned his head to me.

Despite it being January, the idiot was having the time of his life watching me toy with his car. It was obnoxious how casual everything was for him.

I couldn't lie, though, the man was more than physically appealing. I wouldn't say 'attractive', due to the fact that if he ever found out, he'd take it and run with it.

Flawless, fair skin was inked up with tattoos that stopped right at the beginning of his neck. His dirty-blonde hair that came closer to brown than blonde was always tousled into messy strands atop his head. From that, he managed to pull the 'just woken up' hairstyle off well.

His long legs brought him to 6'4", and it went well with beautifully toned arms, as well as all else that was hidden under his black hoodie, right now. Under a Roman nose, with a crook right in the middle, was a pair of pink, plump lips, all lined around high cheekbones, and a clean-shaven, razor-sharp jawline.

And, above it all, there was a set of dark blue eyes that resembled such a dusky, gloomy storm, that if you weren't careful, you'd get lost in it. Even though it'd been nearly two years since I slept with him, I did remember some distinct things, such as that, as well as something else.

Despite the perfect, deliciously carved v-line, the dangerously appealing back muscles, and the tattoos...there were scars. I'd been drunk, but I was sure of it. One that ran diagonally down his left arm, and another that stretched horizontally across the right side of his throat.

I hadn't asked him about it, even after we'd both sobered up. He didn't ask about the ones along my stomach, so I didn't dig into his, either. It wasn't either of our business.

With the scars, though, he was deadly good looking. Physically. Emotionally, he ruined all types of attraction for me.

Looks didn't mean a thing if you were a little bitch.

And, that he surely was. It'd been a week ever since I started working for him. Every single day tested my ability to stay sane, but I'd managed.

We even made an agreement that if I brought him some of Jaxs' pinwheels, he'd forget those two marks. It made me roll my eyes at the idiocy of it everytime, but it worked, nonetheless.

"The fuck?" Luke lifted a brow, nodding at my phone. "Is that Hedwigs's Theme?"

I wiped my hands on the rag, lifting my head from under the hood of the car. Now, it was my turn to look at him as if he'd grown five heads.

"What?" he shot at me.

I pulled my phone from my back pocket, lifting a brow at him. "How did you know that?"

"The name?" He returned my odd glance. "Everyone knows it."

"No, they don't. Most people only call it by the Harry Potter theme song or something like that." My lips widened with a knowing grin. "But, you...you knew it. Only people who—"

His eyes narrowed as he pointed right at me. "Don't you dare say what the hell you're about to say to me."

I raised my hands in surrender, but when they fell, my grin remained. "I'm just saying: you sound a lot like a Hufflepuff, pretty boy."

"Don't offend me," he scoffed. Once he caught what he said, his eyes widened a bit before he let his expression glaze over, again.

But, it was too late. I caught it.

I laughed, swiping my phone along the material of my jeans to clean the screen. "Yep, definitely a Slytherin."

"You know what? Whatever." His cheeks flushed red before he moved his gaze back to his phone. "Shut up and suck a dick or something, Norris."

I lifted my phone up, chuckling at him. "I will, as soon as I get off. My boyfriend's just as excited about it as you are."

"Quit talking, I don't want that traumatizing ass image in my head." His disgusted scowl added to my amusement. "You are, without a doubt, the most ignorant person I've ever crossed paths with, Maggie Norris."

"Most, huh?" I placed a hand against my chest, feigning offense. "Careful, Luke, I might think you like me."

"Only in your dreams and in my fucking nightmares, Norris."

I rolled my eyes, glancing down to the phone as it rung, again. I frowned once I saw that it wasn't any of my friends, or Xander.

It was my lawyer, Harry Withers.

What the fuck?

My eyes squinted at the screen, again. It was still the same. He'd been trying to call me all day.

"You know what, Norris?" I heard Luke call out. "I was actually going to be a good guy today, and buy you lunch, but okay. Keep talking shit. Save me a couple bucks, then." Giving a shrug, he balanced a thoughtful look over his face. "What the fuck do witches eat, anyway? Trash bags? Bunnies? Rotten eggs..." he continued to list off, but his words were foreign to my ears.

All I could focus on was this ringing phone in my hand. Mr. Withers hadn't called in years, not since the final verdict was reached. I didn't even know he was still my lawyer, but then again, granny handled all of that. But, the only reason that he would call me after so long would be because...

No.

Fuck no.

If it meant what I thought. or even a fraction of what I thought...shit. I was going to be sick.

Regardless of how distraught I felt, the phone wasn't going to stop until I picked it up. And, the nightmare would never stop, no matter how long I hid away in fantasy land.

I jerked a finger up to Luke, motioning for him to wait. Pausing his rambling, his brow raised at me in question, his eyes scanning me over. His lips parted to provide some type of argument, but something along my expression made him stop.

I didn't stop walking until I found somewhere secluded inside of his building, and it turned out to be one of the bathrooms. Even then, I continued to march in place as I accepted the call.

I swept a hand down my face, waiting for either line to connect. My feet struck, and hit the ground so hard, I feared I'd sink in.

