John wrapped his arms around my body, smothering my still-thrashing fists. He held me tightly like I was a baby, and he was the swaddling blanket. I struggled to break free, but he wouldn’t loosen his hold. My movements weren’t doing any damage to him, it seemed; however, I was starting to hurt myself.
“Come home,” he entreated. His lips were on the top of my head. I could feel his heart pounding as fast as my own. I hated being that close to him in that moment—hated the familiarity and ease with which he held me.
“No,” I cried. “I won’t.”
I felt him shake his head. With a grunt, he threw me over his shoulder like a sack of goat feed and lugged me to the car. I kicked and flailed and shouted the whole way. With a plop, I landed in the passenger seat. John reached over and buckled me in while enduring the onslaught of punches and expletives I threw his way.
After closing my door and sliding into the driver’s seat in record time, he said, “Listen, you just have to sit there and breathe, okay? I’m going to take you home, and you can talk to me or not talk to me when we get there. Suicide by lightning is not an option.”
If I’d reverted to acting childishly around him, I would have stuck my tongue out. As if I would just roam around, hoping to be struck by lightning. And how dare he use the word suicide.
We rode in silence the whole way home. I attempted to hide the fact that I was shivering in my soaked clothing. John must have been just as cold because he was drenched, too. From the corner of my eye, I could see beads of water sliding down John’s face. Occasionally he wiped his hand across his forehead or through his hair to catch the droplets. He turned the car’s heater on full blast, aiming both middle vents in my direction. If he thought he was getting any gratitude from me for his chivalry, he was wrong. He could freeze for all I cared.
I turned the vent on my far side so that it shot the warm air directly at my face. The air in this car certainly worked better than the air did in John’s piece of junk truck. Whose car was this anyway? I hadn’t given it much thought earlier when John appeared in a random vehicle; I was too busy trying to get away from him. I’d forgotten that I’d left his truck back at the grocery store. This car was completely new to me. From the markings on the inside, I could see it was some model of Toyota. It was pretty nice, too. Newer than John’s truck. Cleaner, too. How had he gotten this? And how did he know to come looking for me?
Well, if he’d been the one to share my secrets and give away my location, he’d know this was coming. Maybe he was feeling guilty about his betrayal, and that’s why he’d come to rescue me. I silently fumed as I stared out the front window. Watching the steady back and forth of the windshield wipers was the only thing keeping me from falling apart. John was responsible for all of this. I could think of no other explanation. He had betrayed my trust, and for what? In my periphery, I could see him glancing at me. I didn’t acknowledge it. He was driving me home, but I didn’t have to like it or give him the satisfaction of questions and answers. After he dropped me off, I would never have to see him again. There was no need to explain myself or ask for an explanation. John was nothing to me now.
The drive home was surprisingly short. It was amazing how rage could erase the passage of time. John parked the car and asked, “Do you want to talk now?”
“I believe not talking to you was an option.” My voice was emotionless, almost eerily so, considering all I wanted to do was punch John in his smug face. It didn’t look smug now, though. It looked hurt.
How could I have let this happen? I’d allowed myself to be vulnerable with him. The guy was practically a stranger to me. I’d told someone I barely knew my darkest, most personal secrets. What did I expect would happen? He probably sold my story to scrounge up some money to get out of this town because he had to want to get out of this town. Why wouldn’t he? There was only one movie theatre and one grocery store. Maybe the other locals were okay with that, but John had gone to New York for school. He knew what he was missing. A nice chunk of cash for selling an exclusive on Chastity Sullivan could probably cover the rest of his college costs.
“Chastity,” he rubbed his forehead with both hands, “please tell me what’s wrong. I mean, aside from the obvious...” I assumed he was referring to the reporters. “Why are you angry with me? What did I do?”
