by Mary Frame
She gives me a hesitant glance. This whole time, she didn’t look at me once which is probably a good thing because I can feel my jaw clenching to hold back the pissed-off words wanting to get out. I suddenly realize that I’ve got her hand in a vice grip.
She tries to remove her hand from mine—I feel the small tug, but I’m not ready to let her go yet.
“What are you thinking?” she asks after a moment.
I need to answer her, but first I need to move. I stand up and start pacing the floor in front of the bed. “I’m thinking I’m going to fucking kill that bastard.”
“That might defeat the whole thing where we’re trying to exonerate you of murder.”
“I don’t care. I want to rip his balls off and feed them to him.”
“Dean.” She stands and moves in front of me, halting my frantic pacing. “It’s okay, it’s over now. I’m...getting over it. But you need to know about it, because I’m a bit damaged. I’ve been trying to fix it. I thought that maybe, if I could find someone else who was exactly opposite of everything Cameron was and sleep with him a million times—”
“What?!” Is she kidding me?
“No, wait, just listen. I was wrong. I didn’t sleep with anyone else. I can’t because I flinch or freak out—as you’ve noticed—whenever anyone gets too close to me. It’s like I can barely stand to be touched anymore.”
As a counterpoint to her words, I reach out and grab her, pulling her into a tight embrace. “You thought that fucking someone else would help?” My voice comes out harsher than I intend, so I kiss the top of her head. I feel better with her in my arms. Nothing can hurt her as long as I’m with her.
“I thought it would help me feel in control again,” she says against my chest. “The fact that I can’t let anyone touch me is giving Cameron more power than he should have. It’s like he still controls me even though we aren’t together anymore. I want the power back. I want my life back.”
“You’re not flinching now.”
“No.”
“I could be this guy you sleep with a million times,” I say into her hair, only half kidding.
She leans her head back to look up at me. “You could. But even with you, when we start moving too fast I just panic. Plus, you have enough people to take care of. I don’t want you to feel like you have to take care of me, too.”
Is she serious? “Have you met you? You don’t need to be taken care of. You tend to take matters into your own hands, for better or worse.”
“I know but, I don’t think you know what you’re getting yourself into. I might not be ready for a long time.”
“Ready for what?”
“You know…intimacy.”
My eyebrows lift and I rub her shoulders gently. “You think I care about that?”
“Don’t most guys care about that?”
“Fuck those guys! Wait, no, don’t fuck those guys,” I quickly retract.
She rolls her eyes but then a laugh escapes.
“Seriously, Freya. I can wait. I’m willing to stay here, and be whatever you need, do whatever you need. I’m in no hurry. Besides.” I give her my best grin. “Sometimes the anticipation makes it that much better.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes. I can sleep with you without molesting you.”
“Isn’t that really hard?” she asks.
I smirk. “It might be really hard.”
She smacks me on the arm. “You know what I mean.”
“I do. And no, it’s not that difficult. I’m a man, not an animal.”
“There’s a difference?”
“Yes. Opposable thumbs.” But then I remember that I don’t have much to offer. And I come with more than just emotional scars. I have a whole family of problems. “Are you sure you want to be with me? I come with baggage too, you know. I’m not always as charming as you are. I have a hard time being nice to anyone when I’m stressed and worried about my family.”
“I hide all my feelings and you can’t hide shit,” she says with a laugh.
“Does that bother you?”
“Nah. Grumpy looks good on you.”
I have to smile at that, and then I take her hand, interlacing our fingers. “Isn’t that weird? It’s almost like our imperfections make us perfect for each other.”
Her mouth drops open slightly at my words, and I worry for a second that I’ve said too much. I shake my head at myself and tug gently on her hand. “Come on. Let’s get some sleep.”
I get under the covers and slide to the far side, not letting go of her hand until she’s scooted in beside me. I pull her against me and she rests her head on my bicep, our legs flush together.
I rub her back, hoping that eventually she’ll be so used to my touch I’ll drive her demons away. Or maybe she needs to be completely in control, with me unable to touch her at all. I whisper into the darkness, “Would it help if you tied me up and I couldn’t touch you?”
“What? No! This isn’t Fifty Shades of Gray, buddy.”
I laugh. “There she is! I was a little worried because you haven’t cracked a joke or said something sarcastic in like an hour. I think that’s some kind of record.”
She punches me lightly in the arm, but laughs out loud.
I pull her even closer and kiss her mouth, trying to catch her laughter.
She kisses me back and then snuggles into me, and I realize I’ve never been as content as I am right at this moment.
“Good night,” I whisper into her hair.
“Good night.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Freya
There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact.
–Arthur Conan Doyle
We spend the next few days in this weird, content universe. Hanging out with my mom, going on hikes, splashing around in the river even though it’s still freezing cold, working in the garden and drinking tea. It’s almost like the last month hasn’t happened.
