Falling In Love In A Coffee Shop - Part 8

So, this is where things get rather Café Noir. There's depiction of abuse here and if you don't like that sort of thing then don't click through. This was a fevered vision of mine and so I wrote it. It's pretty rough and drafty as hell and that's before I address the content. I wrote this from Duke's perspective because it was easier to deal with emotionally. Though I don't imagine Duke sees it that way. As I wrote it, I found myself musing on the narrative function of placing one character in danger and torment in order to force the other character to acknowledge or even develop their feelings. It's a cheap trick for a variety of reasons, the worst being rampant sexism. The fact that this almost always means that the female or femme character has to suffer is something to really consider. Statistically, women are more likely to be victims of violence than men. But in our fictional narrative world we do have the opportunity to change that, so many of us writers fail at that. I think I'm going to have to watch Emma Lahanna as Kira Ford and flip the table on her and Duke at some point, putting him in mortal danger and send her to an ass kicking rescue. Actually seeing the actress in a hero's role would help me switch my visualization around.

Obviously, this is several hours ahead of the current timeline for FILIACS#5. Sometimes I write an event like this and then write to it, altering the ever living shit out of it by the time the story carries itself there. I don't particularly like plot driven drama or narrative myself so if the character development won't carry it to that event then the event gets tossed to the side or unrecognizably altered. If the point of this blog is to let you and myself watch my process then even though this story remains for Ann, I felt like I should go ahead and publish this. It's always subject to be changed or even removed. I'm not comfortable with the implications in this content or with how I would depict some of the events leading up to this moment. Also, when I put something in italics and/or alternate color it's because I'm seriously considering cutting it. In this instance, I'm trying to convey how Duke finds Jennifer herself attractive but is certainly not aroused in the current circumstance.

Finally... Hypothermia. This is already too damn long but you should know that while I once treated my own dumb ass for hypothermia from freezing water this way it certainly isn't sound medical advice. Except for the part of having Duke with you. I'm pretty sure any decent doctor would get on board with having Duke press his naked body against you in pretty much any circumstance. If not, seek 2nd opinion.

Umm.... Enjoy?


Duke put the payment for the emeralds in the lobster trap and picked up the remaining stones along with his commission and put them in the diver's satchel and headed for the shoreline and his skiff. Coming to surface before wading ashore to make sure no one was around he heard a woman cry out at the same time a painfully familiar sound cracked across the bay. He flinched inwardly even before he turned to investigate. When he saw that it was a familiar looking group of men surrounding a terrified Jennifer he instinctively pulled his speargun.

They'd taken her clothes off leaving her only in her new underwear, and had tied her to a chair. Ropes looped around each wrist and ankle meant maximum chafing as she had strained against her bonds. In the light from their boat he could see where her cheek was marred with bruising and blood on at least one of her wrists. They had a rope tied to the chair indicating that they meant to make this a repeated dunking, or that they weren't going to leave a body. So he'd have to move fast to get her free. She was begging and sobbing hysterically even as one of them pinched her jaw and forced in a small ball of cloth then clamped her mouth shut while another put tape over her. Her cries could still be heard, frantic and desperate. He studied them, noting who was armed and who seemed to be higher in rank in the group than the others and memorizing their faces. They had hurt her and humiliated her and were now set to put her through a horrible death. And he'd kill them all for it.

Right now, there were too many of them, he couldn't risk making his presence known and that meant that she was going to have to go in. He hoped that he could get her back out in time, that she was strong enough to hold on until he got her out and to his boat and to safety. The alternative wasn't acceptable. He eased under and swam toward the boat, keeping himself submerged enough so that his light wouldn't be seen by the men in the boat. She hit the water just a few seconds too soon, before he could get into position to be there for her. So when she saw the light from his diving mask it was one more thing to frighten her. There was nothing he could do about that. There was nothing he could do about her fear when she saw the serrated edge of his knife before he cut the ties on her wrists and ankles then helping her peel off the tape and even helping her get what turned out to be a sewn up pouch of burlap that felt like it had been stuffed with cotton or some similar fiber. He kept both the tape and the little pouch and gave her the use of his breathing tube. He didn't know if she had somehow recognized him by now or was simply grateful for any rescuer at this point. When she had a chance to breathe a bit he gestured for the return of the tube and when she handed it to him, he pulled her close and pushed away, swimming hard for the Rouge. There would barely be enough air for the both of them to get back and they needed to stay under as long as possible. Worse than that, the cold water of the North Atlantic in March could be deadly. Already her body was starting to go into convulsions, muscles seizing with the shock of the cold. His wetsuit protected him by keeping his own body heat inside. The only advantage she had in her underwear was that it would be easy to get it off of her.

