“I guess it could do with a sweep through. You are an angel, Charlotte, thank you.”
I set about to clean the layers of dust that had grown over the years the room had been unused. I squared up a pile of papers that dated back years on the desk but avoided the shelf of photographs. Many were of Beau, some of Cecelia with her husband, and there was one very old one that I assumed to be her parents.
When I was done, the sunlight that streamed through the window reflected off the polished wooden desk. The room look completely different once the shutters were open. I picked up my cleaning materials, aware that my t-shirt and hands were filthy, and found Cecelia in the kitchen. She was sitting at the table, holding her cup of tea but staring into space.
“I’m done in there. It looks lovely now, not that it didn’t before,” I added, quickly.
“I thought it might make a nice room to sit and read. Or a communal space for my guests, what do you think?”
“I think a communal space is a great idea.”
“I have a couple of small sofas in one of the outbuildings, I’m pretty sure they’re still in great condition. Once we get rid of the chair, and the desk, we’ll bring those in and arrange them.”
“Of course, I’ll speak with Kieran tomorrow.”
I left her in the kitchen and took a slow walk back to my apartment. It was a beautiful afternoon but my back and shoulders ached. I’d been working hard over the past few days, often falling straight into bed fully clothed, before dinner. I paused on the corner of the block and raised my face to the sun; I hoped the vitamin D might give me an energy boost. The sound of a car backfiring caused me to dart forward and slam my back against the wall. A rattling old engine slowly cruised past the turn I was hiding in. I kept my head pressed against the wall with my face looking in the opposite direction. However, when I saw the shadow of the car pass by on the opposite wall, I slowly turned to look. A beat up, light blue car with a broken tail light and no registration plate drove slowly down the road. Damien’s car was beat up with a broken taillight but I struggled to remember if it was light blue or silver. I took off at a run and didn’t stop until I reached the front door of the apartment building.
I stripped off my clothes and stood under the shower. My heart was racing and I took in some deep breaths to steady myself.
“Get a grip,” I said to myself.
I had to find some strength. Unless he physically kidnapped me, there wasn’t much else he could do to get me back to Whiteling. Was he capable of kidnapping me? Probably. But being able to and actually doing it were two different things. He scared me; he’d threatened me for many years. I had to keep in mind that, at the end of the day, he was a bully. He ruled with fear. He was certainly a fucking pervert and not right in the head, but in just the couple of weeks I’d been away, I was a changed person. He couldn’t force me to do anything I didn’t want to. I just needed to make sure I wasn’t alone on the streets at night. I couldn’t leave myself in a vulnerable position at any time, and maybe I should open up a little to those that seemed to care for me.
With a new resolve, I set about to change the furniture around and make it more a home for me. I didn’t need a TV, but some shelves that could house a book collection would be nice, as would a lick of paint on the walls. I made a list of things that I would chat to Cecelia about.
I cooked a meal that evening, it was the first time I’d actually cooked in a long time. Most of what I’d eaten in the trailer had been something defrosted and microwaved or I’d snacked. I diced some chicken, vegetables, and added a tomato sauce to the stir-fry. I sat, curled up on the sofa and ate, enjoying the silence. Beside me, on a small coffee table sat the cell. I picked it up and scrolled through the two numbers listed. I wondered where Beau was, and what he did for a job. I imagined the house he owned hadn’t been cheap and the truck he drove was new. What kind of a job had him jetting off to wherever at a moment’s notice? I placed the phone back and shook my head. I didn’t want to be interested in him. I wasn’t attracted to him, but he did intrigue me, and that annoyed me a little. I thought back on what Cecelia had said. To come home and have his partner just disappear must have been hard. People didn’t disappear for no reason, though.
It was three days later that I saw Beau again. I’d covered Kacy’s shift, and although Kieran had insisted on walking me home, I waved him off at the corner. I could see Beau further down the street, illuminated by a street lamp and about to turn the corner into the courtyard. At the same time a car pulled up beside him. I watched as his back stiffened and he slowly turned. He placed his hands on the roof and leaned down to talk to the passenger. Although I watched him, I continued to walk to my house. I saw him slam his fist on the roof and then I was stunned into paralysis. He reached behind him, to his waistband, and pulled out a gun. He leveled the gun at the passenger window but didn’t fire. The car roared off, and I ducked down the pathway of the neighboring property, hoping their planting would conceal me.
I peered through the bush and watched as Beau looked up the street while replacing the gun in the waistband of his jeans. It seemed that he hadn’t seen me, thankfully, he rounded the corner and was out of sight.
People carried guns, Damien often played around with one, I got that. But there was something in the way he pulled that gun from his jeans, the way he held it steady that had me thinking he was quite used to handling one. I stayed hidden in the bush, knowing that Beau had gone, but trying to understand what I’d just seen. I shivered, not sure if that was from the dip in temperature over the past couple of evenings, or fear.
I stood and cautiously stepped around the bush. Sure that the coast was completely clear, I headed up the steps to my building’s front door. I passed the door to the downstairs apartment, it was empty according to Cecelia, and climbed the stairs to mine. For the first time, I felt a little uneasy being in the house on my own. I retreated down the stairs and double locked the front door.