I laughed without a trace of humor. “What did you do? That’s a great question! What did you do? Why were those reporters at the store? How did they know where to find me? How did they know everything, John? I mean everything! They knew about the suicide attempt, they knew about the abuse. I’ve never told anyone about that except you. So, what did you do?”
“I... You think I had something to do with that?”
“Seems the most likely scenario.”
He balked. “Why would you think that? What could I possibly gain from that?” His expression looked like I’d just gut-punched him.
My resolve faltered when I saw his face, but outrage triumphed in the end. “Money, obviously. Those assholes will pay big bucks for dirt on someone like me. Maybe you were sick of working on a farm; maybe you wanted to make some money to go back to school. I don’t know why you did it. All I know is I was your cash cow.” The irony of the phrase was not lost on me, even in that state.
His jaw dropped so far I thought it might detach. “I would never! Chastity, how could you think I would ever sell you out? After all we’ve done, talked about...”
“Well, I never told anyone else,” I hissed. “You are the only person who knew everything, and now they know everything.”
“I never told anyone, Chas, I swear.” He got quiet for a moment, and I could see he was leaving something out. “Except...” he paused and bit his lip, “except... I told my mom.”
“You told your mom?” I screeched.
“Yes.” He winced.
“When?”
“After I stayed with you while Ken and Martha were at the hospital. I tell Mom everything. And I didn’t know what to do. I was falling for this girl who had gone through so much and had tried to kill herself, and I was scared. I didn’t know how to help you. I was a therapy kid, remember? My mom went through all of that with me, and I thought she might know how I could help you.”
Normally, John admitting to falling for me would have sent me into a state of euphoria, but I could barely think about that now. This wasn’t the confession I was expecting, but I was still livid. How could he tell his mom so casually, without even asking me first? I didn’t want his mother knowing my history, which seemed like a moot point now that everyone was going to know.
“So... she knew when I went to your house for dinner? Is that why she was so nice to me? She didn’t want to upset the damaged girl?”
John shook his head. “Don’t be ridiculous. She liked you. She doesn’t see you that way.”
“Now I’m ridiculous?” I’d had enough of this conversation, so I threw open the door in an attempt to jump out of the car. My seatbelt caught me and momentarily knocked the little breath I had left out of me. I fumbled to unbuckle and finally got out of there, not bothering to close the door.
“Chastity,” John yelped as he got out of the car, too. “I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have told her. It wasn’t my story to tell. But I promise you—”
I whirled around toward him and cut him off, “Stay away from me.”
“Chas...”
“I never want to see you again.”
“Chastity, please,” John begged as I ran up the stairs.
I didn’t look back. I couldn’t see him breaking down. It would test my resolve, and I wanted so badly to hate him. I stumbled into the house, hoping it was the last I’d see of John and praying that it wasn’t.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
I was on suicide watch again after that. My time was spent in bed or in the bathroom. I wouldn’t eat. I just slept. I was disturbed that Kenny and Martha were so worried about me. I tried to kill myself once. Now every time anything dramatic happened in my life
, they automatically went into panic mode. Dying wasn’t a goal of mine. It was a brief lack of sanity that pushed me over the edge that one time. I wanted to live more than ever now; although, I wasn’t sure why since things in my world were in an endless cycle of broken and fixed.
I was reminded of a broken vase prop I’d used on the set of Where’s Rosie. My character had been playing catch in the house—a strict violation of the rules—and had broken a family heirloom vase. Rosie tried to glue it back together to avoid getting caught, but the repair job was terrible. The cracks were too visible, and the vase ended up breaking a second time from the slightest tremor of a passerby. That was a pretty good metaphor for my life. I was continually gluing my pieces back together until the slightest dilemma broke me again. And my cracks were more visible than ever before.
One morning while I was pretending to sleep, Aunt Martha came into my room and rummaged through my things. With one eye peeped open, I watched as she pulled a pair of tweezers and two disposable razors out of my bathroom bag. Yeah, I was literally on suicide watch. I should have been offended that they’d think I’d go to that extreme again.
