The Power of Salvation

by Passarelli, Caterina

  I let him hold me in his arms, post-orgasmic bliss, for what feels like eternity before nervously asking, “Where do we go from here?”

  An overwhelming need to help him fight his battles is coursing through my bones. I don’t want him to ever dismiss me again, especially now that I know the reason. He needs to see he is nothing like the man who he hates so much. His father is not in him.

  “Where do you want to go from here?”

  Pulling apart so I can look him in the eye I say, “I don’t want to ever leave your side. Don’t push me away again; I don’t think I can handle that. And if you do, then do it for good because I’m too weak to be broken.”

  Luke lets out a sigh and says, “I’m sorry I left you broken.”

  I run my fingers through his hair and then tug on it a little. “I was so mad at you for kicking me out of your life with no explanation … during what is normally a time of the year when I go completely numb.”

  Luke rolls over so we are both now facing each other propped up on our elbows. “It took everything in me not to drive over to your apartment on Christmas Eve. To do that every single day. I’m still not sure this,” he moves his other hand between us, “is a good idea. We don’t know how I’ll react if I’m put in a jealous situation again.”

  “I’m going to ask you something that’s important to me and I don’t want you to judge the idea. Okay?”

  “Should I be nervous?” He laughs.

  “Would you be willing to go to therapy? I think that talking to someone can help you grieve and heal properly from what happened in your life.”

  “Ariana—“ He tries interrupting me, but I’m on a roll and don’t think I’d be able to finish my train of thought if I don’t just spit it all out right now.

  “Listen Luke. I know that therapy sounds terrifying. Trust me. I was terrified before I went too. I didn’t go to therapy until I found the Stand Up Against Abuse charity—years after I was raped. I had pushed so much down and dealt with it in completely unhealthy ways. And you know what? Therapy didn’t cure me. Clearly I was a pretty fucked up person when you met me. I wouldn’t even let you touch me….”

  “You aren’t fucked up.” He picks my chin up and leans in to place a soft kiss on my lips.

  “How can you be sure? When you left I started to slip back into the shell of the person I used to be. I’m still not cool with certain people touching me—that has to mean something.”

  “There are no guarantees that you won’t slip back. But for what it’s worth, I think you’re incredible.”

  “Luke, I think the same of you.” It’s then the conversation we’ve been having about me hits him in the way I was praying it would. I see the confusion mixed with hope reflected in his deep eyes. “Just like there are no guarantees that I won’t slip back or slip up, there’s no guarantee that you are or are not like your father. Can’t we just live our lives one day at a time? And you know what would make those days better? If we spent them together.”

  He doesn’t say a word about my little speech; instead, he takes me in a deep kiss. We lay on top of the covers making out for what feels like hours, like a pair of carefree teenagers. A pair of normal teenagers—something neither one of us was allowed to be.

  One a rape victim.

  One an orphan.

  Both with severe trust issues.

  Yet both protectors.

  Chapter twenty-eight

  The black pantsuit I squeeze myself into is not my style whatsoever, but it was the only all black thing I could find at the local mall. I didn’t bring clothes for a funeral. Was I naïve enough to believe my dad would be okay? Why didn’t I think about him dying before it was too late?

  After the night at the hotel with Luke, I went back home to find my mom cleaning the house like a madwoman. Everything smelled like PineSol, and if I thought the cabinets were slamming yesterday, it is nothing like the show she was putting on now.

  Doors, drawers, cabinets, you name it, she’s slamming it.

  I don’t blame her.

  She just lost her one true love.

  When I thought Luke kicked me out of his life, I felt like someone reached into my chest, pulled out my heart, stomped on it, and then ripped it in half. I can’t even begin to imagine the immense amount of pain someone would feel when the person they’ve been with since they were 19 years old dies.

  Death.

  She’ll never be able to see him again. And neither will I.

