by K. L. Savage
“I should drown them for looking at you,” Whistler says, kissing the spot between my shoulder blades.
I giggle and sip on my Tropical Storm Rachel we made up after mixing our own drinks. “No need for that. They know I’m taken by the hottest man here.”
“Damn straight you are.” His mouth crashes against mine…
I snap my eyes open and clear my throat, lifting my head to let the water wash away the forbidden dream.
Why do I feel guilty? Why do I care that I’m thinking about Whistler when I know Kenneth has affairs? When he hits me for no reason? He calls me stupid, ugly, a bitch, worthless, and yet I feel guilty for thinking about Whistler when I shouldn’t.
I wish there was a part of me that was a bad person, one who didn’t care about other people’s feelings, one who didn’t think twice or feel shame, one who went with the flow of things and never apologized.
But that will never be me.
I’ll always feel guilty for anything, for everything, because I always figure out a damn reason to care.
Kenneth, for instance, didn’t always hit me. I remember the times when everything was perfect between us, when he’d open my car door instead of closing my foot in it. It’s those little bits of memory that keep me from letting go, that keep me chained and broken.
Maybe Whistler can show me how to let go.
I press the off button on the touchscreen, snag the towel from the shelf, and dry my body off, then flip my hair over and twist it in the towel.
I notice deodorant sitting on the counter. Old Spice. It has to be Whistlers. I do something frowned upon and take the red cap off, smell it, and my eyes almost roll back when I scent him. It’s fresh, yet wild, nothing too heavy but not a delicate smell either.
And I lift my arm and put some on, then my other, then place the cap back on it and set it where it was before I picked it up.
Some people frown upon sharing deodorant, but I don’t have any here so that’s my excuse. I slip on his sweatpants, grey of course, and now all I can think about is his bulge. My cheeks heat again, and I wish I never would have seen it.
Okay, that’s a lie.
Bulges in sweatpants are a woman’s a-dick-tion.
I snicker to myself at my own joke, but the chortle falls short when his sweatpants fall to the ground. I click my tongue as I try to figure out how I’m going to do this. I pull them up my legs again and tie the strings as tight as they can go, then roll the waistband about ten times. Next, I tug the forest green shirt over my head and tie the extra material in a knot over my hip. It’s worn and soft. He must like this shirt more than the others.
That makes me feel warm and fuzzy in my heart, the one place I shouldn’t feel anything for him at all.
Letting my hair down, I hang the towel up to dry and dig through the drawers for a comb. It doesn’t take long. I find what I need in a plastic bin under the sink along with hair-ties. Mercy really did think of everything when he thought about what he wanted this place to become.
A safe haven for women exactly like me.
My eyes water as I brush my hair, and I blow out a shaky breath knowing I’m that woman. A woman I never thought I’d ever be. It’s a hard pill to swallow, but here I am, swallowing one hard truth after the other.
Luckily, overdosing on the truth isn’t a thing or I would have died the moment I got here.
I throw my hair up in a messy bun and don’t bother giving myself a once-over. I can’t care how I look for Whistler. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is figuring out what is next for me and how I can get away from here.
I’ll go to the beach, and I’ll be alone because being alone is better than being with someone who installs fear in me every day.
The soft tap of my bare feet patter against the floor as I tiptoe to the doorway. I press my hand against the solid wood trim and look left to see where I’m supposed to go. I notice sunlight coming in from the other side of the hallway, so I go in that direction, passing a few closed doors. I come to the grand staircase that’s familiar to me since I’ve seen it from the main floor which gives me a sense of direction.
My hand slides down the rail as I timidly take each step until my bare feet hit the bottom. I hear noise coming from the kitchen and I twist my hands together anxiously. I’m not sure if I want to go in there. Won’t there be a lot of men? I don’t want to be around a lot of men. I don’t know them.
