“Er, uh, yeah, I am.” I can’t keep the stammer out of my reply.
“Good.” His beady eyes darken as his hands move to his zipper. “Get over here. You know the drill.”
My feet don’t want to move, but I somehow walk over to him.
“On your knees little girl.” He puts his hands on my shoulders and shoves me hard to the floor.
My knees sting from the rough carpet. I reach into his pants, and close my eyes. He tastes like sour milk and this is when my daydreams begin.
My mind takes me away from this horrid place, into my fantasy world, where I can dance away all the dreadful things I’m going to have to do tonight.
By the time I leave, it feels like my insides have been stripped raw. Mikey is outside waiting and I give him the cash the man handed me. He snatches it away and counts it, then tosses me fifty bucks. That’s all I get for a night of horror. When I get back home, Mom’s waiting with her hand extended. After I hand over the money I climb into the hot shower and scrub the filth off of me until my skin is chafed. Then I brush my teeth and Listerine my mouth raw. But I never get the taste of those nasty men out. They linger with me for a long, long time.
The cheap sheets scratch my skin as I slide into bed. A tear escapes from my eye, though I do my best not to let it. This is the time I dread the most, because I’m alone with my thoughts and reminded of how messed up my life is. My dad doesn’t want me. My mom is a drug addict. I’m a high school drop-out. My dream of becoming a professional dancer is moving further and further out of my grasp.
When I quit high school earlier this year, it became apparent that going to any professional school was no longer attainable. Mom made sure of that. Whoring for her made keeping up with my school work impossible. And then there were those rumors flying around. I’d hang my head in shame everyday as the girls whispered about me and treated me like I was diseased. But not the boys. They flocked to me like ants on honey. They even cornered me in the stairwell several times and if someone hadn’t come by, I’m sure it would have ended up in something awful. So I decided it was time to bow out gracefully and withdraw from high school.
It would be nice if I had someone to talk to about all of this, but that’s never going to happen. Not with my current situation anyway. I burrow down into my hard nest of a bed and do my best to go to sleep. But all I can think of is a set of big beefy paws as they painfully pinch and squeeze me, and the tears finally gush out, while my aching body is wracked with sobs.
* * *
Chapter Two — Eighteen Months Ago
Reese
* * *
Even though my father’s face holds a smile, his eyes tell a different story. Disappointment, regret, and even scorn weigh me down as I look into them. It doesn’t matter that it’s closing night for the six month run of Shatter, the Metropolitan Ballet Company’s production that has blown New York City away. It makes no difference that the critics have been raving about me as the principal dancer since opening night. All that matters is that my chosen career isn’t the one he planned since the day I was born … I’m not the leading goal scorer at Madison Square Gardens.
But my mom … well, she turns on the high voltage and says, “Congratulations, darling! You were astounding!” Then she leans into me and whispers, “You were the best out there, dear.”
While I’d like to stand here and soak up their praise, my quads, hamstrings and calves scream for my attention. There’s not enough ice in all of Manhattan to calm them down.
Shatter has been running for six months now and my body is bruised, battered, and worn from the six-day-a-week punishing performances I’ve been putting in and I am ready for a badly needed break.
Unfortunately, I can’t help myself, and I snap under the heavy ache of my limbs. “Really Mother?”
Her eyes admonish me. “Of course, Reese. You know I think you’re the best.”
Before I can even say anything, my dad pipes in and says, “Son, excellent work. You were great.”
It’s easy to see by the evasion of his eyes that he’s not sincere. I’m no fool, but too bad. This is my love and I’m going to continue to dance for as long as my body will hold up.
“Reese, please,” my mom says. “I couldn’t be more proud of you than I am now.”
“Thanks, Mom. But I wonder if it’s only because I’m the principal. Would you have been this proud of me if I had only made it to that guy in the background?”
“Of course I would have. You’re my son and I love you.”
After locking eyes with her and staring into them for a few moments, I nod and say, “I love you too, Mom.” Then I turn to my dad and give him a nod and head to my dressing room to change and scrape the tons of goop off my face.
Tonight the troupe is going to party and party hard! It has been so long since any of us have been out, none of us can even remember the last club we entered.
The party is on and it’s as if we’ve brought the stage here. The only difference is our style is edgier than the classical one we recently performed. What would anyone expect though? The club’s crowd is enjoying the spectacle as we do our lifts and spins that aren’t usually found on the average dance floor. Some of the other patrons are even joining in with us and creating a sort of controlled mayhem. For the few of us males that aren’t gay, like myself, the women are all over us. And admittedly, I’m loving the hell out of it.
Selene, the female principal, glares at me as I dance with another woman. She and I have been sleeping together ever since Shatter opened. We’re not committed but we’re sort of an item, I suppose. Her jealous side peeks out tonight, but I choose to ignore it. I’m all about having a good time, and I don’t want to deal with her neediness right now.
Alcohol flows and I know that come tomorrow, I’m going to have one helluva a hangover. But right now, I don’t care because I am letting it hang loose and loving every minute of it.