My heart nearly gave out as I heard our line connect, "Maggie? Honey, can you hear me?"

My mind sunk back to those days in that stale, suffocating, high-lit room. The lawyers, the officers, the statements, the tests.

"Maggie?" Mr. Withers repeated. "Are you there?"

I palmed my head, my hand clammy. "Uh, yes—" I swept at the nonexistent sweat along my forehead, nodding even though he couldn't see me. "Yes, I'm here. What is it?" I didn't care about being rude, or being formal, right now. I just wanted a straightforward answer.

I bit so hard into my lip, I felt the skin break. He was silent for too long; lawyers weren't supposed to be quiet. And, they surely weren't supposed to be calling if the case was supposedly finished years ago. So, what the fuck did he want?

"Maggie," his voice fell deep into the line, traced with honeyed politeness. "I'm sorry, Maggie. I've tried everything, but the evidence, and his good behavior, it wasn't enough—"

That was it. That was all I needed to know.

I had to stop myself from dropping the phone right there and then. I knew the next words, and nothing would stop them. I didn't want to hear it; I didn't want to know it.

"He's scheduled to get out by late April," he said in such a guilty tone, I nearly shared it. "I'm sorry, Maggie. I'm so sorry, I tried—"

The world became blurry and rocky at the same time. My hands gripped any surface I could find, but I might as well just been a ghost.

"What did he..." Fucking shit. "How did he—" My voice cracked before I could finish; I couldn't even manage to get the words out.

"The judge granted him early release for good behavior." I heard shuffling in the background. "The file reads that he will, of course, be on parole. The restraining order that we put in place to protect you will still remain intact. If he violates it—"

I planted my head against the cool wall so hard, it nearly broke my skull in two.

"Of course he's going to fucking violate it," I hissed into the phone. "Who the fuck do you think he's coming for the moment he's out?"

"Maggie," he drawled out a tired sigh. "Honey, this isn't the end, okay? We're going to fight his release, and even if it's granted, we're going to take every necessary step to protect you."

I glared at the tips of my shoes, my eyes blurring. "Protect me," the chuckle that followed came out brittle, dark. "They freed my fucking father. How the fuck are they protecting me, Harry?"

"Justice will always prevail," he said, as if he actually believed in that bullshit.

I palmed my head, begging the tears to return back to their place of hiding. "No. Not for women. Never for women."

"Maggie..." I heard another sigh. I hadn't even seen the man in years, but I could easily recall him twisting at that ridiculously silly tie of his. "I know this is short notice. I know that you didn't expect it, but I want you to go over the case, and where we're currently at, with me. I need for you, and your brother to meet me—"

My eyes snapped open. "No," I rushed out. "Jax won't know."

"Maggie, you're going to need—"

"Harry, you are my lawyer, not my brothers'. I won't let him find out."

Jax had enough guilt about those days. About what he saw, about what he thought could have stopped it. About what he did to stop it. I wouldn't let my brother fall back into that dark hole with me. This was my shit, and mine alone.

"I have to go," I barely choked into the phone.

I heard him talking, but it was too late. I was gone, both emotionally and physically.

I didn't know which hit the ground first, me or the phone. My heart seemed to have won the race, though.

I gripped either side of my head, as if I could physically sort the shit going on in there.

I needed to breathe, I needed to think, I needed to plan, I needed to leave, I needed to—

"The fuck is taking you so long in there?" I heard from the other side. "You taking a shit or something?" His snort came next. "If so, go ahead and tear the entire room apart. There's no saving it."

I couldn't will myself to respond to him, or to anything else other than the fear digging so hard through my stomach, it hurt. It felt as if I had a target right on my back, and a knife following right with it.

Because I did.

My father was getting out of jail in theee months. Three fucking months, for good behavior, and for lack of evidence. As if they hadn't probed and examined my body until I was pink and sore. As if they hadn't robbed me of what self-identity I did have left. As if—

"Norris." A knock sounded out along the door. "The restaurant didn't sell trash bags. Burgers or pasta good?"

"I don't care," my voice came out so dark, I was shocked at my own self. My father was pulling me into that place, again, tearing me limb by limb from reality, both mentally and physically.

I needed to leave.

I pulled myself away from the wall, then went over to the sink. Thank fuck Luke had the electricity on.

I threw the water across my face until my eyes were on fire. I welcomed it, nonetheless. I needed reminders that I was here, that I was away from him, away from all of the things he did to me.

I couldn't go back. I couldn't and I wouldn't. That little girl surrounded by those four pink walls and the wish of comfort...she was dead. We had no claim to one another any longer.

I waited a couple of more minutes before I moved to the door, willing myself to control the tremble of my body. I hoped Luke got the hint to leave me alone, for his sake.

I wasn't capable of considering my words, right now. Not logically. When it came to this part of my past, I couldn't let anything or anyone get in my way of escape. My survival mode was still in tact because of that.

As expected, Luke was right against the door. I side-stepped him, but the bastard was quick, purposefully stepping into my way. I ran smack into his chest before I shoved myself off of it with a glare.

