by Ava Harrison
No.
Yes.
How can I doubt him?
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
He opens the door.
His brows are drawn, his eyes hollow. He looks hurt. Wounded. And I feel awful. I don’t fear him. I love him.
“Are you coming in?” His words break and there is no doubt this is my doing. What I said is causing him damage and pain.
What did I do?
I nod.
He steps away to give me distance. He doesn’t touch me. It breaks me apart. Rips and shreds my soul.
When we sit, he buries his face in his hands and the laceration tears further inside of me.
“Will you let me tell you the real story, or have you already damned me?”
I don’t answer; I can’t because he’s right. I have. I have damned him, condemned him without hearing his side, and it’s awful. A screech echoes through the space. I jolt at the sound, but it’s only Carson pushing his chair back. He stands, not speaking, and I watch as he sulks away. Where is he going? Am I being dismissed? A rustling of paper comes from his bedroom and then he reappears, eyes red and glassy. He thrusts a few news clippings in my face. I take them with shaking hands. There are three.
“This is the original article, the story that was leaked right after the incident. It wasn’t the real story. It doesn’t tell everything. Read the other two.” I look down and then back at him. Lowering the clippings, I emit a deep breath.
“Tell me.”
“Why should I?”
“Because even though I didn’t hear you at first, you deserve the right to tell your story. And even though I was wrong to attack you, I still deserve to know. I deserve the truth. Your truth. No matter what that means.”
He tilts his head back in thought, then looks down without meeting my gaze.
“I told you I got in trouble, but not the extent. It’s hard for me to talk about. I thought you understood and respected that. I thought I could withhold that part of myself. But I realize now you’re right.” His chin tilts up, his eyes penetrating mine. “For this to work you need to know every part of me, trust me and not fear me.”
“I don’t fear you.”
“Yes, you do. And you have every right to. You have seen me lash out.”
“That’s different. It was deserved.”
“Regardless, you have the right to be scared. Without knowing my side of the story, hearing or reading about my past must have terrified you. But I swear on everything, my violence was justified.”
“You’re not a horrible person.”
“I am.” He lets out a sigh. “You know I had no guidance in my life. You know my parents weren’t around often, that I was raised by nannies. But that’s not the whole story. There’s more. So much more. See, my parents were around. Not often, but not as little as it became. When I was little they were there. They would take me with them. But then life got stressful and my father started to take his worries out on us. At first it was just yelling, then it escalated . . . a lot.”
“Oh, God,” I gasp and shake my head, not wanting to believe what I think he’s about to tell me.
“When a teacher mentioned a bruise on my arm to my mom, they decided to leave me home. At home, my father was okay. Maybe not okay, but better. But sometimes on the trips . . . Well, they were stressful. Listen, Lynn. I don’t want you to fear me. I would never hurt you.”
“I know.”
“But I also need you to know. They decided to leave me home when they left, and then it became more and more often. It soon became that they were away more than they were not. As I got older I got angrier and angrier. They had abandoned me. Left me to fend for myself.
“I lashed out. I picked on kids in my class. Then I picked fights with them, and as I grew older it escalated, just like my dad, until I found myself fighting more than I wasn’t. I was the hothead. The kid with anger issues, abandonment issues. I never let anyone get close. I barely had friends. I was a loner. I was in trouble all the time. But there was no discipline. No one to make me change, and I was too damn foolish to want to change. One night I went to a party and I got into a fight. A bad one. One that should have ruined me. I was arrested, but the papers had it wrong.”
“So, you didn’t put someone in the hospital.” Please say you didn’t. Please say this was all a big misunderstanding.
“Oh, I did. And I did want to kill him.” There was an edge to his voice. One I had never heard before. It caused a wave of chills to shoot through my extremities.
“I don’t . . . I don’t understand,” I stutter out.
“It was self-defense.” His expression grows even more serious.
“But—” I peer up at him, imploring with my determined gaze. I need to know everything.