I need to get out of here. I begin to breathe heavily, and my mind becomes a confusing mess. I can’t remember which way is out or in. I spin in a circle and whimper when I feel trapped. I hold my hand against my chest when it feels like there is a weight on it. I gasp for breath and the room begins to spin. I stumble and grip a chair, but it clatters to the ground and cause a bunch of noise.
The kitchen doors swing open, and I hear my name being shouted in the distance.
His hands are on me, cupping my face, and I don’t jerk away.
I know those hands. I know that touch.
“Whistler,” I sigh and drop my head against his shoulder, calming while I match my breathing to his. The rise and fall of his chest is comforting.
“What happened, Cupcake? Did someone bother you? Who was it?”
“No, it’s stupid. I’m fine. It was just a silly reaction.”
He lifts my chin with his finger again. “Don’t ever put down your feelings. You aren’t going through something simple. You’re trudging through a trauma. Talk to me or I can’t help.”
I ring my fingers together again. “I heard a bunch of men talking and I became afraid.” I sound so small as my voice breaks.
I hate how weak I am. I can’t let Kenneth win. I have to get stronger for myself again. I need to change.
“That’s normal. And every man here will protect you, but it’s just me, One, and Mercy right now. No one else.”
“No one?”
“Well, there’s you.” He boops my nose and gives me a playful grin. “Hungry? You feel up to eating or do you want to rest for a minute?”
The man has the patience of a saint and I’m the damn test that tries him.
“I could eat. Is there coffee?”
“Oh, Cupcake. There is always coffee here. Always. If there isn’t, run far away.” He guides me into the kitchen where the smell of coffee, bacon, and eggs has me inhaling deeply.
There are big tins buffet style along the counter with metal tongs in each for us to help ourselves. I lace my fingers together again and ring them like I would a rag. I’m so out of place, so nervous, but having Whistler here brings me comfort.
I bet he has that effect on a lot of people.
“That’s a lot of food,” I say, and I know my face shows it as I stare at the mountains of bacon.
“There’s a lot of men here we have to feed, but you’re first so it will be just us for a while,” he informs and that has me untangling my fingers and relaxing. “Sit. I’ll make you a plate. How do you take your coffee?”
“Do you have creamer?” I ask, hoping I’m not being a bother.
“Yes, we do. Princess likes his coffee with sweat cream. I’ll bring it to you, Cupcake.”
“I can do it. You don’t have to go out of your way.” I see the fridge to the left of him and reach for the handle, but he steps in front of me, his hand hovering over the middle of my chest.
“Charlie, don’t you think you’ve done enough and deserve for someone to bring you a plate of food and a simple cup of coffee?”
I stare down at the black and white tile floor, counting the squares. “I don’t want to cause you any trouble.”
“Taking care of you is far from being trouble, Charlie. Go sit. I’ll be in there in a minute.” He kisses the middle of my forehead and a blanket of safety wraps around me. “Go on.” He juts his chin to the corner where three booths are.
I nod and tuck a piece of hair behind my ear, peeking at him over my shoulder as I head to the booth. Sitting down, I tuck my hands under my thighs as I wait.
/> To the right are condiments like ketchup, mustard, steak sauce, salt and pepper, and a small tin stuffed with napkins.
“Here you go, Cupcake.” Whistler sets down a cup of coffee along with a plate full of food.
Too much food.
“Uh.” I stare at the hills of eggs and bacon, then to the side at the six pieces of toast. “I can’t eat all this.”
“I know,” he chuckles. “We’re going to share.” He takes a seat in front of me, and One hands him some coffee next.
Mercy drags a seat to the side of the booth and gives me a tight grin, thumping his elbows against the table.
After One gets settled next to Whistler, a tense silence falls between us as I poke at my food. The bacon is crispy, and the eggs are fluffy. I eat a few of the eggs and three pieces of bacon, then nibble on a piece of toast.
Mercy’s eyes peer over his mug to Whistler and One gives a quick glance to Mercy.
