by L. D. Davis
“You show emotion to everyone else except for me. The instant you see my face, you turn as cold as a corpse.”
“Because that’s how you want it, Mayson!” she shouted. “You reject any kind of emotion from me. I am so sick of pretending and wearing that blank face just so you can continue to live in this dark fantasy world where I am the wicked, unemotional villain!”
“I don’t reject you!” I argued. I felt the sting of truth in her words but didn’t want to admit it.
“You do reject me, on every level. I’m not allowed to care about you. I’m not allowed to be kind to you. I’m not permitted to smile at you. If it were left entirely up to you, I wouldn’t even be allowed to see you. I have to practically beg you to come to dinner just once a month, and I don’t see you any other time.”
“You only make me come to dinner to make sure I’m not doing drugs so that I am not violating the terms of the trust fund.”
She looked even more bewildered. “I ask you to dinner so that I can see you, Mayson. I have you here because you’re my daughter and I love you and it’s the only time I get to see you.”
When I rolled my eyes, she took a few steps forward and pointed in my direction.
“Don’t roll your eyes at me,” she snapped. “It’s the truth. You’re the one that acts like you don’t give a shit.”
My eyebrows rose. My mother rarely cursed. I couldn’t even remember her ever saying the word shit.
“We ask you about your life, and you give these one-dimensional responses like you can’t be bothered. Taylor tries to talk to you, but you act like you can’t stand her, like you resent her. You hurt her feelings every time you come, and I always have to tell her that you do love her, that you do care for her. Am I wrong? Should I stop making excuses for your hatred toward us?”
It was my turn to be bewildered, though, it wasn’t as genuine as my mom’s had been.
“For the record, I did invite Taylor to come with me to the beach, but you all were going on a ‘family’ vacation.”
Mom shook her head again, looking angrier by the second. “No, don’t you dare. We were invited to stay with one of Aaron’s friends only a few days before Taylor told you about the trip. We hadn’t even bought our airline tickets yet or really begun to plan. I sent you a text a few days later and asked you if you wanted to go, and you said no.”
“I said no because it felt like I was an afterthought!”
“You said no because you were too proud to say yes!”
We stood on opposite sides of the kitchen glaring at each other. Both of us still had tears spilling from our eyes.
“You said you always cared but…” I swallowed hard. “I tried to call you after…after what happened to me, and you didn’t come.”
She sighed impatiently. “Mayson, I did come. I couldn’t come right away because Taylor was sick that day. She was in the Children’s Hospital with pneumonia. I had to wait for Aaron to come relieve me so that I could go to you. I took the first flight I could get. When I finally got to the hospital to see you, you wouldn’t tell me what happened. You were mad at me for not coming sooner and you wouldn’t even talk to me or look at me.”
My brow furrowed. “I…I don’t remember that…”
“I do,” she said firmly. “I knew in my gut that something horrible had happened, but the staff wouldn’t tell me anything. You eventually started screaming at me to get out, and then I was barred from coming to see you at all. I didn’t see you again until you came out of rehab and came back to New Jersey. You weren’t shouting at me anymore, but you didn’t want to tell me what had happened to you. Then I thought I should just leave it alone because you were really trying to pull it together in a way I’d never seen before. I just wanted you to succeed, so I stopped asking. I did eventually find out what happened, though.”
A fresh river of tears rushed from her eyes as she sobbed.
“How?” I whispered. “How did you find out?”
It took her a minute before she was able to speak somewhat clearly.
“The damn hospital sent your bill here. I never understood why hospitals billed victims for rape,” she added angrily. “It was a very detailed statement. I cried all day that day, and the next day I called the hospital and raised hell for sending that damn thing. What if you saw it? What if it made you relive it?” She sniffed. “Aaron and I paid the bill and agreed not to tell you about it. I didn’t even want to ask you about it because I wanted you to move on.”
