Breaking Grace

by Rose Devereux

  And then he let me down by dying. By doing something so unlike him, I still don’t understand it. Sometimes at night, when I can’t stop wondering why why why, I wonder if I really knew him.

  There’s something shiny on the edge of the headstone. I reach for it and pick it up. It’s a small silver heart, heavy and cold in my hand. I didn’t leave this. I should have. It’s perfect for us.

  Maybe one of his cousins brought it. They all loved him. The younger girls worshipped him. They liked the zeros and ones tattooed on his inner arm – his ode to the binary number system. Even though his nose was broken and his eyes were two different colors, they thought he was the handsomest boy in the world.

  So did I. Now I’m starting to forget what he looked like.

  I lie on my stomach on the wet ground and rest my forehead against his headstone. “I saw him today,” I whisper. “I went crazy at his office.”

  My words vanish on the wind. I wonder if he can hear me. I wonder if he knows everything I feel and think.

  I hope not.

  Because then he knows all the horrible things in my head. The cravings that turn my stomach and make me want to die.

  Like when Bram Russell touched me today. My heart has never beat so hard. It wasn’t that I wanted him to love me. I wanted him to hurt me. Like he’s hurt me all along, only worse.

  I wanted him to bite my lips and draw blood. I wanted his rough fingers in my virgin pussy and his cock in my ass. I wanted him to ruin whatever parts of me grief hasn’t ruined already.

  The sacred parts I was going to give to James. Back when I thought of my body as a vessel of love. Now I think of it as a vessel to be fucked, something to be smashed and consumed.

  When I saw Bram that first day in court, my whole being turned on me. My clit pulsed as he mauled me with his cruel wolf’s grin. My panties were soaked and my nipples were hard as I sat sobbing on the stand.

  It wasn’t just his body or his piercing eyes. It was how he made me feel. Like a woman. Desired. Seen.

  Somehow, he knew me.

  As I swore to tell the truth, I was hoping he liked my dress. I was hoping he liked it so much, he’d think about it later while jerking off.

  I bury my face in my hands. I’m still a virgin, but every time I see Bram Russell he makes me feel like a whore.

  I squirm on the grass over James’s coffin as heat arcs across my chilled skin. I’m dying for just a moment of comfort. To escape into a horrible fantasy that will never come true.

  I slip my hand in my panties and let memories of today wash over me. Bram’s big hands on my waist. His breath on my neck. His cock against my hip. It was the first cock I’ve ever felt, and it was so thick and long. My first humiliating instinct was to worship it. To give up my pride. To tell him I was born to serve him on my knees, forever.

  Flickering my finger across my clit, I moan.

  When he grabbed me, I could smell the woodsy scent of his thick brown hair. It’s so short it’s almost buzzed. It makes him look like a drill sergeant. Big, broad, and merciless. Like he’d force me down onto rough concrete and punish me with his huge dick in my mouth.

  It’s so dirty to imagine it, but it feels so good.

  I picture his teeth sinking into the back of my neck as he pushes my panties to the side and breeds me. I’m there, right now, in the convenience store. Blood trickles down my thigh as his cock stretches my cunt open. I can see the fluorescent lights overhead and hear my pleasured screams ringing off the walls.

  “Stop,” I beg him as he floods my pussy with come. “Please, stop. This is wrong.”

  A drop of cold rain on my lip brings me back to reality. I pull my hand out of panties and sit up. As soon as I do, shame overwhelms me. Tears pour down my cheeks.

  Forgive me, James. I hate being this person. I don’t know why I am.

  I must be so damaged. More damaged than I realized. Maybe my father’s right. I was born this way. Born lonely and wicked, with a huge empty void to fill.

  I never wanted James like this, and I’m glad. We were friends, almost like brother and sister. We kissed and held hands. Our love was innocent.

  What I feel for Bram Russell isn’t innocent. It’s like a form of death. I want him to wipe away everything I’ve ever felt. I want him to fuck me so hard I don’t survive it.

  I hear a car on the road behind the cemetery and leap to my feet. I have to go. Isaac would know to look for me here. I’ve spent more time in this cemetery than any living person should.