“Selene,” I call out. She’s standing close to me, but ignores me. “Selene, let’s dance.” Again, no response. To hell with her. Her constant desire to be the center of attention annoys me. I’m positive my night of hot sweaty sex just went down the drain, but I’m high on alcohol and adrenaline, so I don’t give a damn. Grabbing another shot of tequila, I down it and head back out to the dance floor. The night speeds on and soon it’s last call.
“We’re out of here,” a part of the group calls out. We all fist bump and I watch as they pile into a cab. Selene and a couple other girls follow suit. She doesn’t say a word as she leaves. Heading to the bar, I settle my tab and I’m out the door too.
Since I live in Soho, where the club is, I only have a few blocks to walk home. It’s late September, and still fairly warm out so I figure the walk will do me some good.
The streets have emptied out and my ears still ring a bit from the loud music that played in the club. As I’m walking, I think about how pissed Selene looked … like she wanted to twist my balls off. So much for that easy piece of ass. Looks like it’s gonna be a hand job for me tonight. I pull out my phone thinking I’ll leave her a message before I realize she’ll probably pick up and have a few choice words for me. Since I’m not in the mood for that, I pocket the phone and dig into my pocket for my keys.
I have a decent buzz going so I never hear them approach until it’s too late. They slam me from behind and knock me to the ground. My usually quick reflexes are dulled from all the alcohol I’ve consumed so I’m slow to push myself up. By the time I make it to my hands and knees, they come at me from both sides and pummel me in the ribs with their fists and kick me. Pain explodes in my torso, with each crushing blow, taking my breath away along with the ability to inhale. I’m incapable of rolling over or moving my arms to block their attack. The option of defending myself has been stripped. I’m incapacitated from what my brain is telling me are broken ribs. But they don’t stop there. It happens so hard and fast I can’t roll over or even kick to fight back. Fireworks of agony ignite throughout my body. I
vaguely see something glint and it registers that one of them has a knife. My mind is so pain-addled by now, I don’t feel it when they stab me. But the final blow, the swinging of the baseball bat against my leg, is unmistakable. If I live through this attack, I know I’ll never forget that sound … the cracking and splintering of the bones in my leg.
The steady beeping of machines is constant background noise. It goes on and on and on until I want to yell. But I can’t because it’s impossible to speak. I’m caught in a strange dream. Or maybe it’s a nightmare. Like the kind where you’re being chased and you try to run but the harder you try, the slower you go. I want to speak but the harder I try, the more difficult it becomes. Sleep is intermittent. It’s a succession of dozing on and off. But what is brutally unceasing is the pain that pounds my body everywhere. Occasionally it’s dulled somewhat, but it’s always there, my enemy. I’m trapped in a vortex of it. It takes me down into its furthest depths and then spins me around so fast I want to beg for it to stop, but I can’t. My lungs won’t allow it. This must be hell because I can’t figure out where else I would be that could be so cruel.
“Reese. Reese, can you hear me?”
I have an argument with my eyelids because they insist on staying closed, but someone is trying to converse with me and it’s important for me to look at whoever it is. Finally, I persuade them to open and there is a middle-aged woman standing over me.
“Reese, my name is Helen and I’ll be taking care of you today.”
There seems to be a film over my eyes because her face is blurry. When I move my hands to rub them, they’re stuck. The harder I try, the more agitated I become.
“Stay calm, Reese. Your arms are strapped to the bed. We had to do that because you kept trying to pull the breathing tube out.”
Breathing tube? Why the hell would I have a breathing tube?
“You must be confused. I’ll explain everything to you. You’ve been in an induced coma for over a week now. You had an … incident. You were injured and you’re in the hospital. We just reduced your medicine so you’re slowly coming out of sedation.”
What the hell is she talking about?
“Don’t try to talk, honey. Your throat will be very sore for a few days from the tube. It’s best to go with it. We have you on pain medicine and the most important thing for you to do now is rest.”
Why would I need more rest if I’ve been in a coma for over a week?
She places her hand on my forehead but I want to brush it away. I don’t like strangers touching me like this.
“You’re safe here, Reese. Everything will be fine.”
Shifting my eyes so I can check out the room, I’m shocked to see all the machines surrounding me. Then I hear that damn beeping that’s been annoying the hell out of me.
“Try to stay calm, Reese. These are only monitors. No one is going to hurt you. You’re safe here.”
Why does she keep saying that? I swallow and my throat is on fire. Oh how I’d kill for some water.
“Water?” I croak.
“I’m sorry, honey. Nothing to eat or drink yet. But you’re getting adequate hydration through your IV.”
Can she squirt that damn thing in my mouth and unglue my tongue because it’s stuck somewhere inside? It’s impossible to win that fight with my eyelids so I doze off.
Would someone please turn off the fucking alarm clock? Who set the damn thing anyway? I know it wasn’t me. Wait, where am I?
