RED NOTES AND KISSES-Chapter 78: FRIDA -

Frida sat beside Laz, petrified. She couldn’t get over what just happened—truly traumatized.

And it didn’t even happen to her. Reg was so disoriented she couldn’t drive. She held Lexi in her arms.

The girl had been crying nonstop, and Reg was just there, so helpless. "I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner."

"I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner," Reg winced repeatedly.

"I’m sorry I let him hurt you again. I’m so sorry," she said, running her fingers through Lexi’s hair.

"Please, the nearest hospital. Please," she said, and Laz hit the gas as fast as legally allowed.

Lexi was bleeding, and so was she, but she couldn’t get past what just happened.

And those children?

Who were those children?

She shivered, hugging herself, when she felt Laz’s hand warm on her thigh.

The first snow fell from the sky, and she was amazed.

It was too early for snow to start falling, but she guessed even the sky was sad, too.

They stopped in front of the hospital, and Reg rushed out of the car with Lexi in her arms.

Frida watched as they rushed Lexi to the emergency room.

She was panting, her chest tight and her airways burning.

She was petrified with horror and shock, and she had to hold the wall when Laz drew her into his arms, his warmth enveloping her.

Her dam broke, and she began to cry so hard that her body vibrated.

She didn’t know why she was crying—for Lexi in the emergency room, for herself, for Reg—but everything hurt so much, she wanted to melt into his skin.

Her body vibrated violently when she heard Leah’s voice running through the hospital hallway. "Where is she?"

She panted, and Frida turned red-rimmed eyes to see a disoriented Leah in her pajamas.

Her hair was messy. It was obvious she’d run straight out of bed, and Tyler was right with her.

He was such a nice guy. Frida was glad Leah had him.

"She’s in the emergency room," Frida sobbed, sniffling.

Leah sank onto the hospital chair. "That motherfucker..." she spat.

Frida ran her fingers through her hair. Her face was red, her eyes swollen, and she looked unshowered. She felt equally stressed.

They had exams on Monday, and dealing with so much stress was driving her insane.

Only the warmth of his hand on her lower back made her feel a bit better.

Reg was hurled on one of the seats in the corner, looking murderous, her eyes glazed with tears.

Just then, the doctor stepped out with the nurse, and all of them jumped towards him.

"She’s fine. She suffered a minor concussion and has a lot of bruises with a cut that might need some stitches, but she’ll be fine by tomorrow morning, I assure you," he said politely.

And Frida collapsed into her seat, sobbing, her shoulders shaking.

He placed his hands on her shoulders, and they were the only thing holding her together. Her anchor.

Soon, she began to feel pain as well, and she stood up but staggered.

"Let me help you," he said politely.

She let him lead her as she limped, his hand on her waist and the other on her hand.

"Where do you wanna go?" he asked.

"Bathroom," she said hoarsely, and he nodded, helping her all the way to the mixed bathroom.

She limped in and shut the door as he stood outside of it.

She sat on the toilet seat and broke down again.

This time, she didn’t cry silently; it was a loud, guttural sound. "I’m so scared, Laz."

He leaned his head on the door. "I know."

"I was so scared, I couldn’t do anything," she breathed unsteadily. "And it hurt as I watched, and I couldn’t..." She cried.

He listened to her cry, knowing she needed a moment. "It’s not your fault."

"I’m so scared... what if..." she cried, her face in her palms.

Laz’s fingers curled into a fist. "What if I hurt you like that?" he finished for her.

She was in raw pain. Inside and outside, she burned with pain. "Frida," he said quietly.

"Come to me," he said in a quiet plea.

She stood up and walked to the door, leaning her head against it. "I’m scared."

"Even for a minute... just trust me," he pleaded, and she slowly opened the door and peered at him.

He took her hand in his warm, large ones. "If I ever hurt you like that..." He slipped something cold into her hand.

She realized it was a gun and panicked, but he held her hand firmly. "...Then shoot me," he said with all seriousness.

"Are you crazy?" she whispered.

"Yes," he simply answered.

"Stop fucking with me!" she yelled at him.

"I’m not fucking with you! Don’t you get it?" he cried out in frustration. "I’d rather fucking die than hurt you."

Her eyes widened in disbelief. He didn’t blink.

"You’re bleeding," he said softly, placing his handkerchief on her temple.

She felt hot tears flow from her eyes as she placed her hand on her abdomen. It was hurting a lot.

Then she felt warmth between her legs and blanched. She stared up at him, her cheeks flushing in embarrassment. "Are you okay?" he panicked.