“You knew all this time,” I sobbed. “You should have said something to me, Mom! I was dealing with that alone! I had no one! I was afraid and I didn’t have anyone! You don’t find out that your daughter was gang raped and then not try to be there for her!”
“Why didn’t you come to me?” she argued weakly as she cried. “Why did you keep it to yourself?”
“I was traumatized, Mother! It fucked me up in the head more than I already was. It wasn’t open for discussion.”
I shook my head in disbelief as I stared at her through my tears. She had a hand over her mouth as she tried to quiet her body-racking sobs.
“Was it still that hard for you to love me, Mom?” I asked, my voice cracking with my emotion. “I beat the crap out of you and took your husband’s life when I was sixteen, so what…you punish me by letting me suffer alone?”
Her eyes opened wide as her hand fell away from her mouth.
“I wasn’t trying to punish you. I made a poor decision. I thought I was doing the best thing for you because you were doing so well. But Mayson, my God…is that what you really believe? You believe that you…you were responsible for your father’s death?”
“It’s not what I believe, Mom. It’s what happened. You said so yourself.”
Two days after I’d attacked my mother, my dad found me in the dance studio, searching for a hidden stash of drugs. After telling me that he had already found it and disposed of it, he’d revealed to me that he would be escorting me to a rehab facility on the other side of the country in a matter of hours, where I was to remain for at least sixty days. Then he was going to send me away to boarding school until I was eighteen.
Of course, that hadn’t sat well with me. First I’d cried my apologies and promised to do better. When that didn’t work, I’d begged. When my dad—who had always given in to me—ignored my pleas, I’d let my monster out. I’d screamed and cursed and raged. I’d told him he was a horrible father and that I had hated him. I’d sworn that I’d kill myself if he tried to send me away.
“You’re already killing yourself, Mayson,” he had said with sorrow in his green eyes.
Then those green eyes opened very wide. His hand fisted into his own shirt as he grunted, groaned, and tried to speak, spraying spittle from his mouth. He collapsed to the floor, still clutching at his chest as he stared up at the ceiling, making harsh noises as if he was struggling to breathe.
I had dropped to the floor beside him, gripping his shoulders and screaming for my mom. My dad had stopped struggling. He’d stopped clutching at his chest. He went absolutely still, with his eyes still fixed unseeingly on something above us.
“Daddy! Wake up! Please!” I had shaken him violently as I tried to get him to respond, even though I knew he was gone. “I’m sorry, Daddy! Please, please, please! I’ll do whatever you want me to do! Daddy, wake up!”
My mother had run into the room and slipped and fell a few feet away. She crawled the rest of the way, with alarm and dread etched into her bruised and battered face.
“What did you do?” she’d demanded, shoving me away. “What did you do to him? What did you do to him?”
I had watched in frozen horror as my mother administered CPR, even though she was sobbing hysterically and calling his name. She told me to go call 911, but I couldn’t move. I was stuck there on the floor, like an old piece of chewing gum.
When it had finally became apparent to her that he was not coming back, her head dropped onto his unmoving chest and she’d wept, saying his name ov
er and over. I don’t know how long it was like that, how long my mom was draped over her dead husband’s body weeping, or how long I sat like a statue on the floor. When Mom had finally sat up, she looked down at the body that had been my dad only an hour before, and then looked at me.
Her eyes and voice were dead when she spoke, as dead as the corpse on the floor.
“You’re a monster.”
That was all she’d said before she’d gotten up and walked out of the room.
That night, I’d overdosed for the first time.
“You kept asking me what I did,” I said to my mom now. “You called me a monster.”
She shook her head as she stared wide-eyed at me. “I…I was distraught. I…I didn’t mean…”
“Doesn’t matter what you meant,” I said with a shrug. “You weren’t wrong. I was a monster. I didn’t slit his throat or put a bullet in his heart, but I killed him just the same.”
“Mayson, no. I—” She was cut off by the loud, obnoxious ringing of my phone.
Turning my back on her, I plucked the phone out of my bag and answered.