I wash the toast down with warm coffee and wipe my mouth with a napkin, leaning back against the booth. “Why do I get the feeling you guys know something I don’t? You aren’t too subtle.”
Whistler sighs and stretches his arms across the table, his palms up as if he wants me to take them.
I give him one, not both, but I do want to meet him halfway.
“I don’t really know how to say it, so I’m just going to say it. I did some digging on Kenneth and you. I didn’t want to invade your privacy but I needed to.”
“You could have asked. I would have told you whatever you needed to know.”
“Ah, come on, Charlie. You and I both know you would have been pissed if I asked.”
I tug my hand away from his and cross my arms. “Okay, what did you find out? Kenneth is a lawyer. We got married on—”
“—You aren’t married. That’s what I found. You aren’t married. You’ve never been married to him. He’s been using you because of some grudge his father has with yours.”
I flinch as if he has hit me and stare at the table, my eyes watering as I think back over the years. “That’s impossible. We got married. He filed the license.” And for some reason, I hoped. It’s ridiculous though. I’m married. I’ve been married since I was nineteen.
Haven’t I?
I circle the band on my finger.
“He has friends at the courthouse. There’s a fake wedding license on file, but your name is spelled wrong and it isn’t your social security number.” He slides over a manilla envelope with a few papers on top, then spreads them out. Mercy takes the plate full of food away and stretches to place it on the counter, so it is out of the way. “See. Here. And here,” he points. “He has always had his freedom while draining yours.”
“I’m not married?” the question is a rasp, and a tear hangs on my lower lash line. “You’re sure?”
“Positive, Cupcake.”
I sag against the booth and pick up the papers, the proof, and stare at them. How could he have convinced me all these years? How did I not know? Am I not intelligent?
As if Whistler can read my mind, he tells me, “This isn’t your fault. No matter what you think, he is a master manipulator. You aren’t dumb. You believed and trusted someone who should have protected you and loved you.”
“I’m…free?” I whisper, dragging my eyes from the papers to meet his.
“I understand if you might be upset at the news,” he starts to say but I stop him.
“I’m free?” I ask louder. “That’s what you’re saying. I’m a free woman. I’m not stuck with him?”
He doesn’t know what to say to my reaction. He scratches the side of his head before he nods. “Yeah, Cupcake. You’re free. You aren’t stuck with him. You never were, he only made you think so.”
A laugh bubbles in the back of my throat and One shares a worried glance with Mercy. I laugh harder to the point it’s hysterical. “It’s funny.” I stab the paperwork with my fingers. I’m gasping for breath. “I…have nearly died because of him. I believed his lies…I believed him. I’ve been so scared to leave…” the words come out high-pitched and uneven. “When I could have just…left!” I screech the last word and wipe under my eye from laughing so hard. “I’m so fucking stupid.” I catch Whistler staring at me and the concern he has written on his face causes the laughter to break.
I’m so stupid.
I tried to prepare myself for a few reactions. A slap across the face or coffee spilled in my lap. I expected yelling. Definitely yelling and denial.
What I did not expect was laughter, but I knew it was a front because now she’s starting to cry.
“I’m so stupid,” she repeats.
I snatch her hands in mine, touching that damn ring on her finger that doesn’t mean a damn thing. It’s a lie. Kenneth has degraded something that was meant to show honor and love. She’ll probably never wear a ring again. Love doesn’t need a symbolization. Symbols, like her ring, mean nothing if the vow is broken.
“Don’t. Don’t ever call yourself stupid again. You hear me?” I tighten my hands around hers and her crystal blue eyes are so bright from her tears, I feel like I’m being transported to a sunny lagoon. “You are far from stupid. You have been used by someone who you thought you could trust. Sometimes people are good at hiding their true colors. That isn’t on you. He took advantage of you.” I hang my head when I realize there is one other thing I need to tell her. “There’s something else.”
“Oh my god, if you tell me I’m related to him—” she holds a hand over her mouth “—I’m going to be sick.”
