Gravity: A Novel

by L. D. Cedergreen

  “What do you mean by complicated?” he asked, lying down next to me.

  I looked up at the ceiling, contemplating how much to tell him. “I left Ryan. I walked in on him having sex with a woman from his office. In our bed.” I rested my arm across my face, feeling ashamed and embarrassed.

  “What did he have to say for himself?” Drew asked, his voice tense, tinted with anger as he leaned toward me.

  “Nothing. I literally walked out on him, and I haven’t spoken to him since.” I peeked at Drew’s face from underneath my arm. His jaw was tense, but his eyes were soft, etched with sadness.

  “I’m so sorry, Gemma. You deserve so much better than that.”

  I slowly brought my arm away from my face and turned on my side to face him. “That’s just it. As angry as I am, it’s just as much my fault as it is his. Our marriage has been strained for some time now.”

  “Do you still love him?”

  “Yeah. But I don’t know how to fix this. I don’t know if I can ever erase that image from my mind, the image of him with another woman.” I rolled onto my back again, feeling guilty for what I had done with Andrew. “And look at me. I’m no better.”

  Drew swept the hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear from where he now hovered over me, propping himself up with his arm. “Gemma, you are better than this. Last night was my fault. You had a lot to drink, and I should have left you alone. I just can’t help the way I feel when I’m around you. I was too weak last night to fight it.”

  I looked up into his blue eyes, his gaze so full of love and adoration. Drew pulled my heart in two separate directions. Part of me loved him, loved him in a way that I will never understand, the way a person loves someone who once shared her heart and soul, someone who knew all a girl’s faults and still loved her in spite of them. And the other part of me feared him. I feared what he represented, the painful memories that awakened in my mind in his presence, the resentment I had felt toward him for years threatening to resurface.

  “I should go,” I said, suddenly feeling overwhelmed.

  “Don’t go, Gemma. Stay with me, please. We can’t take back what happened last night. Can’t we just enjoy it a while longer?” He pulled me into his arms and held me.

  I couldn’t deny how natural it felt to be lying next to him, our bodies molded together. His touch ignited a fire inside me that had been burned out for too long, bringing the realization of just how dead I had been inside. I longed to feel alive once more, to see the world in color, to breathe again. I lay in his arms, feeling every beat of my heart, every breath that filled my lungs, fully aware of every newly awakened piece of myself . . . until I fell sleep.

  Seventeen

  I watched the dark beer bottle spin in the dirt, visible in the glow from the bonfire as I crossed my fingers in hope that it landed on me. It stopped, its long neck pointing toward Krista, a local girl with large breasts and a reputation to boot. I held my breath as I watched Drew lean forward and press his lips against hers. She was a little too eager to kiss Drew for my taste, and I felt confused by the jealousy that burned through my blood. Drew gave her the subtlest peck on the lips before pulling away. Her disappointment was palpable even from where I was sitting. Every kiss so far was subtle and innocent among the six of us who had dared to play spin the bottle, which was surprising with the amount of beer we were drinking.

  It was my turn. I twisted my wrist and released the bottle, watching it spin around and around, hoping that it landed on Drew. I was desperate to kiss him and watching him kiss Krista had only made me want him even more.

  “Oooh,” the girls swooned as the bottle pointed at Logan who sat to the left of me. I sat waiting for a friendly peck but soon felt Logan’s hand on the back of my head, drawing me closer as he devoured my lips with his own, prompting my mouth open. I felt his tongue slip inside and caress mine with expert skill. I got lost in his kiss until he pulled away moments later. I looked into his eyes as he sat back down in the dirt beside me, stunned that my friend had just kissed me like that.

  I was abruptly pulled from the trance that I was lost in when Drew stood up, mumbling, “What the hell?” He kicked dirt our way as he stomped off.

  I immediately stood and chased after him.

  “It’s just a game,” I heard Logan yell at us.