When I raise my head, I see all those monitors again, but I’m alone. My head’s a bit clearer so I try to take it all in. There is so much shit in here, I can’t make heads or tails out of it. One’s for my heart rate and blood pressure. But there are other things too that I’m unfamiliar with. A large unit sits next to my bed with hoses coming out of it. And I see these clear tubes hanging off the bed with pink fluid in them. Nasty shit. Oh hell, there’s a tube coming out of my fucking nose too! What. The. Fuck. I’ve got wires and tubes everywhere! Panic floods me. The beeping on that machine escalates and a nurse runs in the room.
“What’s happening to me?” I ask. “Why am I here?”
My mom runs in next, takes one look at me and breaks down in tears.
“Mom, what’s going on?” No one says anything.
The nurse finally cracks the silence. “Reese, you were mugged and beaten. Badly. You almost died. You’ve been in the hospital for almost two weeks. You’ve had several surgeries, but you’re going to be fine. Do you hear me? You’re going to survive all of this. You’re in the ICU right now. But as soon as we can, we’ll move you to a private room.”
“Mugged?”
“Yes. Your attackers stabbed you and brutally beat you. Luckily, someone found you and called 911.”
My mom finally quits crying and says, “It happened on closing night.”
Again, I try to rub my face, but my wrists are strapped. The nurse sees this, she loosens the Velcro and frees my hands. When I move my arms, my torso feels like fire is shooting through it. I groan.
“It’s your ribs. Your rib cage was a mess. Your lungs collapsed. That’s why you have those chest tubes in you,” the nurse explains.
“Oh,” I say as I rub my face.
“That’s not all.”
It’s not so much as the words, but the way they’re said that makes me wary. My head swings to my mom, and her face is stricken with such sadness and pain, I know that whatever they’re about to tell me will ruin me.
“Do I have a spinal cord injury?” I know I can move my arms so maybe it’s from the waist down.
My mom shakes her head and says, “No, Reese, you don’t.”
“Oh, thank God. I thought you were going to tell me I couldn’t walk or dance again.”
My mom’s face pales. “Reese, you won’t dance again.”
“What? Why?”
Mom glances to the nurse and the nurse says, “Reese, the men who attacked you crushed your right leg. Your knee and femur were so pulverized that the doctors are hoping you’ll be able to walk unassisted again.”
Your knee and femur were pulverized … your knee and femur were pulverized … your knee and femur were pulverized. Hoping you’ll walk again … hoping you’ll walk again … hoping you’ll walk again …
Mom sits next to my bed, holding my hand. Like that’s supposed to make me feel better? The doctor made an appearance as the nurse was talking and said he hopes … yeah, he hopes I’ll be able to put weight on my right leg again. So much for my fucking career. I refuse to have visitors. Selene came by a few times, but I couldn’t stand to see the pity in her eyes. I’m a has-been when I barely got started. My life’s been ruined by some fuckfaces who wanted a few measly bucks and my credit cards.
The doctor also told me he’s going to begin weaning me off the morphine today. Great. Fantastic. Now I’m going to have to face this without the numbing effects of opiates. Apparently my stab wounds have healed sufficiently, along with the surgeries on my leg, that I can be transferred to a restorative unit. I can’t go home until I can demonstrate I’m able to move around on my own. How the hell will I be able to do that? My leg is in some kind of contraption with enough hardware attached to it I look like an Erector Set. Maybe the damn thing has a special button on it and it turns into a Transformer, making me a SuperCar or something. Who the fuck knows?
A snarly bastard is what I am. I don’t talk. I yell or growl. If anyone asks me something, I either give a sarcastic reply, or scowl at them. I’ve gone from Dr. Jekyll to Mr. Hyde. I’ve made my mom cry so many times now I don’t even care anymore. Why should I? I’ve been fucked. And it keeps getting worse. This hardware on my leg … no, wait. Let me amend that. They’ve just informed me the fucking hardware in my leg, will have to be removed. Well, some of it anyway. Screws, pins, bolts, and who knows what else … probably rebar for all I know. One more surgery added to the list.
And then the doctor in his smart ass way, says to me, that I should be thankful they didn’t have to amputate it. B
ecause apparently when they initially saw it, that was a strong possibility. Nice. Just perfect. And I’m supposed to be thankful? That a couple of motherfuckers destroyed my life. Really?
Oh, and Selene. Dear sweet Selene. Yeah, she dumped me. Didn’t want to hang around with someone who couldn’t keep up with her career. Bitch.
To read Secret Nights, check it out on my website here: https://amhargrove.com/books/secret-nights/
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For Other Books by A.M. Hargrove visit www.amhargrove.com/book/
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Adult Novels
The West Sisters Novels:
One Indecent Night (Spring 2019)
One Shameless Night (TBD)
One Blissful Night (TBD)
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The West Brothers Novels:
From Ashes to Flames
From Ice to Flames
From Smoke to Flames
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Stand Alones
The Hart Brothers Series Box Set (Including the bonus book Sabin: A Seven Novel): Freeing Her, Freeing Him, Kestrel, The Fall and Rise of Kade Hart, Sabin: A Seven Novel Page 148