Why were Kenny and Martha so worried about me anyway? I was just this girl who came in and out of their lives at random. Eventually, I would be out of their lives again, and we’d drift apart as we had before. What was I to them other than a nuisance? I thought about that—leaving them, leaving here. I longed for it and feared it at the same time. Going back to L.A. seemed so effortless. I could fall back into my old patterns quickly and forget these past few disastrous months. It was the lie I often told myself while lying in bed: I could leave this place behind without a second thought. I could forget them. I could forget John.
Thoughts of John made my head swim. I loved him; I hated him. There was no balance between the guy I’d gotten to know and a guy who would sell me out to the tabloids. He was the only one who knew everything, though. Well, him and his mom. Had his mom sold my story? What was her motive? She liked me, allegedly. She was grateful to me, even. It seemed unlikely that she’d do such a thing. Then again, it seemed unlikely that John would do such a thing.
In my haste to blame someone, John had been the easiest target. And, in my soul-searching, I knew that was partly because our relationship frightened me. I had a habit of elevating guys to White Knight status and then letting them fall at the slightest provocation. It was a defense mechanism, my therapist once told me. It kept me from getting too close.
But if John was really the hero, then who had done this? Who were the other players in all of this? Kenny and Martha. It was impossible to believe that they would have sold me out to reporters, and they didn’t know all of that stuff anyway. Was it John’s ex-girlfriend Sandy? She faked friendship, but she clearly preferred John to her fiancé. That was obvious, wasn’t it? Or was I reading too much into all of that? Anyway, she caught the discrepancy in my name when we ran into her at the DQ. John had called me Chas, and she’d remembered I was Sissy—Chas, Sissy. Maybe she’d figured it out? Her fiancé thought I looked familiar. Maybe they’d talked about it after and put it all together.
My purse! When we ditched them, I’d forgotten it, and Sandy’s fiancé Whatshisname brought it to us. Could they have gone through my purse to confirm their suspicions? If they had, they would have seen my driver’s license. They would have known who I was. But they still wouldn’t know everything.
Then there was the old man at the grocery store. Bob? Bill? Billy Bob? He said he knew who I was, like, the whole time; and, there were probably others Kenny had commissioned to look out for me. Perhaps one of the townspeople wanted to make a quick buck at my expense. How would any of them have known about my past, though? Did John tell his mom in a place that wasn’t private? Did his mom gossip with a friend in a coffee shop? Was there even a coffee shop in this town?
I couldn’t think about it anymore. It made me sick to my stomach, and all I was doing was creating more questions than answers. Instead of thinking, I would sleep with the hope of waking in my Hollywood Hills home, and all of this would have been a horrible nightmare.
***
I lasted three days in bed without eating much before I was officially starving. I emerged from my room, clothes askew, hair disheveled, hissing at the light pouring into the living room like a vampire—Dracula, not Edward. Kenny and Martha were sitting at the kitchen table, working on another crossword puzzle. They sure did know how to have a good time. The floor creaked as I approached, and their heads jerked up in a synchronized motion. When they saw me, they jumped out of their chairs and ran to me.
“What is it?” Martha asked.
“Is everything all right?” Kenny joined.
I dispelled their concerns and told them I was fine, just hungry. Martha was relieved, of course. She had a tough time imagining anyone not wanting to eat.
“What would you like? I can make you something. We’ve got bacon, eggs, sausage, steak, oatmeal, coffee...”
“Oatmeal,” I answered. “Ooo, and coffee.” I missed coffee most of all.
Martha busied herself with putting my breakfast together while Kenny sat me down at the table. It was comical the way he was taking care of me. He pulled my chair out, said something along the lines of “Your chair, Madame,” and placed a paper napkin in my lap. Then he sat down in his own chair, rested his chin in his hands, and proceeded to stare at me silently.