“Mayson,” Grant said, sounding concerned. “I’ve been waiting for your phone call. Are you okay?”
I took a deep, cleansing breath before answering. There was no way he wouldn’t hear the tears in my voice, but I wanted to sound stronger than what I felt.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call you,” I said. “I’m at my mom’s, but I’ll be home shortly.”
There was a short pause. “Are you okay?” he asked again, slower and more demanding.
“I’ll be better when I get home.”
“Then come home now.”
“Okay, I am,” I promised.
“Be careful driving here. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“And Mayson?” Grant said quickly before I could end the call.
“Yes?”
His voice dropped, low and caressing. “Do me a favor before you go.”
“What’s that?”
“Smile.”
It was such a stupid thing to say. How would he even know if I smiled or not?
Despite everything, despite my altercation with Emilio Salvador, my meeting with Caine, and the intensely emotional conflict with my mother, the smile did come. It was minuscule, barely there on my lips, but it was genuine.
I was hardly surprised when Grant could sense it over the phone.
“That’s better,” he said, satisfied. “I’ll see you in a little bit.”
I stood there for a moment, staring down at my phone, still wearing my tiny smile. Grant always had the ability to make me feel better, no matter the circumstances. More than anything, I wanted to snap my fingers, or click my heels together and be home with him instantly.
“Mayson,” Mom said my name tentatively.
My smile disappeared, my back stiffened. I turned around as I put my phone back into my pocketbook and pulled the strap up my shoulder. I realized that I hadn’t even taken my coat off, even after my mom had offered me tea.
“About your dad,” she started.
“I’m done talking,” I said, talking over her. “All I want to do right now is go home to my boyfriend, my kids, and my dog. I don’t want to be here arguing with you all day.”
“I don’t want to argue with you either, but—”
I held my hand up. “No, Mom. I’m done. I literally cannot do this anymore. I just want to go home.”
Reluctantly, she nodded and blinked back more tears. “Okay.”
She followed me to the front door and stood in the open doorway despite the cold air outside as I began to walk away. I paused after a few steps, however. I let out a slow, shaky breath and turned.
“If...if Taylor wants to, she can come stay with us next weekend. Natalie will be thrilled. Alex will pretend that he’s not, but then follow her around. He’s in that weird prepubescent stage where girls are equally gross and fascinating.”
To my surprise, my mom let out a breathy laugh that was part sob. Wiping at her tears, she said, “I’m sure she will love to visit. Thank you, Mayson.”
I fidgeted with the straps of my bag as I stood rooted to the sidewalk.
My relationship with my mother had been broken for as long as I could remember. Although we had said more to each other in an hour than we had said in years, nothing was resolved. We were still broken. I would need days—if not longer—to fully assimilate our exchange. Nearly everything she said was in direct opposition to the ideas and beliefs that had played a substantial role in the person that I had been for most of my adult life. It was as if after years of seeing my reflection in a mirror, I was for the first time discovering that I had ears, a nose, and hair. It had all been there the entire time, every time I had looked in the past, but I hadn’t paid enough attention. It was like I had ignored sound, smell, or the feeling of my hair on my neck. I only knew what I wanted to know, and nothing more.
For the first time since I was a small child, I believed that my mother loved me. It fixed nothing, but…maybe it was a start.
I walked back up the brick steps before I could lose my nerve, and embraced my mom. She let out a small noise of surprise, but then she put her arms around me, returning the embrace. I counted to five before releasing her. I got into my car and drove away without looking back.
Chapter Twenty-Four
By the time the police got around to following up on my Post-It note, Emilio Salvador was gone, but I knew that long before they did. Grant had numerable resources thanks to his line of work. Kyle had an impressive amount of resources as well because he was a creepy stalker.
Neither man would admit to it, but I had a feeling that Grant and Kyle and their cronies had made Emilio feel very uncomfortable. A week after our altercation, he “suddenly fled the area.” According to my protectors, Mr. Salvador was in San Antonio, Texas. It was easy for him to blend into a city of almost one and a half million people, and if he were desperate enough, it would be nothing for him to flee back to his motherland, Mexico.