And Dean is my boyfriend. For reals. I have no idea how to react to this. I haven’t even thought the word boyfriend at any point in the last six months. All I’ve thought is “friend with benefits” and “dear Lord let me be okay with a guy touching me without flailing like a moron.”
I’m not sure I can handle a relationship. I’m still not sure I’m any good for anyone, even after our talk the other night.
I keep thinking about the things he’s done for his mom and his sister. Despite his own personal inclinations against violence, he found a way to help his family and do whatever it takes to keep them fed and happy. And I’m…well, me.
And while I’m not one of those girls who’s gonna be like, oh, no, he’s too good for me, and start simpering all over the place like I didn’t just win the boyfriend lottery. I have to admit, I do care about him. I only want what’s best for him, and what if I’m not what’s best for him? Sure, I’m not bad, but maybe he could be with someone better. Someone smarter. Hotter. With bigger boobs, a smaller nose, and fewer personal issues. He’s been through enough shit without adding mine to the pile.
But I told him everything, and he made his decision. He still wants me, as broken and battered as I am, and I don’t think I could let him go at this point even if I really wanted to.
The day before we’re going to head back to school, the phone rings.
“It’s Lucy!” Mom calls from the open doorway.
Dean and I are sitting on a bench swing on the front porch. I’m trying to convince him to let me drive on the way home and he’s arguing that he can’t put the public at such a risk while he massages my feet.
He’s totally winning that argument.
I reluctantly pull my feet from his lap and head inside.
“Hey Luce! What’s shaking my little muffin top?” I sit on the chair next to the phone and play with the cord. My mom has an old rotary phone. To dial a number, you have to stick your finger in a hole with the number marked in it and drag it around a circle. It’s so weird. I wonder how people survived b
efore cell phones. I mean, if your house was on fire, you would burn to death before you could dial anything.
“I found some interesting information. It changes everything,” she says.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know how to tell you this,” Lucy says and my stomach plummets. Did she find more evidence that incriminates Dean? I’m sure he didn’t do it, but this can’t be good.
“Dude, you’re killing me smalls. Out with it!”
“Cameron,” she says quickly.
“What?”
“Daisy’s brother sold a nine-millimeter caliber gun, the same type of gun used to kill Jesse and Matt, to Cameron.”
It takes a second for her words to sink in.
“When?”
“I don’t know yet. It was posted for sale on a website before Jesse’s murder, and there’s no indication anywhere of where or when the actual transaction took place.”
“Is that legal? Don’t they have to register the sale or something?”
“No. According to federal gun laws, a person is allowed to buy or sell a firearm from an unlicensed resident of their state if they do not have reasonable cause to believe the person is prohibited from owning guns.”
“Why would Cameron kill Jesse and Matt? Do you think he’s working with Daisy? And why? I don’t know, Lucy…”
“I’m not sure. I’m still researching to find any more information that will make the rest of it make sense. Think about it. We’ll talk again when you guys get back.”
And with that, she hangs up.
After a second, I put the phone back in its nook and walk out to the porch.
“So?” Dean asks.
“She found some evidence that links Cameron to the crimes,” I say, wrinkling my nose. I repeat what she told me on the phone.
“Huh.” He eyes me sidelong. “You think she’s wrong?”
I shake my head. “He’s too obvious a suspect.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t you know how these things work? When there’s a mystery to be solved, it’s always the person you least suspect, not the person you hope it is.”
He laughs. “This isn’t an Agatha Christie novel.”
“You’re right,” I sigh and sit down on the swing next to him. “If this was an Agatha Christie novel, the writing would be way better.”
He takes my hand, kissing my wrist before putting our hands in his lap. “So, what should we do now? We have to find a way to eliminate or confirm Clinton as the murderer. And where does Daisy fit into all of this? Is she connected, or was suspecting her of the crime just wishful thinking on our part?”
Hmmm. I tap a finger against my chin for a few seconds. A bird chirps in the distance, the sound melting into the hum of crickets.
“Well, we could tap me with a wire, then I could invite him over and trick a confession out of him.”
Dean shakes his head at me. “You have a death wish or something. You’re always rushing headlong into danger and putting yourself in crazy situations. Hey, remember when I caught you sneaking around in the bushes that one day? What was that all about?”
“Bushes?”
“Yeah. Don’t you remember? It was a few months ago, early December maybe? I was taking a shortcut through this alley to get to class, and you had your head stuck in a bush.”
“Oh, right. I thought Jensen was cheating on Lucy, so I followed him home. I was spying on them.”
He shakes his head. “You are the worst spy ever. That was funny though.”
“I’m glad you derive amusement from my crazy, and that was not funny. You thought I was an idiot.”
“I did not think you were an idiot.”
“Well you acted like you thought I was an idiot.”