  The granite headstone is cold and smooth under my lips. “’Bye, baby,” I whisper, and limp toward the fence. Only when I get to the street do I realize I left my sandals behind.

  I’ve been walking less than five minutes when something sharp cuts through the frozen numbness on my right foot. I stop and look. A sliver of glass.

  It’s okay. Don’t let them find you. Keep going.

  Keep going where? I can’t go to my parents’ house, or the apartment that isn’t mine anymore. I can’t call any of my friends without a phone.

  And I wouldn’t anyway. My pride won’t let me. I’d rather die.

  James’s father would understand. He’s always cared about me. But it would kill him to see me this way. He’s so fragile after the divorce and losing James. He needs me to prop him up. Not the other way around.

  I feel a hollow emptiness where my heart used to be. I thought I’d lost everything after James died, but this is losing everything. This is having nowhere left to go.

  I go out to the main street and turn right toward the city. Ahead I see the lights of The Chapman Bridge. The suicide capital of the state.

  I’ve always thought it was beautiful. It’s lit from underneath by blue and white lights, and at night it looks suspended in mid-air. I once heard that two hundred people a year end their lives there. They come from miles around just to die.

  There are a few people walking ahead of me. They’re wearing rain gear and boots, and they stride with purpose. They know exactly where they’re going, toward the bright windows of home. Nobody seems to notice the barefoot girl limping behind them.

  Soon they’re gone and I’m alone.

  I walk to the center of the bridge, duck around the safety bars, and peer over the side. Through a layer of misty drizzle, I see water swirling in hypnotic black circles. Cars swish across the asphalt behind me. The steel railing is slippery under my hands.

  It’s barely above freezing now. The rain has turned to hard little needles of ice.

  In twenty seconds, I could be warm and at peace, floating in the womb of the dark river. No more pain, no more running, no more disgusting desires. No more mistakes or shame. I could be with James again. If there really is a heaven.

  My parents would be shocked to know my doubts. If they knew what I feel, the things I think…they wouldn’t even try to reform me. They’d say I was beyond hope. And maybe I am. Maybe this would solve everything, for all of us.

  Slinging my leg over the railing, I hitch myself up. Just to know what it’s like. To see how it feels to be almost dead.

  I stare into the open space between the bridge and the water, and imagine letting go. It would be so much farther than the jump from my parents’ window. Like dropping through space. I can see my body falling, falling, falling, and then the tiny splash.

  No one would see me go under. No one would even know I was gone.

  Eyes stinging with tears, I slide back down to safety.

  Never.

  Even the thought makes me feel like retching. I haven’t gone through this much pain to give up. To never be happy again.

  I take a step back and almost slip on the icy metal grate. My heart pounds. A lot of people mean to die on this bridge, but some of them fall. I’ve read that. They climb over the railing to jump and change their minds, then die anyway.

  Now that I’m safe, my body starts to shake. Eyes closed, I grip the railing and breathe.

  “You’re okay,” I whisper. “You’re alive. J
ust keep moving.”

  Just as I let go of the railing, I hear quick footsteps behind me. One, two, three – then a powerful body slams against my back.

  I gasp. My nails claw the air. Legs bucking, I lash out at a figure I can’t see.

  A hand smothers my screams. Thick fingers force a rag between my teeth. The taste of it makes me sick.

  No, no, no! I try to yell but nothing comes out.

  The world goes black as a hood slams over my head. The knot crushes my throat. I grab at it but my fingers are weak and slippery.

  I blink inside the hood. I need to stay awake. Keep your eyes open. Fucking think.

  A second ago I wanted to die. Now all I want is to live.

  I try to breathe but I’m choking on the rag in my mouth. Through my terror I hear a low, rough voice. “Don’t fight, sweetie. It’s easier that way.”

  But I have to fight. It’s all I know how to do.

  I try to kick but my knees buckle. Someone catches me as I crumple to the ground.

  I’m so cold, and then, in an instant, I’m not cold anymore. I’m not warm. I feel nothing.

  Behind my eyelids, I see colors and faces. I see my mother, James, my body falling from the bridge. Then blackness.