“Not of me. I walked in on a guy I went to school with trying to rape a girl. His name was Mark Bishop.” A chill ran up my spine. The other name from the article Matt gave me. “She was drugged, unconscious on the bed. I saw red, and once I started I couldn’t stop. Someone called the cops. The story was leaked that there was a fight. That I tried to kill him, and I did, Lynn. You need to understand that I did want him dead, but it wasn’t a fight over a girl. I was trying to save her.”
My mouth hangs open. I can’t speak.
“You have to understand. Growing up . . . ” He pauses and takes a deep breath. “God, it wasn’t just me he hurt. He hurt her, too.”
He doesn’t say who he’s talking about but I know. I know without a doubt in my bones. He’s talking about his mom. About his own twisted youth. About all the anger he holds, and the stress he puts on himself to be better. All of his comments start to make sense. He’s not afraid to be arrogant. He’s not afraid to be hated. He’s afraid he will turn into his abusive father. I think back to the day in the kitchen when he’d left so abruptly. The bruises . . . He thought he hurt me. He thought he was becoming his father.
His finger reaches out, gently catching my falling tears, and then his hand trails down until he reaches my jaw. He lifts my chin and our eyes lock. “Look at me. I promise you. I promise I will never hurt you. I will never be him.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you crying?”
“Because you had to live with that. I-I never imagined it was that bad. I knew you were abandoned like me. But I never knew. I just . . .” I stop as my lids blink out another wave of tears. “I just never . . . I never thought you would hurt me. I-I-I’m not scared of you. I could never be. But why didn’t you tell me?”
“I worried you would think I was a monster if I told you—and you did. In the end, you found out and you saw the truth. I was a monster. Maybe I still am. I don’t know. I just don’t want you to look at me the way you did tonight.” I shake my head.
“I don’t. I could never.”
“But you did. After the fights. After the anger. You did.” I move my hand to cover my face, hiding the tears pooling in my eyes. I lower it, still wet, to his hand, and he flinches at the contact.
“No. No, Carson. I was wrong. You are not a monster. That man . . . The man you beat up . . . He was a monster. Your father . . . He was a monster. You. You, Carson, could never be one.” He shrugs. He doesn’t believe me. Taking his hand, I lift it to my mouth and kiss each knuckle. Each bruised knuckle, one by one.
“You are not a monster, and you never will be.”
“How do you know?”
“I won’t let you.”
“What will you do to stop me?”
“I’ll protect you.” I say it with conviction. Strong, without a hint of hesitation. “That’s what it means to love. Neither of us was shown love by our parents, but I’ve seen it. I’ve seen it with Bridget and her family . . . Well, with my family.” My eyes flood again. “I’ve seen the love they are capable of. Protecting each other, loving each other. You’re my family. You’re my home. I will protect you with everything I have.”
“And I, you.” He pulls me to h
im, crushing his lips to mine. “I don’t know.” Kiss. “What I did to.” Kiss. “Deserve you.” Kiss. “But I’m never giving you up.”
“Not ever?”
“Not ever.”
We continue to kiss, our lips saying every word in our hearts. And when our lips aren’t enough, he strips me of my clothes and makes love to me, right there on the couch. Tears stream down my face as he loves me with everything he has. As he shows me everything and tells me everything that no words could ever say.
“Wow,” I pant out once I come down from my high. He lets out a chuckle and we simply lay in each other’s arms until our breathing regulates.
Sometime later, we prepare dinner, set the table and then eat. When we are done, I think about what I said before, about family. About being home.
“Carson,” I say from across the room as he washes the dishes. He looks over his shoulder.
“Yeah?”
“I was thinking. I think I’m going to tell him.” He puts down the dish and turns around, pulling out a towel to dry the counter. He studies me for a minute. The blue of his eyes widens slightly.
“You’re going to tell him?” he finally says.
“Yeah. I’m ready.” At my words he gives a nod.
“Do you want me to go with you?”
