Dreams of Thee

Chapter 13

 

Gathering the sheet around Catherine’s body, Vincent lifted her into his arms and walked toward the balcony, sinking down into a chair to await the true coming of dawn. Catherine slept in his arms, safe and warm.  The fingers of the sun created a deep purple against the black night sky. Vincent waited until the fingers of sun had tinged the sky a pale pink and then he began to slowly kiss Catherine awake. Vincent’s lips trailed a series of soft, gentle kisses along her forehead, across her eyes, and rested against her sleeping lips. Carefully and with complete tenderness, he kissed her, allowing his mouth to linger.  Her lips parted slightly with just a hint of a response.  Vincent again lightly kissed her closed eyes and then returned, with a more insistent pressure, to her mouth.  A fear gripped Vincent’s heart, fear that after what he was about to do, he would never again know Catherine.

Catherine’s eyes fluttered open briefly then closed again.  Her hand rested on his chest and her fingers sought the inside of the old shirt, curling tightly in the mat of light gold hair which covered Vincent’s chest. “Good morning, Catherine,” he whispered in her ear as he buried his face against her neck.

“Vincent, what happened last night?  I feel disconnected with myself, like I have been through some terrible nightmare of fire. I dreamed I could actually see you again, but now there is only darkness.”

Vincent silently prayed he had the strength and courage to do as Peter had instructed him.  He gathered her closer to his chest then rose to carry her inside.  He placed her on the bed, then turned to close the balcony door and silently returned to the bed.  He stood looking down at her then deliberately blocked the flow of their bond, his love for her.  Vincent watched her face as she started to shiver and moan softly.

“Vincent, where are you? Vincent?” Frantically, she searched the bed, unable to locate him.  Moving to the edge of the bed, she rose, trying to find him, but always he stepped away beyond her grasp. “Vincent, don’t play games with me. This isn’t funny.”

Vincent moved like a shadow, tormenting her as a cat with a mouse.  He weaved in front of her, causing the air to rush violently past her until her senses were confused and her fear had changed to terror.

Tears flowed down Vincent’s face as he continued his torment, and he felt her terror rising.  Catherine’s back was toward him when he hurtled his body toward her, carrying her forward to the bed.  A scream tore from her throat as he pinned her arms over her head, slowly tracing the pattern he so clearly remembered of where the razor had slashed her face.  Vincent’s hatred for himself and what he was doing surfaced, but he continued to torment her, running his claws across her face.

Catherine’s head rolled from side to side, trying to escape, her body jerking beneath the heavy weight which held her.  She screamed and, finding her voice, she begged and pleaded not to be hurt again.  “Please don’t hurt me . . . please.” Suddenly Catherine found one of her arms free as Vincent’s hand slid away, and she began fighting, trying to prevent the razor from cutting her again.

Sensing her anger was reaching its zenith, Vincent released her other arm and waited.  Her teeth sank into his hand, biting savagely, hoping to inflict pain as her fist beat against him. In her rage, Catherine’s strength was ten times normal and within her mind, she meant to inflict pain, kill if it was necessary, to prevent being hurt again.

The thin, well-worn shirt Vincent wore offered no protection from the unbridled fury of her assault, tearing easily as the weakened threads gave way.  She continued her brutal attack, her nails breaking as she raked his face, digging into his soft flesh.  Vincent bore her rage, unaware of the welts and bruises she caused. Catherine screamed and fought.  All of her long-held rage and fury were free as she reacted to the violation she had suppressed, allowing the full range of its fury to gather strength.

Fingers poked Vincent in the eye and he instinctively rolled away, his hand covering his injured eye.  Catherine’s rage consumed her as she continued to beat her fists against him, striking him at will.  Her ragged nails were bloody and she could taste blood as she sank her teeth into Vincent’s arm.

The vortex of rage consumed Catherine as she vented all she had endured during the past two years.  It rose, devouring her in a white heat of anger beyond all ability to reason.  Her face was unrecognizable as the rage poured through her body.  Her voice filled the room with every vile, dirty word she had ever heard.

A groan hissed through Vincent’s tightly closed lips as her balled fist struck again at his ribs.  He made no attempt to protect himself, other than throwing an arm over his throbbing eye, as he allowed her freedom to release her rage.  Catherine locked her fists together and, with all the fury inside her, brought them whistling down, striking Vincent fully in the stomach, driving his belt buckle into his sensitive flesh and into her own hand at the same instant.

Catherine raised her bloodied fists again to strike when Vincent’s soft, gentle voice whispered her name.  Her fists poised for a brief instant in their downward flight, then she swayed violently as though she fought hurricane force winds…then she blacked out and crumpled forward across Vincent’s body.

 

Chapter 14

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