"Talk to me, Frida?" he pleaded, frightened by her sudden silence.

"I t-think I’m... on my period," she whispered, her cheeks burning hot with embarrassment. She wanted to flush herself back into the toilet as they received awkward glances from people passing by.

He took off his varsity jacket and wrapped it around her waist. Her eyes turned to literal shining marbles with how she kept staring at him.

"Let’s stop at the store and get you a tampon," he said, taking her hand, and she nodded.

As they walked down the hallway, Frida could feel every pair of eyes on them. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment, but Laz held her hand firmly, as though shielding her from the weight of their stares.

Outside, the cold air nipped at her face, the fresh snow crunching under their feet as they approached his car.

"You don’t have to do this," she muttered, her voice barely audible.

"Do what?" he asked, opening the car door for her.

"Take care of me like this," she said, looking down at her feet.

Laz crouched in front of her, forcing her to meet his eyes. "Frida, I don’t have to. I want to."

She swallowed the lump in her throat, nodding silently before slipping into the car.

The drive to the store was quiet, save for the soft hum of the radio. Frida stared out the window, her thoughts a swirling mess. Laz occasionally glanced at her, his brows furrowed in concern.

When they arrived at the store,He parked the car and then got all shy. "What type do you wear? And what would you like?"

He asked, and a faint blush crept up his cheek as she told him.

Laz insisted on going in alone. "Stay here. I’ll be quick," he said, not waiting for her to protest.

Frida watched him disappear through the automatic doors. She called Reg as soon as Laz disappeared into the store. "Hey, I’m heading home to take a bath. My monthly just started."

Reg sighed on the other end of the line. "Got it. Please take care of yourself. I know it must hurt a lot."

Frida pressed her lips together, her heart heavy. "You too, Reg. It’s not your fault."

A silence hung between them, heavy with unspoken words. Both released deep breaths, as though letting out the weight of their thoughts.

"Okay," Reg said softly, his voice hoarse, before hanging up.

She leaned her head back against the seat, closing her eyes.

Her mind replayed the events of the day, the screams, the blood, the helplessness she felt. A tear slipped down her cheek, but she quickly wiped it away when Laz returned, carrying a small bag.

"Got it," he said, handing her the bag. "And some chocolate. Thought you might need it."

Frida gave him a weak smile, clutching the bag tightly. "Thank you."

"How did you know where I was?" she asked as they drove towards home.

He shrugged, hands on the steering wheel, eyes on the road. "I was supposed to fix your locks, remember?"

He had a gun.

As much as it didn’t sound like much, it was a lot for her to take in.

And he asked her to use it on him?

Laz?

Was he normal?

What they had, was it normal? She sighed as she drifted into a short nap.

She woke up as soon as she felt the comfort of her bed again.

How could she feel safe in the arms of the man who terrified her?

It was a lot for her.

"You’re thinking again," his voice croaked, but he didn’t say much. He just laid her on the bed, walked into the bathroom, and turned on the hot water in the tub.

He took out a bath bomb and tossed it in. How did he know she liked the rose and vanilla mix?

He poured bath scents and oils into the water, then added rose petals to the tub.

He sat beside her. "May I? I promise I won’t look. I’ll only wash your hair and wounds, then you can do the rest," he explained, and she was too tired to protest.

So she croaked a, "Yeah."

With delicate care, he slowly took off her hoodie. True to his word, he didn’t look, not even as he slipped off her shorts and bra.

He lifted her and took her to the bathroom, gently placing her in the perfect water.

He let her soak in it and whispered, "Better?" She nodded.

He poured a rich amount of vanilla shampoo into his hand, sitting behind her. The bubbles completely hid her skin from his sight.

How gentlemanly of him, she thought as he washed her hair.

The shower hose poured warm water through her scalp—it felt divine.

He was so busy washing her hair that he didn’t notice her looking at him.

His lashes were lowered as he washed the scratch on her temple. He looked like he hadn’t slept at all last night.

She sighed, remembering how he had fucked her with the shower hose, and blushed.

She whispered, "Laz."

He answered, "Hmm?"

Her eyes fell on his lips. "I’m thinking dirty thoughts."

He smirked, his grey eyes meeting her brown ones. "Yeah?" he responded softly.

"This feels amazing," she whispered as a tear fell from her eyes, and he caught it with his fingers.

He gave her his rare, soft billionaire smile that made her melt into a million pieces. "I’m glad..." His lips hovered over hers.

"Because you are amazing, Frida."

She was too weak to argue.