  Bram

  She’s breathing. Barely.

  I push my hand into the bag and feel her heart beating, quick and light. Her skin is cold and pale blue. She doesn’t have any injuries that I can see. No blood or bruises. She smells like chemicals. Whatever it is must have knocked her out.

  She’s wearing the same dress she had on at the convenience store. The neckline has pulled open, exposing a sliver of lacy white bra underneath. My fingers ache to touch it, but I don’t.

  I pick her up in my arms. She doesn’t move.

  She’s fragile and small, a tiny dove. I look down at her dirt-streaked face. I want to hate her, but right now I can’t. All I feel is protective, like I just found an injured fawn in the road.

  “How did you end up here?” I mutter. “What the fuck happened to you?”

  I shouldn’t have touched her with a ten-foot pole. I know that. I also know she isn’t here by accident.

  I can’t call the cops. Not yet. I need time to think. I’ve got to get her inside.

  I carry her across the yard in the dark. Her legs sway back and forth. I have to sling her over my shoulder to punch in the code and open the front door. She’s like a child, barely heavy enough to register against my shoulder.

  I kick the door shut behind us. I can’t fucking believe it. Grace Garrett is in my house.

  Kneeling down, I lay her on the living room rug. I grab scissors from the kitchen and snip off the ropes. When I pull the tarp open, her arms fall down by her sides. Her feet are bare and dirty. She’s soaked. Her legs are covered in scratches.

  Between the convenience store and right now, something very fucking scary happened to this girl. I wish to hell I knew what it was.

  Not that she’s my problem. At least, she wasn’t until she landed in my yard.

  Rolling her off the tarp, I ball it up and toss it away from me. I go upstairs and grab a blanket and my phone. On the way back down, I call Fritz. He answers in a quiet voice, which tells me he’s in bed next to Coral.

  “You get it?”

  Those three words tell me everything. I grip the phone so tight I hear it crack.

  “There’s an unconscious crazy girl in my living room. Did that fuck-up Vernon do this?”

  “Yes,” he says. “With good intentions and a friend he met at Burning Man.”

  “Is that who called me? Jesus Christ.” I drag a hand over my wet hair. “How did they find her?”

  “Vernon’s mother lives like, eight blocks from Grace’s parents. They happened to get very fucking lucky to see her on the street.”

  “Fuck, Fritz, lucky? They know where her parents live?”

  “After the trial, who doesn’t?”

  I clench my fist and imagine slamming it into Vernon’s gapped teeth. “What was that asshole thinking?”

  “I don’t know. He’s got the mind of a nine-year old, okay? He feels beholden to you for the car thing. He just called me full of remorse, afraid he’s going to jail for life. He was trying to be a hero.”

  I bark out a laugh. “By dumping Grace Garrett in my yard?”

  “He was following some pretty specific requests that came from your mouth –”

  “When I was rambling and blowing off steam, not to mention fucking drunk –”

  Fritz snorts. “Vernon’s a total pussy and always has been. Why do you think I didn’t shut you down tonight? Because I knew it would never happen.”

  “And yet it happened, Fritz. Explain that to me.”

  “Listen. He and his buddy saw Grace walking near the cemetery and followed her onto the Chapman Bridge. They were too scared to go through with it. They were about to drive away.”

  “So why the fuck didn’t they?”

  He goes silent.

  “Fritz?”

  He blows out a breath. “Because, man. She was ready to jump. They saved the bitch’s life. Given the PR nightmare they just prevented for you and Phantom, I think a little gratitude is in order. Don’t you?”

  I can’t speak. Pain carves through me from my throat to my gut. I can barely breathe.

  Grace was ready to jump. I can see her up there in the icy dark, one of the hopeless, desperate for a way out.

  So much for no more guilt. I’m fucking choking on it.

  I cover my eyes with my hand. All I wanted was to talk to her. To say how sorry I am, even if she is a scheming liar. I drove her to the brink instead.

  “Holy shit.”

  “Yeah,” Fritz says. “Not to mention she was barefoot, no phone, no coat –”

  “What did they use to knock her out?”