“Yes, but . . .” I trail off. As much as his presence would calm me, he can’t be there.
“I understand. This is something you need to do alone.”
“Are you mad?”
“Not at all. I feel the same way about everything with me. So, I understand.” My lungs expel the air I didn’t even realize I was holding. “I found a group, and they also referred me to a specialist . . . to speak to.” He threads a hand through his hair.
“That’s good.”
“Yeah. I think it is.” His head cocks to the side and I smile.
“I’m really proud of you.” He smirks. “Is it weird for me to say that?”
“Not at all. I feel the same way about you. You have grown so much this year, Lynn. From the girl I met that day on the beach, to the woman you are now. It’s quite remarkable. With everything I am, I know you can handle whatever happens with your father—no matter what. No matter what gets thrown our way, you and I will handle it.”
“Now I just have to bite the bullet.”
“You will. You just have to decide when.”
“I don’t know, maybe this week sometime. Maybe next week. Bridget says they are all going out to see a play in a few weeks, but her dad isn’t going along. She asked if I wanted to take his ticket. I think I’ll visit him then. That way, in case he doesn’t take it well . . .”
“He will.”
“But in case he doesn’t, I don’t want Bridge to know quite yet. And depending on how he reacts, if all goes well, he can help with that. We can do it together. And if all goes to shit, you’ll help me?”
“Of course. But have faith. It’s like the story I told you. You’re Artemis. You, like her, are a warrior and her greatest strength was her courage. No matter what happens you will be okay.”
A WEEK PASSES. I STILL haven’t told Sam he’s my dad. I still haven’t told Bridget she’s my sister, either. Every time I’m ready to tell her, something happens—she has someplace to be or I chicken out. Truth is, it’s because I have to tell him first and that’s the hard part. Ever since my mom left to go to the Hamptons, I’ve been hiding at Carson’s place. I’m not sure when she’s due to return, but until she does I’ll continue to live in my pretend bubble where everything is okay. Basically, I’ll ignore all the shit I’m supposed to deal with until she’s back, and spend all my free time with Carson. Sounds like a good plan to me. Speaking of . . . Where is he? He went to get us a snack twenty minutes ago and hasn’t returned.
Pulling on a robe, I head toward the kitchen, but never make it there. Halfway down the hall I spot him sitting at his desk in his office typing furiously on the computer.
“Hey.” I step in and he peers up at me and then back down the screen. Okay. “What are you doing? Or working on, for that matter.”
Without looking up, his voice drifts through the air above the sound of his fingers hitting the keyboard. “I know what I want to do.”
“What?” I have no idea what he’s talking about.
“I figured it out.”
“I don’t understand?” He motions me closer. I step behind him and peer at his screen.
“I’m going to do it. I’m going to use some of my trust fund to start a boys’ club.”
“Where did that come from?” I knew he loved spending time with the kids, but to open a club and manage it?
“It’s something I need to do.” He hesitates for a minute, and every breath catches in my throat as I wait for him to explain. “Growing up, I needed this, Lynn. I had no one for so long. It wasn’t until almost the end of high school that I found my outlet. This. Opening this club for boys like me. I need to do it.” I watch him warily for a minute to discern if this is the right move for him, but when he peers into my eyes, I see it. This is what he’s meant to do.
“Then let’s do it.” He pulls me onto his lap.
“Thank you for believing in me.” It’s all he says before he captures my mouth. These words from his lips are everything and more.
The next day I receive a text from my mom that she’ll be home later that evening. The wedding is back on so she needs to be in the city. Obviously staying at Carson’s is out of the question, so I reluctantly head back home. Later that evening as I lay in my bed flipping through the channels, I hear someone knock at the door.
I swing it open without even checking.
Big mistake.
Matt. I try to slam it shut, but he thrusts his foot in to block it before I can. The door shoves back open and I stumble back. The smell of booze wafts out at me. He’s drunk . . . again. I don’t know what his obsession is with me, but this is getting old and a little scary.