I decided I’d get a safety chain, or some other form of security for my apartment front door. It wasn’t seeing Beau with a gun that had prompted that decision, but the fact he could draw that gun in the street without, as it seemed to me, a care of being seen. Obviously, people of this town didn’t look out for each other. For the second time, or the third, I’d lost count, I wondered who the fuck he was.
I was woken by someone grabbing my arm and dragging me from my bed. I screamed out and tried to fight him off. I knew it was a ‘him’ by the strength of the grip on my bicep.
“Calm the fuck down,” Beau said.
“Calm the fuck down? Let go of me, you fucking…”
He did, and I fell to the floor. I rubbed at my arm.
“What are you doing?” I shouted at him.
“Get dressed.”
“No, what the fuck are you doing? And why are you in my house?”
“My aunt’s…”
“I rent this, you have no right to just come in here, in the middle of the night and drag me from my bed. I should call the police.” My voice rose further on every word.
He held out his cell to me. “Go on, call them. In the meantime, get dressed, I need you out of here.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” I shuffled until my back was against the bed and drew my knees to my chest.
I wanted to get up and turn the light on, my eyes hurt with the strain of seeing him in the darkened room.
“Charlotte, get up and get dressed, otherwise, I’ll throw you over my shoulder and carry you out.”
“I’ll scream with every fucking step. Get. Out.” I was glad I was the only tenant; my shouting would have had everyone up.
Beau walked toward the dresser and wrenched open a drawer so hard it fell to the floor. He grabbed a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. I rose, but not quickly enough, before he opened another drawer and pulled out a pair of panties. I grabbed at his wrist as he rifled in the drawer.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I said, through clenched teeth.
; “Looking for a bra, obviously.”
“There’s nothing obvious about what you’re doing.”
We wrestled with a black bra until he let go and I stumbled backward. In any other circumstance, I would have laughed at the absurdity of it all.
Beau gathered up my clothes and in one swoop, he had his arm around my waist and before I could take in the breath I needed to scream, I was hanging over his shoulder. He kicked open my bedroom door, and then wrenched the front door. How he managed to keep hold of me as he walked down the stairs, I wasn’t sure. I wriggled; I pummeled his back with my fists, and kicked my legs. I heard him wince at one point when my bare foot connected with some part of his body.
Once we left the building and I saw the reason for him wanting me to leave, I was subdued. He placed me, none too gently, on the ground. I was conscious of the fact I was in my panties and a tank, but it wasn’t the cold that had me wrap my arms around myself. Scrawled in spray paint, I thought, across the front door was one word.
Harlot
I closed my eyes, holding in the sob.
“Tell me that has nothing to do with you,” he said, thrusting my clothes at me.
I couldn’t. Harlot was the nickname Damien had for me. Obviously, it wasn’t a nickname of affection.
“Charlotte the harlot, he calls me,” I whispered.
“Then he knows where you’re living.”
“I’ll leave. I’ll clean that up in the morning, and then I’ll go.”
I knew that I’d promised him I would leave before, but I thought I’d resolved it in my head. Damien couldn’t hurt me. I hadn’t anticipated the mental pain he was able to inflict. I felt defeated. Although it had been only a few weeks, I thought I stood a chance of freedom.
“Shit, shoes,” he said.
I looked down at my bare feet. I didn’t get the chance to respond before he picked me up again, gentler that time, and carried me down the steps. He set me on the hood of his truck while he opened the door. Before he could pick me up yet again, I slid off and climbed in the truck myself. I had no idea why he felt the need to carry me no more than the few steps I would have taken to reach his truck.
I watched him lock the front door before he walked around the truck and climbed in the driver’s seat. I wasn’t sure what to say to him. For a while, he sat looking stonily out the windshield. He sighed before starting the engine and we drove the short distance to his house.
I had started to shiver by the time we entered his home. I stood in the hallway and pulled on my jeans and the t-shirt. I wished I’d had the chance to grab the one sweatshirt, his sweatshirt, that I had. He didn’t speak as he walked to the kitchen door and I waited to see if I was expected to follow. He looked over his shoulder before he entered the room. I took that as an invitation to join him.
“Beau, I…”
“I’ll deal with the door tomorrow.”
“Will you tell Cecelia?”
“No. I don’t want her worried, she’s not in the best of health.”
He poured two cups of coffee and slid one over to me. I climbed on the same stool I’d sat on just a few days ago.
“How did you know?”
“I was driving home, I saw the door. I panicked a little, I guess.”
If that was an apology for dragging me from my bed, I’d take it. I wasn’t going to inflame the situation any further with a smart remark.
“Will you tell the police?” I asked.
“No. If I thought you’d actually corroborate the story then I would. What are they going to do anyway? Some fucking punk spray painted a door, doubt they’ll put much effort into finding out who.”
“Why did you panic?”
“The word, it’s a bit obvious it was directed at you, Charlotte.”
He hadn’t actually answered my question. “You hurt my arm,” I said quietly.
He slowly nodded, again, I guessed that was as much of an apology as I was going to get.
