by Lila Lacroix
Vanessa took a couple deep breaths and calmed down before replying to Jonathan’s email.
We aren’t getting it on in your office. That’s sleazy. Could go through town, grab a little lunch and head over to our place.
Ten minutes later they climbed into Jonathan’s Aston Martin, which suited him like no other car could, and she let her skirt ride up her legs a little as he drove through town and parked up at one of their favourite Italian restaurants. “What are you doing to me, you minx? You wanna eat or fuck?”
“Oh, you are naughty.” She loved it when her sexuality got him all hot, and to be the one in control now and again. “I want lots of both, but food first. We’re both going to need the energy.” She climbed out the car wearing a huge grin, then smoothed down her skirt.
Jonathan joined her, locked the car and placed his hand on her ass, “You’re an insatiable tease … and I love it, Miss Stiles.”
They walked out of the car park, occasionally kissing and giggling, towards the restaurant, when suddenly a man stood in front of them. “Ah, how fortunate to run into you. Miss Stiles, Mr. Jergan, I just had to offer my sincere congratulations on your impending nuptials,” said the stranger.
Vanessa grabbed instinctively onto Jonathan, but she couldn’t speak or look up. She hadn’t needed to look at his face, his voice was enough to reveal the stranger’s identity.
“Well, that’s really good of you, Mr?” asked Jonathan.
The man didn’t offer his name, instead he said, “Here you go, Miss Stiles.” and offered her a bunch of flowers, “You look like the kind of lady who like flowers.”
She glared up the flowers, and through them, at his face. The sight kicked the wind from her lungs, and when she took the flowers from him, their fragrance mixed with her terror and made her physically wretch. “Oh God,” she looked up at a very surprised Jonathan, one hand over her mouth. “Need to go.”
“Hey, are you okay, Luv?” Jonathan asked.
She shook her head frantically.
“Sorry,” Jonathan said to the man. “We have to go, I think my fiancé is sick.”
“Of course.” The man touched the back of her hand, which sent an electric charge through her spine.
She flinched and stepped back, pulling Jonathan with her toward his car on the car park. “Hurry.”
“Hope you feel better soon, Miss Stiles,” the man said.
“What’s happened?” asked Jonathan as they walked quickly to his car. “You were better than fine a second ago?”
“Please take me home, Jonathan.”
* * *
Neither one of them spoke on the way to their apartment. Jonathan carried the flowers from the car, up the elevator and inside. The smell suffocated her, sweat dribbled down her back. She ran to the bathroom and vomited into the loo.
Jonathan placed the flowers on the kitchen counter top and knocked on the door, “Ness, Luv. What can I do? Are you okay? Should I call a doctor?”
She brushed her teeth, splashed her face and wiped it dry. Feeling better, she left the bathroom and told herself to get it together. “Hey, I’m not sure. Something I ate, or didn’t? Low blood sugar maybe.”
Jonathan opened the fridge, grabbed a bottle of water and handed it to her. “Poor you. Here, hydrate. Give it a minute and I’ll go fetch us something to eat and bring it back here, if you like? Susan’s day off.”
She smiled then inhaled, enjoyed the control she’d regained of her nerves, until she almost choked on the stench of the flowers. Vanessa stormed across to the counter, grabbed them and ran to the garbage disposal chute.
“Ness, what are you doing?” asked Jonathan, coming up behind her.
She didn’t hear him, she could only think of getting rid of the flowers, their foul stench, and with them, the knowledge that Mike had finally tracked her down. She opened the shoot, forced the flowers in to it, and listened as they made their way down the chute. Then she ran back to the sink to scrub her hands.
Get him off, get him off me!
“Ness, please?” Jonathan held her from behind. “You’re shaking. Let me help you.”
She moved away from him, too hyped to be coddled. Fixing herself a glass of wine, spilling more than she poured, then slugged it back, almost choking on it in the process. “Ah.” she coughed, saw his expression of utter confusion and concern and said, “Oh, Jon.” You’re going to hate me. I’m a big fat liar and he’s found me. It’s all over. “I’m so sorry.”