“No! No,” not that what I have to say is any better. “When you were in the hospital…”
“You know about that? God, how mortifying. You all must think I’m so weak, so gullible, so…”
“We think none of those things,” I cut her off. I hate how she is talking about herself. “Not for one second. Do you know what I see? I see a beautiful, smart, capable, independent, caring woman who has been trapped and hurt. I see a woman who felt like she was left with no choice but to stay with a man she hated yet depended on in some way either out of love or threats. I see a woman who figured out a way to survive, so don’t for one damn minute call yourself weak or gullible or stupid because it takes a brilliant person to survive what you have survived.”
“But last night…”
I bend over the table to get closer to her. “Last night was a woman looking for a way out, looking for peace, looking for a path that didn’t require so much fighting. Damn it, Charlie. It’s okay to be tired after everything you’ve been through, that doesn’t mean you’re weak. You’re human.”
She brings my hand to her cheek and bawls, clutching onto me so tight. “What else?”
“You had a miscarriage—”
She smiles sadly at me, and I know she knows.
“But the doctor said you didn’t know.”
“I think a woman always knows when she loses something that was a part of her. I mourned, but I was relieved too, which is probably why I haven’t been too stuck on it. I bled so much and I just…I knew. I don’t know how else to explain it. I know the doctor and Kenneth fed me bullshit. I was so devastated but then I thought…what if I had to raise a baby with that man? His cruelty, his hate, he would never love a child.” She rubs her chest as if her heart aches at what she never had. It probably doesn’t ache, it’s probably broken. “I miss her or him, but I’m thankful they didn’t have to experience him. I never wanted a child to be brought around him. Ever. He would have…I can only imagine the things he would have done, so yes, I know. I know I was pregnant. It wasn’t meant to be, and I have to trust that was best because I would have died protecting my child, but then what? Leaving her or him with Kenneth? No. Fucking. Way,” she sneers, wiping her cheek on my shirt.
She stares at her rings and scoffs, tugging them off her finger and throwing them onto the table. She sags against the booth. “The chains are gone,” she says, staring as the rings circle and circle until one by one they fall flat.
>
“The chains are gone, Cupcake.” I take the rings and tuck them in my pocket. I’ll pawn these too with the gun and make sure she has a nice stack of cash.
She smiles and cries at the same time and it’s beautiful to witness. She’s cried so much lately, but these tears are different. These are tears of happiness and of a woman who has found her life again.
Then she slaps the table and shakes her head, scrambling to get out of the booth. “I need to find my dad. Kenneth said if I ever tried to leave, he would kill him. Oh god, what if he is dead? What if I killed him because I didn’t stay with Kenneth? That was why. That was the only reason why.”
One slides out of the seat, but I just jump out of the booth by hopping over the back seat. “Your dad is safe. This isn’t my first rodeo. One of the guys is watching your dad. If it makes you feel better, you can call him.”
She nods fast and feels for her phone. “I don’t have my cell. Oh god, I’m going to be sick.”
“I turned your phone off so he can’t track you. I have your dad’s number. Here.” I search for his name and press call, then put it on speaker and hand the phone to Charlie.
It only rings twice before he answers. “Hello? Whistler? Everything okay?”
“Dad?” she sobs when she hears his voice.
“Charlie? What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
“You’re okay,” the words rush out of her in a whoosh. “You’re okay.”
“I’m fine, but you don’t sound it.” A beat of silence passes. “Kenneth called.”
Her smile drops from her face, and she grips my shirt so hard I hear the seam tear. “What did he want?”
“He wanted to know where you were, but I told him I didn’t know.”
“Keep it that way, Dad. Please.”
“I wasn’t born yesterday, pumpkin. I know he isn’t a good man.”
“You do?”
“I thought if I let him steal from me that he would keep you safe. He threatened to hurt you if I didn’t allow it to happen, but I should have known better. I failed you as a father. You aren’t that clumsy, are you?” the older man sniffles.