I sat up straight and took a deep breath in. “I’m going back,” I said.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m going after him. I’m not living like this anymore. I don’t want to keep running, I love it here. I want to be able to live my life without him, and the only way I can do is to show him I’m not scared of him anymore.”
“Are you? Not scared of him anymore? Because from where I’m standing, you’re terrified. I can smell the fear, Charlotte, so will he.”
“He isn’t that intelligent. Regardless of what you think you know about me, which is very little, I’m a fucking good actress, Beau. Believe me, that’s one skill I mastered when I had to lay and pretend I was having a good time.”
He screwed his eyes shut, again, in disgust.
“You can be as disgusted with me as you like, but I’m not a victim anymore. I didn’t ask for, or deserve, anything I went through.”
“I’m not disgusted with you. I…”
“You what? Feel sorry for me?” I laughed, bitterly.
“I feel sorry for you, why is that so wrong?”
He took me by surprise. “How old are you? And don’t give me the crap you gave my aunt. That guy has fucked up your life so far, and I can tell you now, without even knowing him, you go back there, and you won’t be leaving.”
“What do you suggest then, huh?” I stood from the stool, annoyed at his lack of belief in me.
“You tell me the truth, and I’ll help you.”
I stared at him with a bunch of words on the tip of my tongue, none of which he’d want to hear.
“I don’t know you.”
“What has that got to do with anything?”
“I don't know you enough to trust you with why I need to deal with this. You’ve done nothing but be rude to me. You’ve openly displayed your distrust of me, yet you want me to tell you my secrets so you’ll help?”
“You talk like the twenty-one-year-old you pretend to be, older in fact, but I know you’re not that age.”
“How old do you think I am?”
“It doesn’t matter how old I think you are. If you want my help, I have to know everything.”
“How can you help, Beau? I saw you earlier, is that the kind of help you think I need?”
It was his turn to be silent for a moment.
“You don’t know what you saw.”
“I saw you pull a gun on someone in a car. I’ll tell you, after you’ve told me why.”
He laughed. “You’re feisty, I’ll give you that.” He leaned toward me, his face just a few inches from mine. “That was work.”
“Work? What kind of work means you pull a gun on someone?”
“The kind of work you don’t need to know about.”
I stood, taking a step away from him. “Thank you for the coffee. Like I said, I’ll clean the door in the morning and then I’ll deal with my problem.”
“Good luck, Charlotte.”
I walked to the kitchen door and then realized, I had no way of getting back in the apartment. I turned and held out my hand.
“I’ll need your key.”
He raised his eyebrows, a smirk formed on his lips.
“Since you’re the one that dragged me from my bed, didn’t give me a chance to at least get dressed and gather my things, it’s the least you can do.”
“What if he’s out there?”
“I’d rather take my chances with him than you. I know him; I know exactly what he’ll do, if he’s sober enough to do anything, of course. You’re unpredictable. Your words and blatant dislike of me, hurt more than his punches.”
He tossed his keys toward me. They landed short, I took a step forward and picked them up from the floor.
“You make me feel like he does, worthless,” I said, quietly.
“I’m fucking nothing…”
I didn’t hear the rest of his sentence. I left the house and started the walk back to the apartment.
“Charlotte, wait,” I heard. I kept walking until Beau caught up with me.
>
“I’m sorry, okay? I’ll walk you back.”
I nodded but didn’t reply. Beau made me feel like the piece of shit Damien always told me I was. By the time I was at the front door, I was struggling to hold back the tears. I reached out and gently touched the paint on the door. It was dry, for that I was thankful. At least it meant he had long gone, or so I hoped.
I had the door opened and was about to close it behind me when I heard Beau speak.
“I’m sorry, Charlotte. I…”
“I know. Thank you for your apology.”
I locked the door and headed up to my apartment. It was only once I’d locked the apartment door and dragged a chair to wedge under the handle, that I allowed the tears to flow.
I didn’t want to go back to bed, so I curled up on the sofa and wrapped myself in my grandmother’s quilt. I sat and watched the sun rise, not knowing how long I’d been there. My neck ached, my knees had locked from being bent for so long. I stretched out and, trying not to hobble, made my way to the shower.
With a bucket of hot water and some detergent, I set about to scrub the front door. By the time I’d gotten most of the paint off, my hands were screaming with pain from gripping the sponge. I wiped the door to dry it and then realized I was going to have to get it repainted. Where I’d cleaned it, I’d taken a layer of the blue paint off as well.
“I’ll sort that,” I heard from behind. I sighed. I didn’t need to deal with Beau on top of being tired and aching all over.
“If you can just tell me where to get the paint, I can do that after my shift at the diner.”
“So, you’re not going all renegade after your cousin today, then?” He chuckled as he spoke.
“No, not today, that would be way too obvious now, wouldn’t it?”
“As well as your slushy romance, I suppose you read crime novels, too?”
“No, I don’t in fact. I just have some common sense. Beau, I’m too tired for this today. Please, just leave me alone for a while.”
“You’re nineteen, Charlotte, and Johnson isn’t your surname,” he said.
Harlot Page 8