“There are ways to bring him back here,” Grant said.
“For what?” I asked, frustrated. “The only way that guy is going to do any time for his crime is if he admits to doing it, and that is highly unlikely. They can take all of the DNA they want from him and it won’t matter. There’s nothing left to compare it to.”
“You’re just going to let him go?” Kyle asked, scowling.
“It’s not that I’m letting him go, but I don’t want to fight a battle I have no chance of winning. It would be so much trouble to bring him back here, and then so much more trouble trying to convince the authorities that vag nodule raped me. I wouldn’t even be able to definitively say that I saw his face during the incident because I don’t remember. I don’t remember because I was on drugs. At this point, Emilio Salvador isn’t my biggest problem in this situation. I don’t think he’ll be coming back to the area anytime soon, and if he did, at least I know what he looks like. I have no idea who the other men are.”
“Maybe Salvador will tell us who the others were,” Kyle suggested.
“Why would he? What could he have to gain from telling us who those guys are? Besides, naming them would be as good as admitting guilt, and that’s not going to happen. In an alternate universe where such a thing could happen, it really wouldn’t help my case at all. Then it will be the word of multiple people against mine. Not to sound repetitive or anything, but there’s no evidence of my rape.”
Both men stood across the island from me, beefy arms crossed, frowning, and exuding machismo. They did not like my decision. They wanted something to be done. They wanted justice for me, and I wanted it, too, but it wasn’t going to happen.
“Look,” I said, sighing. “For the rest of my life, I will look into a stranger’s face and wonder if he raped me. Any man that looks at me a second too long, or smiles at me, or approaches me, I will think ‘is he one of the men that raped me?’ Whenever I run into any guy I knew back the
n, I become terrified, because I don’t know if they raped me. I’ll never stop being afraid.”
Grant and Kyle began to speak at the same time, but I put my hands up to quiet them. They did so grudgingly.
“I’ll never stop being afraid,” I repeated carefully. “But I’ll never stop being pissed off, either. My rape case was ultimately disregarded because I was a junkie. It’s the same as suggesting that a prostitute can’t be raped, or a porn star or stripper can’t be raped. There are people in authority who believe that women cease having the right to say no if they are any one of those things. Every life matters. Every woman matters.”
The men looked at each other and then at me.
“So, what are you going to do?” Grant asked.
I reached into my bag on the stool beside me. A moment later I placed a flash drive on the counter. It wasn’t just a flash drive, though. It was a recorder, and it had been in my bag when I’d gone to the police station to speak with Detective Caine. Having a sneaky, spying bounty hunter as a boyfriend, and a stalker as a best friend really pays off.
“I am going to make the authorities accountable for the way rape victims are treated. I may not ever get justice for what happened to me, but maybe I can help someone else get it. Maybe if I help enough people, it will almost be the same as receiving my own justice.”
Grant nodded his head and stared at me thoughtfully.
“I am with you one hundred percent,” he said. “But you do understand that this can get ugly, don’t you?”
“I agree,” Kyle said, nodding his head as well. “Not just with the police, medical staff, and social workers and the like, but people, in general, have very strong opinions about this sort of thing. Every time some kind of rape case makes it to the media, the presumed victim is attacked by the public. The same media that reports on it is the same media that picks apart the accuser’s story. I don’t know how big you’re hoping to go with this, but that’s the kind of thing you may be facing.”
For several seconds, we were all silent. I knew that they weren’t trying to discourage me, but they were asking me without asking if I was able to handle the firestorm that was sure to come. A year ago, I wouldn’t have been able to handle it. Six months ago, I wouldn’t have considered doing this at all. I didn’t care about other people, or, at least, I tried very hard not to care about other people. I would have only been concerned with my own difficulties, and I would have totally judged anyone in my current position.