  “Drew? What’s your problem?” I asked when I caught up to him at the tree line. We were at a party in the clearing, a popular spot for a bonfire and a night of drinking. It was surrounded by the forest and very secluded, only accessible in an SUV by a narrow dirt path.

  He stopped to confront me, his face red and laced with anger. “What’smy problem? What was that all about?”

  “It’s a game, Drew. And that was all Logan. Not that it matters.”

  “You kissed him back. And it does matter,” he shouted.

  “And you kissed Krista, so what’s the big deal?” I shouted back. I was so confused by his anger, my anger—the whole conversation.

  “I didn’t kiss her like that,” he said, pointing toward the bonfire where our little game was being played.

  “So what?”

  He stepped closer to me, lowering his voice just a notch. “Don’t you get it, Gemma? Don’t you see what’s happening here?”

  “What?” I asked, feeling angry at him for shouting at me and causing a scene.

  “Forget it. I’m leaving. Why don’t you ask Logan for a ride home? I’m sure he’d be more than happy to give you one.” Drew stormed off, climbed into his Bronco, and disappeared into the trees, leaving behind a cloud of dust. I started to cry. I wasn’t sure why I was crying. I was so confused. I wasn’t sure if I loved Drew or hated his guts. I stepped into the forest, surrounded by darkness and leaned against a tree. I just needed a few minutes to compose myself before returning to the fire. I could hear the voices of my friends fading in the distance as nature engulfed me, offering the privacy that I needed in that moment. Why was Drew so mad at me? What was happening between us?

  I heard a branch snap behind me, but, before I could turn around, a hand clamped down over my mouth and a warm body pressed up against my back. The scream that escaped me was muted by his firm grip, but the fear swelled inside me—suffocating me as I struggled to breathe, fighting for every breath . . .

  ***

  “No, . . . no, . . . no . . .” I screamed.

  “Gemma, wake up, baby. Wake up.”

  I snapped open my eyes at the sound of his voice. Drew was shaking me awake. My body was covered in sweat, and I was trembling uncontrollably. He held me against his chest, rubbing his hand up and down my back, trying desperately to soothe me.

  “It was just a dream, Gem. Just a dream.”

  My sobs erupted from his words; it wasn’t just a bad dream. It was real, and my dreams were a vivid, detailed reminder of the nightmare that I had already lived through. He held me tighter while I cried. I was thankful for his comfort in that moment, but I knew that he was the reason it was all coming back again. His presence was too much, being here at the lake too much of a reminder.

  When my sobs subsided, leaving behind only hiccuplike bursts of air—always the ugly aftermath of an emotional breakdown—I pushed Drew away.

  “I’m sorry. I have to go,” I whispered, as I frantically searched for my clothes that were strewn throughout the room. I pulled on my pants—not bothering with my panties—and my wrinkled shirt that was in a heap on the floor. With my bra and shoes in hand, I raced out of the bedroom, grabbing my purse along the way as I left Monroe Manor. I ran down the driveway toward my cabin, my bare feet aching from the sharp rocks in the road. I didn’t let it slow me down. I reached my cabin—out of breath—and threw myself on my bed, hiding, in fear that Drew would follow me.

  As expected, I heard him pounding on the cabin door a moment later. “Gemma, open the door. Talk to me. Please,” he pleaded.

  Realizing that I wasn’t going to let him in, the knocking ceased.

  “I don’t know what t
hat was all about, Gemma. But I’m here for you, if you want to talk about it.” That was all I heard before he walked away.

  ***

  I spent the day in bed, nursing my hangover, mourning my infidelity. Part of me felt guilty that I had broken my vows, but another part of me relished in the awakening of my soul, revived by Drew’s touch. And I wondered if I could tell Drew my darkest secrets from that night, if I could trust him to be understanding without anger or judgment.

  The way he had turned his back on me when I had needed him the most was almost as painful as the nightmare itself. I don’t think that I could bear to lose him all over again. I feared the blame that he would direct toward me or the blame that he might place on himself. I knew all too well how the guilt would break him as it had me. I had blamed him for years until my therapist had helped me see who that blame belonged to. And yet it was still difficult to look at Drew and not think about the role he had played that night.