They surfaced about twenty feet from the boarding ladder and he urged her to keep the breathing tube in her mouth, giving her what little air was left. The cold air at the surface was dangerous to her now and he didn't have his RES-Q-AIR equipment. She was already starting to go limp in his arms and he had to move to his back to keep her afloat because her head was otherwise drooping into the water.

“Don’t you dare give up on me, Duchess. Come on!”

Duke hauled her up the ladder to the deck of his boat, finally getting her out of the water. She would be going into shock soon, or worse, if he couldn't get her warm. As it was, she couldn't stand on the deck, she was shaking so hard from fear, cold and exhaustion and her strength was failing her. She collapsed to her knees, clinging onto him while he dumped off his scuba tank and peeled off his flippers.

"It's just a little further, come on. I know how to get you warm. You'll be alright. Don't give up now. Stay with me." He would have to get her downstairs into the shower, where even the cold water would feel hot to her by now. He bent to pick her up and thanks to her tiny frame, his own adrenaline and the fact that she was curling in on herself in both an effort to keep warm and the body's natural process to try to defend itself he was able to lift her with one arm and get her through the door, down the steps and into his shower where he knelt with her on the floor of the shower stall and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"I'm sorry, Sweetheart. It's gonna hurt and there's not a damn thing I can do about it." He turned the spray on cold water only and braced himself for her reaction. His wetsuit was still on, he hadn't wasted the time to take it off yet and it again protected him from cold water. Cold water that would feel almost like a scald to Jennifer right now. Her skin was a terrifying blue, her normally red mouth too pale and she had stopped shivering, her body going into the protective shut down from hypothermia in an attempt to preserve heat. She flinched and cried out as the spray hit her trying to get away but he clasped her tight against himself and kept her there, the water hitting her back. He needed to get her more exposed to it and to start bringing the water temperature up slowly along with her own body temperature. He kept one arm tight around her and the other hand on the control lever, carefully and slowly bringing up the heat until, when it was at lukewarm, she simply collapsed. Checking her pulse and finding it steady though still too weak he leaned her carefully against the wall until he could strip out of his wetsuit. Kneeling in front of her he was finally able to begin to assess her injuries.

As he'd expected, the rope had chafed her wrists and ankles raw and he would have to finish cutting the loops that were still on her later. Right now, the rope was swollen from the water and the fibers would be too difficult to cut with ease. He risked causing her further discomfort and injury if he tried it now. The roping was just loose enough that he would be able to apply some ointment and some self adhesive gauze. It was her face that was breaking his heart right now. From the bruising it was easy to imagine what they had done to her. Striking her repeatedly until her lower lip split, until her cheeks bruised. Her neck was bruised where someone had choked her, too. He brushed his fingertips down her cheek and throat. She must have been so afraid.

"They're all dead men, Duchess," he whispered.

Her eyes fluttered open and she moaned softly, still trying to get away from the spray. Her body was beginning to shiver again.

"That's my girl. That's good. You fight, you hear me? You stay with me."

"Duke!"

He released a breath he hadn't noticed he'd been holding and pulled her upright with him again. Holding her back against him and holding her under the shower he turned the heat up another notch. When the warmer water hit she jerked back again, and he stepped back with her before pushing her back under.

"I'm sorry, Jennifer, you need to get warmer though. I know it hurts and I'm so sorry."

She didn't fight him, instead she wilted against him and he could hear her crying, feel it as her body shook with renewed tremors and sobbing.

"Damn it, Duchess, stop crying. Stop it." He really couldn't take that anymore. "If you don't like the water fight me or something but stop crying."

"I-I b-b-begged them. N-n-not to. I begged. I begged. I -"

"No. You don't beg anymore, okay? No more."

Under the warming spray, tears were just more water.

"You won't beg ever again, Duchess." He turned her in his arms, threading his fingers through her wet hair and gently easing her head back so that she would look at him.

"I meant what I said. They're all dead men. They'll be the ones begging before I'm done."

She shuddered in his arms and he didn't know if it was because of the hypothermia or something she saw in him then.

"You're safe now, though, okay?"

She nodded, then frowned. "You came for me?"

"I had something that needed to be done and I happened to be where I could see them - see you. I'm sorry I couldn't get you out of there without letting them put you in the water."

"But you saved me. Again."

"Yeah."

"I'm so tired."

"I know. It's okay. I'm going to get you out of these... wet things and wrap you in my robe, okay? It's warm and dry. Then I'm going to take you to bed."

"Hm." She huffed a quiet giggle. The literal brain freeze she'd endured giving her the same affect as being drunk. "Are you going to keep me company?"

Duke started running tidal charts and current projections in his head. "I can control myself, Sweetheart, don't worry."