I felt like some sort of science experiment or an animal being observed for behavioral purposes. It made me want to look anywhere but at Kenny. I scanned the kitchen. Everything was where it was three days ago. I looked around the living room. Nothing was out of place. Then I looked out the front window and froze. That car was out there. The one John had driven me home in.
“He’s not here, is he?” I panicked.
“Who?” Kenny asked, although he had to know to whom I was referring.
“John.”
He shook his head. “No. John’s not here, and he hasn’t come into the house since he brought you home the other day.”
I exhaled the breath I’d been holding. That was a relief. I meant it when I told him I never wanted to see him again. At least, I wanted to mean it. “Then whose car is that?”
Kenny followed my gaze out the window. “Oh, that? Uh... That’s yours.”
I snorted. “What? But, like, really... whose is it?”
Martha set a bowl of oatmeal in front of me. It smelled like maple and cinnamon. “It’s your car, Chastity.”
“We got it for you just before I had my little hospital stay,” Kenny admitted.
I frowned, calculating the time that had passed since. “That was weeks ago. Why didn’t you tell me you’d bought me a car? Don’t get me wrong, I’m super grateful. It’s just... I’ve been riding around in John’s deathtrap.” I cringed. I hated to say his name. That was two times, and I was afraid a third would conjure him.
“We got it for you in case of an emergency, but we weren’t quite sure you were ready for it,” Kenny said.
What did he mean by that? Sure, I hadn’t driven much in my life because I never really needed to, but I certainly would have been able to handle these empty back roads.
Kenny fidgeted with the placemat on the table before him. “We were afraid if you knew there was a car out there with your name on it, you might... run away.”
“Run away? Where would I go?”
“Back to L.A. To your mother,” Kenny answered as if it should have been obvious.
“My mother sent me here. She practically had to force me onto the plane. Why would I run away to her? She would have just sent me back. Return to sender.”
Martha took a seat at the table. “We were worried about you. We weren’t sure if you liked it here away from everything you were used to. But we believe it is the safest, healthiest place for you to be, given the circumstances. Chastity, Kenneth and I love you very much. We hope you know that.” Her eyes glistened, and I understood why she had been so thorough in her search
of my room.
“We hope you’ll stay with us, Chastity,” Kenny’s words croaked out.
Suddenly I felt emotional. “Of course I’ll stay. I’ve got nowhere else to go.” That wasn’t the most comforting response I could have given, but it was the truest.
“Well,” Martha gripped my hand, “we sure are glad you came here.” She dabbed at her eyes with the back of her fingers and attempted to regain her composure. “Now, nobody likes cold oats, so you eat up. You’ve got days of eating to catch up on.”
My stomach lurched as I eyed the bowl, and I wasn’t sure if I was hungry or queasy. “Let’s just take it slow.”
After a few spoonfuls of oatmeal, I was ready to talk about what had happened the other day. I needed answers, and I was hoping they’d have some. “The old man at the grocery store knows who I am. He told me he’s known the whole time.”
“What do you mean?” Martha asked.
“He knows I’m Chastity Sullivan, and he said he knows because Kenny told him I was staying with you guys. He said a few others might know, too.” I didn’t want to start accusing anyone of anything, but it was a pretty awful idea on Kenny’s part. Why would he have told anyone I was there when I was supposed to be in hiding?
“Well, come to think of it,” Kenny rubbed his neck, “I did tell a couple of friends you were coming. I figured they could help keep an eye out if you wandered into town or got lost or something.”
“Or ran away?” I eyed him warily. It made sense now. If Kenny and Martha were worried I’d run away, they would have spies at the ready. That was a completely different conversation about trust that I would save for a later date. Not that they had any reason to trust me when I’d shown up here after all those years. “Do you think somebody might have leaked my whereabouts? There has to be someone in town that is strapped for cash and maybe heard something through the grapevine.” I desperately wanted them to name any suspect that wasn’t John.
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