He pulled her into his arms and allowed her to cry in peace. She really cried, like she hadn’t allowed herself in years. Jonathan held her tight while stroking her hair, and when it became clear she needed to cry some more, he picked her up and carried her to the huge sofa. They lay entwined; her tears soaked beneath her cheeks, through his shirt, over his strong chest and seeped, drip by dread filled drip into his heart. “I have you Ness. You’re safe with me.”
The Billionaire’s Love
After an hour, Vanessa had cried herself to sleep in his arms.
Jonathan made a few calls to work, then to a lawyer. He could only guess at what went on between the stranger and Vanessa, but it was obvious they knew each other, that she was not happy about seeing him. He had to protect her. Make her feel safe. He wouldn’t lose her!
“She hasn’t given me any details yet Steve, but I need you to look into her rights, the law in general on domestic violence, and on stalking. Might be worse than that, or not as bad, but I want to be prepared.” He listened, paced, unable to take his eyes off Vanessa. Even puffy eyed from tears she captivated him. “I’ll expect something tomorrow then? Thanks.” Realising he had never felt so much for another person, his overriding need to protect Vanessa consumed him more than any passion or lust ever had. “How could anyone hurt you?”
* * *
Vanessa woke with a start and a mild choking fit, holding onto her head, cringing at every throb. “Argh!”
“It’s okay,” he said softly, rushing to her side from his computer. “Hey, I’m here.”
“Where am I?” She peered around, eyes wide, her body shaking. Seeing Mike in her mind’s eye made her flinch.
“Where is he?”
When Jonathan’s face came into view, she pulled him nearer, needing to breathe in the shelter he offered. “Hold me. Don’t leave me.”
Jonathan held her, rocked her in his arms, “Breathe, I’m not going anywhere.” He gave her time to wake up and get her bearings without asking the questions he burst to ask. “Take your time.”
She shook off the nightmare, but then remembered. It wasn’t a nightmare, it was true. Mike had found her. What could she do now? Should she run again? Could she leave Jonathan and her new life?
He must know I’ve lied to him. He’ll hate me for it and I’ll lose everything.
“I’m so sorry Jonathan. I didn’t tell you, I was wrong.” She buried her face in his chest, unable to look at him, knowing it was time to confess. “I should have told you all this before but the longer I went without telling you, the worse the lie got.”
“The lie?” Jonathan moved away from her, but still held onto her arms so his confused, even fearful glare penetrated hers. “You’ve lied to me?”
She nodded slowly, a lump in her throat the size of Alaska. “That guy … was no stranger to me, although I wish with every fibre of my being that he had been.”
“Well that much was obvious, Ness,” said Jonathan, still holding onto his breath. “No stranger could induce that kind of reaction.”
“No, well. Let me be honest with you now, as I should have been before.”
He moved back to hold her. “If you feel ready, I’m right here.” Rocking her soothingly, “If not, I’m still here.”
She was ready; he deserved this. “We met too young and fell in love, like young fools think they do. Everything was perfect in the beginning, or at least I thought so at the time. Never saw a happy couple to know what it looked like. Mum raised me alone, and as I’ve said, many
of my friends’ parents were in the same boat. Yes, Mike was controlling, jealous, possessive, but his need of me swept me off my feet. I’d never been so coveted, so needed. He lived and breathed me and I loved it, I didn’t even notice when one by one, those friends stopped calling. Ostracised, I quit school and moved away with him, away from everyone.”
“How old were you?”
“Just a baby really, at sixteen. Clueless, a stupid child who thought she knew about love, about everything. When really, I was a teenager with abandonment issues; a victim in the making.”
“Oh sweetheart …” he pulled her closer, held her head to him.
“Don’t! Sorry, Mike used to call me sweetheart.”
“Ah, sorry.”
Vanessa sighed. “Could I get a drink,” she asked, needing space to tell her tale. “I think I need something with a kick.”
She decided she could use some analgesia too.
He stood, like an eager dog given a command, “No problem.” He was taking this so well, she wasn’t sure why. He appeared pleased for the break from her intensity, or for the idea of a drink, and swiftly delivered a large serving each of Scotch, and resumed his position next to her.