“What do you want now? Haven’t you caused enough problems?”
“Don’t you know?”
“No. No, I don’t. Other than you trying to make my life miserable, I’m not sure what you want.”
“I want you back.”
“Again with this nonsense,” I huff out. “Why the hell do you want me back now?”
“I don’t want him to have you.”
“What the fuck are you going on about? Why can’t he ‘have me’?” I air quote. “Why do you care? What is your sick obsession with him?”
“No obsession. I just don’t like the prick.”
“What are you still doing home? Shouldn’t you be back at school?”
“I was placed on academic suspension.” Great. “So now I’m back.”
“But that doesn’t answer the question. Why are you harassing us? What is your vendetta with Carson? What’s your obsession with me?”
He steps into me; my back hits the wall behind me. His breath is in my face, the smell of tequila so strong I swear I can taste it.
“Well, that’s easy. He stole what’s mine and then he stole my life. Now I want to take one back.” His hand snakes out and grasps my wrist. The sharp bite on my skin makes my eyes water.
His other hand runs up the side of my hip and I swear I feel the bile collect in my throat.
“Take your hands off me.”
“Now, why would I do that?”
“Because this . . . This isn’t you, Matthew. I don’t know what’s going on with you. But this isn’t the guy I dated. The guy I was with didn’t drink like this. He didn’t hurt and scare girls.”
“What would you know about anything?”
“What happened to you? Why are you—”
“Like you don’t know. Like you didn’t put him up to it.” His hand tightens. If he applies any more pressure, I’m sure it will break.
“Put who up to what?”
“Don’t play dumb. I know you know. I know you told him to tell my father I was trespassing on school property, that I w
as touching you.”
“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Mr. Blake. Your Mr. Blake ran to my father. Told him the school decided not to press charges.”
I shake my head in confusion.
“After being expelled from college, that was just the ammunition he needed. He cut me off. Canceled my credit cards. I had to crash at a friend’s place. I have nothing. I lost everything because of you.” The throbbing in my wrist is screaming at me to pull away.
“I tried to get your boy fired, but lo and behold, my plan didn’t work. But maybe this plan will.”
“What plan?”
“To hit him where it actually hurts.”
“And where’s that?”
“With you. I wonder how he’ll feel knowing I fucked his girl.” His tongue jets out and licks his lips. “Will he even want you afterward? Two birds with one stone, don’t you think.”
“I’m not going to fuck you. You’re delusional and drunk.” I try to push him away; my wrist feels like millions of tiny shards of glass as I use my weight to pull back. If it’s not broken it’ll be a miracle. He tightens his hold on my wrist, levering it down to block me in.
His free hand reaches out and grabs hold of my shoulder, and then begins to trail down my torso until it rests on the waistband of my pants.
My eyes lock onto his, but the smoldering stare he gives me has me frozen in front of him, not able to form words from my fear. I don’t know what this Matt is capable of.
My heart hammers inside my chest as panic starts to grip me. I wonder if he’s drunk enough that if I kick him or hit him, I can knock him off.
Just when I’m developing a plan, the door swings open and I let out a deep breath. Surprisingly, it’s my mother. I’m not sure what she’s doing or what she sees. Her eyes narrow as if she thinks she’s walked in on something. I silently plead with her to see me. To see what’s behind my eyes.
She looks me up and down, and then her gaze trails to where he’s clutching me.
He loosens his grip but maintains his hold. “What is going on here?” With one step she is in front of us, pulling my hand from his. Angry red splotches paint my wrist. “What are you doing touching my daughter?” There is venom in her voice. “I’ll say this one time and only one time. No one touches Lynn. I know people. I know a lot of people, and if you ever lay a hand on her again, one phone call and you’ll be arrested faster than you ever thought possible.” Her teeth are clenched as she grits out the words. Each syllable lashes out like an attack. My mouth hangs open in shock. The air simmers with tension and Matt’s eyes are wide in disbelief. He steps back from me.