  If he hadn’t left me alone to cry in the woods, if he had trusted me enough to tell me how he felt in that moment rather than running away . . . But he was not the one who held me down against my will. He was not the thief who stole my virtue and my soul along with it; he was not the one who haunted my dreams. That was not Drew’s fault. No, the one who held the key to my torment—my nightmares—was not Drew.

  The blame belonged to his brother, William.

  Bile rose in my throat from the mere thought of his name. How could I tell Drew that his only sibling, his own flesh and blood had raped me that night, the night that changed all of our lives?

  The look of disgust and disappointment on Drew’s face the morning after haunted my dreams almost as much as William’s cold eyes. I had felt ashamed, dirty, but mostly broken as Drew said good-bye and stormed out of my life. Clutching a pillow to my chest, I tried to protect myself from the painful memories as I closed my eyes, succumbing to my exhaustion.

  ***

  It was finally morning, and I stepped out of bed, exhausted from a sleepless night of ghosted whispers and phantom, brutal hands as the memory played out over and over again in my mind. I had squeezed my eyes closed tightly throughout the night, clamping my hands over my ears, trying to block out the image of his cold dark eyes and the sound of his voice whispering in my ear. I had fought it the entire night to no avail, as it was impossible to see, feel, or hear anything other than what I had in those shattering moments that I feared would haunt me for an eternity.

  I took a long scolding-hot shower in hopes that I could wash his memory from my body. I scrubbed every inch of my skin until the raw pain was unbearable, and then I scrubbed some more. Even so, I could feel the filth on my skin, along with a sensation that it was seeping inside of me, through my skin, my body, my soul, leaving ruin in its wake. I pulled on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt and wrapped my wet hair into a loose bun.

  In a desperate escape, avoiding my mother’s questioning eyes and accusations, I ran to the beach. I sat in my favorite place, perched on the end of the dock, fighting against my despair. It wasn’t long before I heard Drew walking toward me. It was hard to miss the sound of water sloshing beneath the slabs of wood that were floating on the lake, announcing Drew’s approach.

  I didn’t turn to look at him, afraid that he would see the shame in my eyes. I wasn’t sure what to say to him, and I felt the anger then, brewing just below the surface, slowly building. Part of me felt in that moment that he was the reason that it had happened in the first place. Emotions were running rampant inside me, and I could not grasp any one of them. I could not discern what it was that I was supposed to feel or what I wanted to feel or what I was afraid to feel. I felt too much.

  Drew didn’t sit beside me like he normally would have. I could hear him sigh in the still of the morning, his frustration evident in his silent brooding from where he stood behind me. I was expecting him to continue where we had left off the night before, still angry about my kiss with Logan—a part of the evening that now seemed so trivial. What I didn’t expect was what he said next.

  “I can’t believe you, Gemma. Who are you? Obviously not the innocent girl who you led me to believe you were.” His voice, hardened by sarcasm, could not hide the bitterness. I had never heard him speak with such disdain. I whipped my head around so fast, I felt a jolt of nerve sensations travel from my shoulder to my ear.

  “William, Gem? Really? My own brother?”

  His words sucked the air out of my lungs. I felt as if I might collapse right here on the dock where I sat. Before I could find words to convey my confusion and anger at his allegations, he continued.

  “Don’t you get it? You’re not just my best friend, Gemma. I’m in love with you. I’m so in love with you, I can’t see straight. That should have been me.” He slapped his hands against his chest in anger as he shouted at me. “It should have been me!”

  I flinched at his words and at the volume that he spoke them. I scrambled to my feet, using all my strength to stand tall and face him, despite feeling so weak and scared that my body trembled uncontrollably.