She didn't respond, she couldn't. She was starting to shake again and whatever strength she found to stand on her own was also fading again. He was starting to tire as well. Slight as she was, she certainly wasn't weightless and he didn't think he'd ever swam so hard in his life before. He reached both hands behind her and found a seam in her camisole, grasped hold of the fabric and tore it apart. She jumped a little at the sound but made no protest. He undid the clasp at her bra and then settled his hands at her hip, slipping his thumbs under the band of her panties there. With a deep breath, he grasped the band with both hands and tore again, repeating the motion at her other hip so that they simply fell away. She shivered against him and he kissed her again on the top of her head. "It's okay, baby, it's okay. No one is going to hurt you again. Ever. But this wet stuff has to come off, okay?" She gave the slightest of nods against his shoulder. All that was left now was to finish getting the bra off. He turned her around and with some gentle nudging  got her to uncross her arms enough to let the lacy garment fall away. He leaned forward to turn off the shower and reached for his robe. She twisted herself around, her arms raising to encircle his shoulders and he draped the robe over her and lifted her that way, one arm around her knees and the other at her back, stepping out of the shower and walking the short distance to his bed. Even though she was wrapped in his robe, she was going to cycle back through suffering from cold. She still didn't have her own body heat. And that meant that he would be laying under the covers with her - still naked. He clenched his jaw and started running every pertinent nautical fact through his mind he could think of.

Shaking his head to clear it, he went ahead and focused on her, and her injuries that still needed tending. There were some things that were wisely kept in his nightstand. Neosporin and self adhering gauze were among them. He lay on his back and pulled her close to him before reaching into the drawer and bringing them out. Her limbs were still numb enough to be loose and beyond her control and that made it easy to take care of her wrists. He glanced down to see her frowning at the rope loops that were still here.

"I'll cut them off when the fibers are dry. Not so swollen like now. I'm not risking hurting you anymore. Got it?"

She tried to say 'yes' but only a rasp could be managed and so she just nodded.

With her wrists done he needed to get to her ankles and he cursed the devils and the alignment of the stars that he had to have this woman, naked in his bed in this condition. Easing her onto her back and sitting up he found a whole new string of curses when he found the bruising on her ribs.

"What the HELL?"

"They kicked me." It was a raspy whisper and the fact that she couldn't manage more fueled his anger. "When I stumbled and fell..."

For a moment he didn't say anything, he just stared at an expanse of skin that should have been flawless and was instead mottled by bruising. She shuddered and whimpered again and he looked back at her face. She was afraid again. This time, apparently of him.

"Hey. No. You don't ever have to be afraid of me, Duchess." He leaned back toward her and smoothed her hair again, cupping her cheek in his hand. "Everyone who did this to you is going to be afraid. Not you."

Tears rose up in her eyes and she shook her head. "Not for me," she whispered.

He looked away, back to her ankles, still in need of attention and arranged the robe and blanket to cover her waist. "I don't have anyone else I'd do it for."  She didn't respond to that but luckily was able to cooperate enough to move her legs, one at a time out from under the blanket so that he could treat and wrap each ankle. He bit into his lips seeing her legs dotted with bruises as well.

Finished with those injuries he laid back with her, and took her in his arms and covered the both of them. He was tired and he could only imagine her exhaustion. He kept her bundled against him in the robe and felt her move herself into what he hoped was a more comfortable position, her breath still a little too short as it fanned across his chest.

"You still with me, Duchess?"

Cold fingers that were fanned above his hipbone curled in response.

"Good. Tell me, did you get hit on the head?" He felt that head shake as a negative response and breathed a sigh of relief.

After a moment she rasped, "they hit me. In the face."

"I know."

"I've never..."

"You never will again." He stroked a soothing hand down her back. "And you can go to sleep. I'll be here to keep you warm."

Without a clock in view, Duke had no idea how long he was awake with her. He knew it took too long for her to feel warm again in his arms and that some of her tremors were as much from nightmares or memories as from her body recovering from the cold. Her hand moved from his hip and at first tucked itself under his arm until she moved again to curl it around his shoulder and clutch him closer yet to her. To try and accommodate her, he eased onto his back and brought her with him, keeping one arm around her while letting her arrange herself to his side, with her leg entwined with his and her arm draped across his ribs. He was tired but still restless and kept a rhythmic caress along her back with his hand and let his mind wander over her and the last two days, contrasting the images of her as the brave and determined woman in the coffee shop to the fragile woman nestled against him now. He wondered what she had uncovered that they would go to such lengths to silence her, or if there was some other reason, something that they wanted from her. He kept seeing her in that chair; a chair that had been prepared for dunking. Like old witch trials, except that dunking someone in the freezing water of the North Atlantic was worse than anything he'd read.