  I’m glad I came when mom called so I could have a few last words with dad. However, it does weigh on my heart that I hadn’t spoken to him in years. But how was I to know? I hated my parents, and I was not in the best place to have any conversations with them if they acted like they did when I went away to college: happy I was leaving.

  Mom still treats me the same as she did then: happy to have minimal interactions with me. This hurts me too. I try to stay out of her way the best I can because she won’t speak to me. She brushes past me, mumbles rude comments under her breath about me being a liar, and makes me feel like I was the one who had something to do with this—as crazy as that sounds.

  Standing in the stuffy funeral home now in the suit that’s cutting off my circulation, I want to bolt. Family was allowed to be here early to have a private viewing. Mom and I are the only ones here; our immediate family is quite small. Both sets of my grandparents are dead. My parents are only children. Mom and I, that’s it.

  It’s a million degrees in here; a bead of sweat rolls down my forehead.

  “Here, dab your face. You need to look presentable,” mom commands as she hands me a delicate white handkerchief. I hold it in my hand and examine it—people still have these? “Well use it already.”

  Damn, she’s in a hurry. I blot the handkerchief on my forehead and hand it back to mom.

  “Excuse me ladies,” an older gentleman says after he clears his throat and walks into the room to greet us. “My name is Arthur Estep, I am very sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you,” I say, feeling self-conscious about every move I make. I don’t know how to do this—deal with death. I’m much more comfortable on the other end of things—saving lives.

  “If you’d like to take a seat, we are moments away from bringing in the casket.”

  And just like that mom drops in the nearest chair. She just plops down. I’m surprised she made it to the chair in the first place. Her face looks as white as a ghost and she’s holding that handkerchief over her mouth as if at any moment she may throw up.

  Before I can take a seat next to her, double doors open and two teenage boys wheel in the casket, placing it at the front of the room. They open the lid and my mom lets out a scream before throwing herself on the floor in hysterical sobs.

  I have never seen my mother act dramatic or cause a scene. Normally, she’s a cut-you-with-her-sly-words and evil glare kind of woman. Quiet, reserved, no true emotions, yet menacing.

  “Why … why … why,” mom mutters before she pounds her fists into the carpet. I stare at her during what feels like a private moment, having no idea how to console her. The teenage boys look at me as if I should do something for my own mother, but little do they know I haven’t spoken to this woman in years.

  And she was never there to console you. She left you alone as a little girl.

  I let out a sigh and adjust my uncomfortable outfit before sitting on the floor to wrap my arms around her. Mom curls into my lap and continues to weep, muttering words I can’t really hear but what sound like blaming my dad for leaving her.

  Who knows how long we sit there with mom in my arms. When we hear a throat clearing sound yet again, we look up to see Mr. Estep standing in the room. This poor guy has a rough job. “Ladies, I’m sorry to interrupt. The family time is now over and in just a few minutes we are supposed to open the doors for visitation to the public. Would you like me to stall a few more minutes?”

  I nod yes in his direction and he silently slips out of the room. If other people a
re here, then it’s been two hours of me holding mom while she cries. I haven’t shed a tear since the day of his death when I lost my mind with Luke.

  My emotions are so conflicted; I’m having a hard time processing everything to be honest. Part of me wants to mourn the loss of my father, yet another part has no idea who this man was, and the last part hates the memories she has. What the hell am I to do?

  A slight knock alerts us that the doors will be opening as mom slides herself out of my lap and dries her eyes. She smooths the hair on her head and double checks that her perfect tight hair bun is still in place. Other than her puffy red eyes, she doesn’t look like a woman who spent two hours on the floor in hysteria.

  The few members of our extremely extended family show up along with my parents’ colleagues, church members, classmates, politicians, you name it. As I look around the room I see many people who filled the halls of our family home for parties upon parties. Everyone stops to pass along heartfelt condolences to my mother and me before branching off around the room to share stories in remembrance of my dad.

  Gabe Bellisano, beloved by all.