  “Drew, it’s not . . . it’s not what you think,” I stammered, tears spilling down my cheeks. “It wasn’t . . . I didn’t . . .” I tried to explain, the words threatening to push me off the cliff that I was standing on, afraid to say them, afraid of what it would mean if I did, afraid that it would be real.

  “Forget it, Gemma,” he said, shaking his head as he held up a hand to stop my incessant stuttering.

  “Just listen to me,” I screamed, pleading with him for a chance to explain.

  “No. I don’t really wanna hear the details. I just came to say good-bye. I’m leaving for school today. I can’t stand to be here any longer.”

  A loud sob escaped me, and I folded my arms tightly across my chest as if I could hold it all in. I wanted to tell him what William had done, but I was scared. Drew was so angry.

  “Please don’t go.” It was all I could say through my sobs.

  “Bye, Gemma. Enjoy the rest of your summer,” he scoffed as he walked back toward the beach, crossing the sand to his cabin. He disappeared moments later inside the wall of glass, and all I could do was stand there and watch him go.

  I wanted to run after him, to make him hear the truth, to tell him that I loved him too. But I was frozen in place, paralyzed with fear, afraid of running into William. As if my heart wasn’t already broken, I knew that I had just lost my best friend and the first boy who I had ever loved. And I needed him more than ever. I wanted to die in that moment, to end the pain and agony that was consuming me, and, in many ways, I did die that day—at least a part of me.

  ***

  I opened my eyes gradually, overwhelmed with grief and a new sense of fear, rather than the jolting terror that usually woke me from my nightmares. I wiped the tears from my cheeks with the back of my hand, as I cried for the thousandth time over the moment that had replayed in my dream. And I wondered how I got here again, back to the scared sixteen-year-old girl who I had been. I had worked too hard—through years of therapy and self-reflection—to move on, to know my worth, to love myself again. And yet here I was, back at the scene of the crime—figuratively anyway—fighting with a fresh sense of self-hatred, fear, and anger. Not to mention loss—mourning everything that I had lost in that one night.

  I considered myself a strong person, overcoming a traumatic event in my life and coming out on the other side a good person who lived an even better life. I was a lawyer, brilliant in the world of corporations and high-powered executives. I had made a small fortune, doing what I do best. I was proud of myself and all that I had worked for. And I had been happy and in love with Ryan, the perfect match for me, the other half to my whole, or so I had thought. I wanted for nothing, except the one thing that I couldn’t seem to have no matter how hard I tried—a baby.

  My perfect world was slowly unraveling, and I wanted to believe that it had all started the day that I had walked in on Ryan with that woman, but I knew it had started long
before that. I had pushed away my husband, practically ran him straight into her arms. Of course Ryan had ultimately made the choice to betray me. We could have—should have—talked about our issues, our unhappiness. But my own fear of what I couldn’t give him, the fear of Ryan realizing that I wasn’t good enough for him—fear that stemmed from the night my self-worth was ripped from me—had driven a wedge between us. I had driven a wedge between us. My own self-loathing and insecurities had resurfaced at some point, leaving me to question everything that I had—or didn’t have—and everything that I was.

  It seemed as if I had come full circle, and I couldn’t ignore fate’s cruel knock on my door. I was back here again for a reason. Like I was being given a second chance to do it all over again, a chance to tell Drew what had happened. To set the story straight. And a chance for him to support me, to love me in spite of what happened. I wasn’t sure if fate was giving us this chance for his benefit or for mine, maybe both, but I knew that I had to take it. I had to tell him the truth—eventually.

  Eighteen

  That night I dreamed that I was standing on the top of Indian Rock, afraid to jump, my heart beating loudly in my ears. I could hear my breath fill and empty my lungs, as if each one was my last. As I looked down into the cold blue water below, I could see a distorted image of Drew’s face staring back at me. His expression shifted between hurt and disgust—as it was the morning when he had said good-bye all those years ago—to pure longing and satisfaction, the look that he held in his eyes while we were making love.

  His voice called to me from somewhere in the distance—a throaty, whispery tone. “What are you afraid of, Gemma?”