  “Vernon’s buddy works in a chemistry lab at the college. Fuck knows what he’s got in his trunk.”

  Grace hasn’t moved. Phone jammed between my ear and shoulder, I drape the blanket over her dirty wet body.

  “Was she drunk?” I ask.

  “Didn’t look like it. Vernon said she was walking fine.”

  I look down at her pale, lost face. “What the hell am I supposed to do with her?”

  “You had that all figured out at the bar. What happened? The sight of her pretty face get you all flummoxed?”

  “Fuck you.”

  There’s rustling as he gets up. A few seconds later I hear a door shut and his voice gets louder. “Look, Bram, I was a paramedic for a lot of underpaid years. I know what on the edge looks like. I know fucked up enough to destroy your life right along with hers. I promise you she’s got more tricks up her sleeve. So I suggest you get this nutcase under control.”

  I know what that means. Don’t let her go. Don’t give her a stern talking-to. Don’t bring her to rehab. Don’t threaten her with legal action or telling her parents.

  Do what’s necessary. Correct her. Take care of the problem my way.

  Given how this looks, I might not have a fucking choice.

  “How’d the guy knock her out?” I ask. “Any chance it will kill her?”

  “Doubt it. She’ll probably be awake by morning. If it was ether, she won’t remember much. The way Vernon described her, she sounds hypothermic. You want her to live? Get those wet clothes off her and warm her up.”

  I get up and pace across the living room. My blood is pumping too hard to sit still. “I need you to tie up loose ends,” I say. “Keep Vernon and his idiot friend quiet. I’ll pay if I have to.”

  “You won’t. These aren’t pros, they’re morons. They’re scared shitless.”

  “They should be. I want to slaughter both of them.” Bending down, I press my fingers to the pulse in Grace’s neck. It’s a little stronger and slower.

  “She’s high profile, Bram. She can’t stay missing for long.”

  “I know. I’ll think of something. And Fritz? Thanks.” He’s never been more of a friend t
o me than he is right now. I wonder if he knows that.

  “She’s yours,” he says. “As long as you’ve got her, she’s not fucking up your life. This could be a good thing.”

  “A good thing.”

  “Yes. Call me if you need help.” He hangs up.

  Phone in hand, I stand staring at the floor. This is a dream. This morning my whole life was mapped out in boring detail. I had one challenge left. Phantom.

  Now I’ve got so many fucking challenges I can’t keep track of them. Phantom is the last thing on my mind.

  I hear a tiny moan behind me, like an abandoned kitten under a pile of garbage. And that truth is so fucking real, nothing else matters.

  Grace is here. She’s drugged and half-frozen. And my options are practically zero.

  I could drop her on her parents’ doorstep. But showing up at their house is as good as saying I kidnapped her. Not to mention they’re doing a shit job taking care of her.

  I could dump her somewhere else. A church or a fire station. But who knows who’d find her, and when. In this weather, she could die.

  I could call the police and try to explain the whole –

  Fuck, no.

  All three alternatives are out.

  Which means she’s staying here. For Christ knows how long.

  When she wakes up under my roof, she’ll blame me. She’ll say she was kidnapped. She could say anything and the whole world would believe her. Her DNA is all over my house and my yard.

  And it’s too late to undo it. Fucking Vernon. The idiot thought he was doing me a favor.

  I clench my fists and growl at the ceiling. Goddamnit. I wanted this to happen. I can act like it’s a shock but deep in my ruined fucking heart I longed for it. I asked for it.

  I wanted Grace Garrett in my hands, and now I’ve got her.

  I’m the monster she always thought I was. That I knew I was, under my bullshit façade.

  And the fucked-up thing is that she needs me. What happened on the Chapman Bridge proves it.

  I kneel down on the rug. Taking her chin in my hand, I turn her face toward me. I’ve never seen it so close-up. Never studied it.

  Her eyebrows are slightly thick arches. One’s a little higher than the other. On the side of her nose is a scratch with a little bead of blood at the end. Curved along the edge of her lower lip is a small, jagged scar. I touch it with my fingertip. She probably doesn’t know how pretty it is.