  I don’t know what to think. Their stories sound like they are mourning a wonderful, kind-hearted man who would do anything for anyone.

  Yet why did he let his 14-year-old daughter suffer in silence for something so horrific that happened under his roof with one of his friends? How can I stand here and listen to these stories? I can’t.

  When no one is looking, I run out of our viewing room and push through the front doors of the funeral home towards the packed parking lot. The humid Florida air hits me in the face as it steals my breath away. I’m suffocating. Sitting down on the curb I try steadying my uneven breathing—that’s when I feel his presence.

  “You okay?” Luke asks as he plants himself down on the curb right next to me. He looks out of place on the ground in his impeccable black suit and designer dress shoes.

  “What an awful day,” I vent, looking into his caring hazel eyes.

  Luke opens his arm up for me to cuddle into him and I do. Sinking into his tight hold, I instantly relax, letting go of the intense need to hold everything together while my mom crumbles and puts on a show. But with Luke, I am safe in his grasp knowing he’ll protect me and carry this emotional burden for us.

  And it feels so damn good giving that power to someone else.

  “Look who the cat dragged in,” says a voice that sends chills down my spine, “Ariana.”

  I bolt up from Luke’s grasp seeing Sarah walking towards us.

  “Sarah, nice to see you.” I don’t really know how to address her or why I said it was nice to see her. That’s a lie.

  “Is it? You did a good thing when you left Florida after your ridiculous rumors,” she says looking me up and down. “But I’m not here to talk about any of that. I didn’t even think you’d show. I’m here for your father. He was a good man.”

  And just like that she pushes, literally shoves, into my arm to move past me to go inside and join the rest of the mourners. Standing at the curb I’m in shock and disbelief.

  “What the fuck was that about? Who was that awful woman?” Luke asks, reminding me he’s here. For the first time ever I forgot he was standing near. I’m shaking when Luke grabs on to my upper arms to steady me.

  “That was Sarah,” I pause, looking at the ground while I try to collect my scrambling thoughts. “Allen’s wife.”

  Yes, Allen has a wife. A woman I was able to forget until this very moment. Oh my god, is Allen coming here too? Looking up from the ground I meet Luke’s eyes as all the color drains from my face.

  Running inside to the nearest bathroom just in time, I lean over the toilet as my breakfast leaves my body. When I know I’m finished, I look into the mirror to see red blotches all over my face matching my red eyes. Trying my best to clean up my appearance before facing the crowd outside, I’m dreading every minute of this.

  Why can’t I be back in Chicago?

  Why can’t I be making my rounds at the hospital doing something to help other people?

  Why can’t I be in bed with Luke making love?

  Why can’t I be anywhere but here?

  Opening the bathroom door, I spot mom and Luke going into a room tucked to the side of the main viewing room. Following behind them I hurry to not miss a word of whatever is about to happen.

  “Why is someone like that even here?” Luke asks mom while I slip into the room. His body language screams rage.

  “Ariana,” mom says as she notices me walk up behind Luke. “It’s adorable you found someone passionate, but he shouldn’t be fighting your little battles. This was a family issue and it’s been handled.”

  “What is happening right now?” I ask, looking between Luke and mom. I’m completely taken aback by this conversation.

  “Your boyfriend is trying to confront me about Sarah being here at your father’s viewing. He wants me to ask her to leave. Let’s remember what this day is about,” mom says as she walks towards the door as if this conversation is already over. “Your father, not you.”

  “Excuse me,” Luke says as he blocks mom’s way to the door. She stands back looking shocked. I highly doubt anyone has ever gotten in her way before. “Yes this day is about your husband. Your family. Ariana is your family too. Why can’t you do anything for her? For once.”

  “What do you know about what I’ve done for her?”

  “You haven’t done anything a parent should do. You should listen to your kid, believe her, trust her, and protect her. As a parent you should do anything to give your child a good life.”