They both enjoyed a few medicinal gulps, “That’s disgusting,” she said, placing the glass by their feet before continuing, “but also just what I needed. Thanks.”
Jonathan half smiled, put his glass down then fisted his hands in his lap.
“I allowed all that to happen. Me!” She wanted to smack her head own head for such stupidity.
“Well, I doubt …”
She raised her hand and shook her head. He stopped talking. He would make excuses for her, which she didn’t need. “I didn’t have much of an education because of our relationship, neither did he; we had to pay rent, you know. Soon, he started acting weird, started drinking too much, blew the rent checks on God knows what.”
She shook her head, scratched the back of her hand absently, avoiding Jonathan’s intense scrutiny. Ashamed. She couldn’t bear to see the disappointment dominate the face she loved, as he realised what a pathetic victim she was. “First time he … was when I told him I’d had enough of being poor, that I wanted to learn a skill I could use to get a real job. I wasn’t clever, I didn’t say it right. He thought it was an insult, but it wasn’t about him. It was about me. Then, it came from nowhere, right across my face; a deafening thud in my head, followed by an eerie silence, then a whistling in my ear that remained for hours. I’ll never forget that moment, when everything in my world, kind of broke.” The memory stole her voice for a second; her throat clench at the fear in-ground in every assaulting image. She touched her cheek, fought to resist crumbling.
She still couldn’t look at his face yet, but notice him rubbing his thighs and clenching his fists. “You don’t need to go on Ness.” He muttered. “I get the picture.”
It was awful to share, but also awful to hear. She understood that. But she had to go on, so she pulled his hands into her lap, not wanting him to move from her side or stop listening. Not now, not yet. “I need this.” Vanessa stared at his hands, his perfectly smooth, strong hands. She knew those hands would never hurt her, not as Mike’s hands had.
Jonathan squeezed her hands reassuringly. “Whatever you need, love.”
“Thank you.” His compassion melted her heart, “He was always sorry afterwards of course. Well, always saying he was sorry, usually on a card with flowers because he found the word too difficult to say. I can’t stand most flowers now, apart from Orchids and roses; he never bought me those.”
“Aha!” said Jonathan. Instinctively, she looked up that time, and delighted in seeing the penny drop behind his beautiful and intense grey eyes, “I get why those flowers made you sick now.”
“Yes. I see that.” Vanessa gulped. He would understand. He would forgive her, wouldn’t see her as weak. “Anyway, Mike’s regret, the way he turned everything around in my mind with every misguided apology, meant I developed a kind of inherent sense of … culpability. My identity, underdeveloped as it was even before Mike came along, fragmented year in, month out, day beginning, and nights end. Until every awful thing he did became my fault. I mean, I believed it with all my heart, Jon.” Her voice cracked, shaken by a renewed sense of that vulnerability.
Jonathan’s face seemed to freeze, and he remained silent.
“Do you understand what that does to a person? I second-guessed everything about myself, from what colours I liked and what food I could eat, to who to speak to and why, he even told me how to wear my hair, for god sake.” She touched it, recalled an argument about wearing it down at work, ‘Dressed up like a whore’ he’d said. “He even made me question my mom, he convinced me she would never understand our special kind of love, so I didn’t see her anymore.” She peered over at him, needing to see understanding. “He infiltrated and tainted everything in my life.”
Jonathan’s stoic expression finally dissolved, his spine curved forward at the weight of her confession, “I can’t bear hearing anymore. I just want to drag the bastard around by his spine.” He covered his face with his hands.
“Like Mike?”
He frowned. “No, nothing like Mike.
“I know you’re not alike, but he used violence to communicate. It’s never a good idea.”
“Says the kickboxer.”
Vanessa gaped. “I learned that for self-defence. I’m not an idiot. Violence is all around us and I wanted to be prepared after my experiences. I decided no man would hurt me like that again. But I’m not violent. He didn’t change me that much.”
Jonathan took her hand and kissed her fingers. “I’m the idiot. And I’m selfish. You’re trying to tell me this horrendous thing and I’m being a ….” He raised his hands; the unofficial sign of stop! “Okay, I’m listening.”