“Maybe I was just nervous.” He shrugs.
This takes me aback. “I don’t believe that. You’re never nervous.”
“I’m human, it happens.”
“Human? You mean, you’re not the crown prince of Asgard?” I ask in feigned shock.
He chuckles. “You make me nervous sometimes.”
“Why?”
“I never know when you’re going to come out of nowhere and hit me with your car.”
I smack him on the arm and he laughs.
***
The next day, we leave Mom’s. She sends us off with hugs and a cooler full of vegetables and tofu.
The drive home flies by in moments. It takes the normal eight hours, but my mind keeps whirring around one thing: I was wrong. I can’t make someone else make me forget Cameron.
This whole time, I’ve been thinking if only I could let someone else touch me, if only I could change my last experience with intimacy and turn it into something else, then I could forget it ever happened, like a clean slate.
The problem with my grand plan is that I’m still letting other people control me. I’m putting the responsibility on others, when all along, the power to break Cameron’s hold over me has been mine, and mine alone.
I have to face my demons myself. I can’t rely on anyone to do it for me.
Opening up about the details to Dean was a good start. I hadn’t told anyone that much. Hell, I hadn’t even thought about it in that much detail since it happened, and now that it’s out and Dean still wants me I feel…better.
He does make me feel better, even though I still realize that ultimately my healing will be up to me.
But just talking about it isn’t good enough. There’s only one other thing I can do to move on and confront my demons: I have to file charges. It’s going to suck. No one wants to tell some stranger in a uniform who probably won’t believe them about their sexual assault, but I suddenly feel like I have to. Even if it’s my word against his—which it will be since it’s been months and there’s no evidence—but that doesn’t change my mind. Dean was right. Even if nothing happens, maybe the next time Cameron decides to force himself on someone, her story will be believed if he has a documented history.
I agree to stay at Dean’s place—not that he needed to do much convincing. I didn’t want to be alone since there was still someone out there with malicious intents towards me. Or him, or both of us. Plus, his apartment is more heavily guarded and locked.
We’re taking turns doing our laundry in the small, stackable machines in a closet next to the kitchen when I tell him.
“I’m going to file a police report about Cameron. For everything.”
He stops transferring his clothes from the washer to the dryer and looks over at me. “Good,” he says. Then he keeps doing laundry. “I’ll come with you, if you want. Just let me know when.”
“Okay.”
“Are you hungry?”
“You know who you’re asking, right?”
He shows me which drawer he keeps his takeout menus in, and I decide pho sounds really good, so we call in an order to the nearest Vietnamese restaurant.
“I’ll go get it,” Dean says, when a few minutes pass. “You stay here and relax.” He pulls a bottle of red wine out of his cabinet.
“That’s my favorite wine! How did you know?”
“Lucy.” He gives me a shy smile.
“She is a genius.”
He pours me a glass and leads me to the living room, pressing buttons before handing me the remote and the glass of wine. Something has already started on the TV.
My mouth drops open when I recognize the opening lines to Love Actually.
“And this is my favorite movie!”
He leans into me, kissing me hard and swift on the mouth before pulling back slightly. “I just want you to know that I care about you. A lot. And I would do anything to make you happy,” he says. The words are simple, but his gaze is intense.
I can’t do anything but stare. Is he for real?
He kisses me again and then he’s moving towards the door.
“Engage all the locks behind me, okay?”
I can’t find my tongue so I nod mutely.
He stands at the
door, staring at me until I get up, and then he shuts the door behind him. But when I look through the peephole, he’s waiting to hear me engage the dead bolt, the sliding metal door stopper, and the multitude of other turnkey type locks he’s got on his door.
Once I’ve finished, I watch him leave through the peephole. He has such a nice ass. I hate to see him go, but I love to watch him leave.
I shuffle back to the couch.
What does he mean, practically telling me he loves me like that?
I reach for the wine, taking a big gulp while I try to concentrate on Bill Nighy attempting to sing “Christmas Is All Around.”
Do I love Dean? My heart races and my stomach flips at the thought. I’m scared. Scared to open myself up to someone else. But Dean’s so different from Cameron. Isn’t he? Cameron never told me he cared about me like that. Hell, he never even told me he liked me. But he was also very good at pretending to be something that he wasn’t. Dean’s not like that. He’s never pretended to be anything, as far as I know.
By the time Dean gets back with the food, I’ve barely touched the wine. I’m pacing back and forth, and Colin Firth has arrived at his cottage in France.
I check through the peephole before unlocking the chain and the rest of the locks and opening the door.
I take the food from him, putting it on the counter between the kitchen and living room while he’s locking the door behind him.
When he turns around, I attack him.
Attack might be a strong word, but in this case I think it’s fitting. I basically jump him—pulling his face down to mine because I’m too short to reach him—and kiss him with everything I’ve got.