  Luke delivers the words with such conviction that it seems as if he’s fighting for himself too. And I don’t blame him. He has no one to unleash his hurt on. His father took away his opportunity when he took his own life.

  “I did protect her!” mom screams out, looking as if she is at her breaking point.

  “How?” I finally speak up. “How did you protect me? You made me feel as if I was wrong, basically blaming me for what happened. I had no idea what was going on. I heard you and dad talking behind my back, calling me a liar.”

  Mom’s eyes widen at my confession.

  “We didn’t call you a liar.”

  “What? Are you crazy? Hell yes you did,” I say, gaining more confidence. I know what I heard and she will not convince me otherwise.

  Mom puts her head in her hands and lets out a strangled cry. “We didn’t know what to do with you.”

  My head jerks back as if I was slapped across the face.

  “Do with me? What do you mean?”

  “Ariana, I’ve never met anyone who was,” she pauses as if the next word is going to disgust her, “raped before. Let alone my own daughter. Your father either. We didn’t know what we were supposed to do to help you. We just wanted it all to go away.”

  “Including me,” I say as a tear slides down my blotchy cheek. Damnit, I don’t want her to see me like this. It’s now my turn to leave but Luke blocks me as well. I look up at him in confusion. Why isn’t he letting me leave?

  “Say what you need to say to her,” he whispers into my ear.

  He’s right. Instead of running away, I turn to face my mother, maybe for the last time after this conversation.

  “No, not including you. It just, it just happened that way,” she says as she looks up at me with pleading eyes, yet I don’t hear her say an apology.

  “Is Allen going to be at here?”

  “Of course not. Allen is not allowed within 50 miles of you.”

  She must read the confusion across my face. What is she talking about?

  “Since you were a minor, we were able to file a Personal Protection order against Allen ourselves. As a judge with an order against him, Allen lost his job and moved out of state. He’s practicing in Georgia. I have not a clue how he was able to maneuver that. Something shady I’m sure.” Mom says this as if it’s the most common thing.

  “I had no idea.”


  “Ariana, we might not have been there for you to have someone to talk to … but we didn’t leave you in harm’s way. We confronted Allen and Sarah about what happened. I mean, you are our daughter.”

  There’s a knock at the door as Mr. Estep pops his head into the room. “I’m sorry to yet again interrupt, but the prayer will start in 10 minutes. You’ll want to take your seats at the front.”

  Mom gives me a once over; she’s making sure I’m presentable to go back out there.

  “I’ll save your seat,” she says before slipping out of the room.

  “Oh my god,” I whisper before walking into Luke’s open arms. He holds me tight to his chest and, yet again, I relax into his warm embrace. This is becoming a pattern with us, but I can’t say I’m mad about it.

  “That was … intense. You okay?” Luke asks.

  “I didn’t expect that conversation to happen today. I was a little nervous when I saw you walking in here with my mom.” I pull apart just enough to be able to look up at his handsome face. “Thank you for speaking up for me. I don’t think anyone has ever done that for me in my entire life. Ever.”

  “Oh Ariana,” he kisses the top of my head, “I’d fight all your battles for you if you want, but I know you’re stubborn and you won’t let me take them all.”

  I laugh into his chest because he’s so right. I am not the girl who would let anyone take on all her battles, but I’d let someone share some of the burden.

  And I would do the same for him.

  Chapter twenty-nine

  Back at home in Chicago I’m thrown into the jungle of the emergency room and I love every minute of it. This is where I belong.

  “Get back to work,” Ben shouts, walking past me in the staff room. I’m about to say something smartass back when I spot him wink at me before leaving. He’s been much nicer to me since Luke helped his cousin land a killer internship, but deep down he’s still an asshole. And you know what? I wouldn’t change him; he keeps me on my toes.

  I grab my raincoat, walking towards the front door. I’ve been here 10 hours and can’t wait to see something other than these white walls.