“It can’t be easy, I don't know how I’d feel in your position. Truth is, I’d probably be thinking exactly the same.”
“Oh, Ness.” He lowered his head, his voice—a kind whisper, a signal of his own pain, a gasp before the choke—nourished her in its stark contrast to Mike’s cruelty. But when he tried to pull her into his arms, she refused to be cosseted, knowing it would break her concentration, end the torrential wave of catharsis that had begun. She needed to finally share her dire secret with someone she trusted, with someone she loved. With Jonathan. “Not yet,” she said maintaining a small space between them, “Let me finish first. I’m nearly done.”
Jonathan exhaled and nodded, reluctant and downcast.
She scratched her hand, stared off into the distance, transporting herself to the memories she’d hidden from for years, “Mike would look at me in the morning, and I knew I’d go to bed that night with another whistling ear or dislodged tooth or bruised limb, and it would always be my fault. At some point, I got used to the constant dread, how it mangled my intestines, crunched my shoulders into a deformed cramp, so I tried everything to prevent triggering his reprisal. Tried changing myself to fit around his needs; liked what he liked, agreed with his every observation, spoke only when spoken to, and broke off contact with everyone but him. He still didn't trust me. He’d come and watch me waiting tables from his car, drunk. And when I got home, he’d steal my tips and deliver his justice, for smiling too much or whatever.”
Vanessa sighed.
“Once, I told Shelly at work, who quickly tired of picking up the slack for me when I couldn’t work, or came in with one injury or another and was useless to anyone. She wasn’t surprised, said she’d seen loads of girls like me. Leave him, she told me. As though it would be the easiest thing. But I couldn’t just go. I didn’t know how, or where to run to. I knew he’d come after me, or try to …. and I didn’t know if I could live with myself if he killed himself… that’s if he didn’t find me and end us both first.”
Jonathan said, “Idle threats on his part, no doubt.”
Vanessa shrugged, “How could I be sure?” Her hand reddened, sore from scratching the same sp
ot. But she enjoyed the pain. “When he heard I’d spoken to Shelly about leaving him, he beat me so bad he had no choice but to take me to hospital.”
“Oh, Ness.” His fists clench on his lap.
After placing her empty glass on the floor, Jonathan threaded his fingers with hers, “That utter bastard!”
Only at this moment did she notice her old habit of masking emotional pain with a physical one had returned. She hadn’t done this since …. had Jonathan noticed the scar on her hand, or the constant scratching? Is that why he threaded fingers with her, to stop her? She hoped he hadn’t noticed, but if he had, she appreciated him not mentioning it.
“The police record says he found me outside our apartment block, attacked by thugs.”
“There’s a police record of those injuries?”
“It’s general policy under those circumstances. I was in hospital after an unprovoked attack in the street. They wanted to catch the bad guys. Little did they know they were talking to him.”
“Why didn’t you…?”
She clenched her jaw, knowing he would ask, but hating the question. “…because of absolute terror, hopeless love, a screwed up sense of right and wrong, a personality entrenched in worthlessness—you name it.”
Jonathan held his breath, but nodded faintly. “Sorry, go on.” His voice shook, eyes reddened, even his hands trembled while they gripped onto hers.
“Well,” she sniffed, ready to continue.
“Just a minute,” Jonathan interrupted, reluctantly letting go of her hands. He left her for a second, but returned with a tissue box from the bathroom. “Here.”
She smiled softly at the gesture, took a few tissues and blew her nose. Then, more able to breathe, she returned her thoughts to those dark days, “He’d fractured my skull, broken two of my ribs, but all Mike could do was say, ‘Why do you make me do these things? You turn me into a monster!’” She shook her head, went to grab her Scotch, sighed when she noticed the empty glass by her feet. “It was then a switch turned on or off inside my mind, and I swore to myself that if I left the hospital on two legs, I somehow had to leave Mike for good—for both our sakes. If I made him into a monster, I was no good for him but I knew he wouldn’t see it like that. He said many times that no matter what happened between us, I was his, or no one’s. That if I left him, he would kill us both.”