His eyes ran me over too closely for my liking. "The fuck is your problem?"

I averted my gaze to the floor, marching over to where I left my things. "Why do you care?" I mumbled, hauling my bag onto my shoulder.

"Trust me, I don't give a single fuck," he chuckled from behind me. "I was just—"

I jerked around, narrowing my eyes at him. "Really?" That anger finally tumbled over the cracks, spilling right out of my mouth, "Then, why don't you just shut the fuck up? Or, is that too hard for you to even consider doing?"

Luke's grin fell, and back was the asshole I knew. His lips turned into a frown, his eyes studying me over once more, but this time with agitation. "I was just asking because you seemed like you had something up your ass." He crossed his arms. "Chill the fuck out, though. Don't put your fucked shit on me."

I rolled my eyes, shaking my head with it. "Yeah, well..." Here it was. My excuse. "You're one to talk."

His arms tightened across his chest. I saw either hand ball into a fist underneath as he approached me. Closer and closer until we were in each other's spaces.

"The fuck is that supposed to mean?" he threw back, tilting his head down at me.

His eyes dared me to say it, and my mind willed me not to say it. My anger wasn't even directed at him, right now; I just wanted a punching bag and he was hanging right in front of me.

"I mean." A dry laugh skipped away from me before I flicked my head at his figure. "Look at you." My lips snapped shut just as the part of my head telling me to shut the fuck up overlapped. But, it washed away with the reminder of my own shit.

"Your dad fucking hates you. In fact, I'm sure he was the one who gave you that pretty little scar on your throat." I turned my lips into a grin as I studied him over. "You know, I've heard a lot of shit about you, Luke." I stepped closer, my grin growing. "Like the fact that your own father didn't even want you, until his secretary leaked that you existed. And, I think I read that he had to say his wife was your biological mother?"

"I mean, shit, Luke..." Laughter bounced from my throat, the sound quick. "A mother and father who don't want you, a stepmother who doesn't want you, friends who left you, and god knows who else. It must have gotten boring after a while, huh?" I laughed, again, my eyes averting to the glitter covered floor, before I met his gaze again. "Poor Luke Vaudest. The unwanted, spoiled, mayor's bastard."

His expression nearly resembled one of a rocks'. Nearly. If it weren't for the flinch of pain that flashed through his face before he blurred it away with a glare, I wouldn't have caught on. But I had.

Shit.

His jaw clenched under my stare, before he averted his eyes entirely. He didn't egg the argument on as I expected him to.

Instead, he nodded, turned, and began to advance toward the door.

I stumbled back, my fingers tightening around the material of my bag. Palming my forehead, I grimaced as the words replayed in my head, as well as the intent behind them.

Never in my life would I have expected even a fraction of guilt toward Luke. But, what I said was far worse than a couple jabs about the size of his head, or his attitude. I'd commented on something that was possibly a big deal to him, and I'd done it only to soothe my own hurt.

Hurt people hurt people, was something Jax and my grandmother had told me. I had never wanted to believe it, but as time went on, I feared it to be true.

I was hurt; I was wounded deeply so. But, that didn't make it right to put it on other people. It wasn't right, nor should I use it as an excuse.

I stepped forward so quickly, my foot hit the bucket of water I'd left. I stumbled for a moment before I caught myself. "Luke, wait."

When he didn't, I grabbed his wrist to stop him.

Luke turned, and yanked it away from me so hard, I feared he'd broken the bone. His eyes narrowed at me, and long gone was the hurt, now. There was only anger, so much anger that it seemed to graze my already red skin.

"Don't touch me," he snapped at me. "You've already done enough."

"No." I shook my head, letting my expression grow apologetic. "Luke, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"What? You didn't mean to say what's been on your mind the whole time?" His hand fell as he took another step back from me. "Go ahead, Norris. Say some more. Let me fucking have it."

"No," I argued, my voice as thick as honey. "No, okay? It's not true, and I shouldn't have said it."

"You know what?" A tasteless laugh skipped from his lips, and right across my growing guilt. "Just go home. We're done for the week."

Without another word, he pushed by me to get to the other side of the room. His footsteps were as heavy as his temper was, right now.

I turned, again. "We still have two more days, though." I didn't think he'd let me off work. If anything, I thought he'd add on more days for saying what I just said, but I guessed he wanted me around as less as possible, right now.

Luke shrugged, his lips pursing. "I'm doing you a favor, aren't I? Who the fuck who would want to be around the mayor's bastard, right?" Another dry, tasteless laugh, before he nodded at the door behind me. "Just get the fuck out."

I considered a response, but I knew I deserved this one. I shouldn't have went as far as I did. He never had in our bickering.

As much as I hated the dickwad, I knew I had used my own shit to fuck with his. Right now, it was too fresh to proceed on. I'd apologize, later.

With a sigh, I turned and pushed against the door until I felt the January chill tug at my skin. I embraced it, thankful that I could even feel.

Because in three months, that could be gone. The monster was coming back, and he was coming right for me.