by Monica James
“It’s not like that,” I pathetically reply. “Yes, the sexual chemistry is off tap, but there’s something more. Something deeper.”
“Oh yeah, I bet there’s something deeper,” Rebecca crudely adds, and I turn my nose up at her vulgarity.
She takes a moment to look at me, and whatever she sees must reveal the truth. “Holy shit, you’re not fucking him, are you? Oh my God.”She covers her mouth, attempting to mask her laugh.
Her ridicule over a touchy topic for me has my cheeks reddening further, and I lower my face, ashamed. Why does everything have to be about sex?
“Sweetheart, from one girl to another, men like that ain’t gonna stick around if you’re not putting out. I mean, look at him, and well, look at you,” she cruelly states. “A man like Dixon wants to fuck, not talk, and if you don’t give him what he wants, he’ll find it elsewhere. Honey, I’m sure you can see there are many willing participants who would happily cheat on their spouses to tend to his needs. Me included. You wanna keep a man like that? Well, you better give up the goods.”
“What are you talking about?” I defensively ask, the walls closing in around me.
“I’m saying you gotta rock his world before someone else does it for you. This innocent, virginal gig is only going to last for so long.”
I gasp, stunned she can read me so easily.
“Gosh, don’t look so disgusted. Most women would kill to be in your shoes. Sex is power, and that power best be in your hands, not his. If you want to keep him, you’ll do whatever it takes,” she states, but I’m no longer listening to her.
I begin to feel sick, her words stirring up unwanted memories, memories I promised to deal with once I got back to New York. But hearing Rebecca say the words I know to be true sends my past torpedoing into me, and I’m going to hurl.
“Excuse me,” I say, standing quickly and making a mad dash through the room.
The moment I reach the restrooms, I crouch over the toilet bowl and heave up the entire contents of my stomach. I vomit until there is nothing left, but I continue to purge until I’m gagging on my tears and regret. My loud sobs echo off the bowl, and I thump the cold tiles underneath me, wishing I wasn’t so fucked up and vulnerable to my past.
The dizziness kicks in and I cover my ears, his words on a cruel repetitive loop, one I’ve been trying to silence for thirteen years.
“You’ll do this, Sunny. If you love me, you’ll do this.”
31
Skeletons in the Closet
DIXON
I have no idea where she is. I’ve searched this entire hotel for Madison, but she has vanished without a trace. The concierge has checked her room, but she’s not in there, and I’ve tried her cell, but it goes straight to voicemail.
When I returned to the table and saw she was gone, Rebecca said she went to the restroom, and would be back soon. However, when twenty minutes went by and she was still gone, I knew something was wrong.
Charging down the corridor, I see a small group of people crowding around a room. Looks of confusion and concern mar their features, and I race toward them, my heart in my throat.
“What’s going on?” I bluntly ask an older lady in a lime pantsuit.
“Someone’s in there,” she replies, pointing to the linen closet. “Some poor girl ran in there and has locked the door. We’ve tried contacting staff, but they seem too busy to deal with us normal folk,” she adds, looking down her nose at me.
Of course they are—they’re too busy with my drunken colleagues.
“Please, will you let me through?” I ask, pushing my way past the nosy bystanders.
The moment I reach the door, I squat low and place my ear against the door because I can’t hear much, thanks to the murmuring crowd. As I listen closer, I hear a tiny sniffle and then some muffled words, and without a doubt I know that Madison is inside.
“Madison? Are you in there?” I ask, trying to keep my voice soothing and calm.
When she doesn’t reply, I ask again, “Madison, it’s Dixon. Can you hear me?”
Still nothing.
“Should I call security?” an onlooker asks.
I hold out my hand, shaking my head. “No, I’ve got this. Please, could you all give me a minute?”
Most comply, while others take a step back, still loitering close by, but it’ll have to do.
“Angelo, it’s me. If you can hear me, please give me a sign that you’re okay. You don’t have to come out, I’m right here with you. I just need to know that you’re okay.”
The crowd hushes, listening to me reason through a door.
I press my ear against the wood, listening closely, but hear nothing. I’ve got to keep trying, because if she doesn’t reply, I’m minutes away from breaking down the door. I could call the concierge, but I really want to save her the embarrassment of the entire hotel staff knowing she’s locked herself in a linen closet.
My brain churns through the reasons why she would lock herself in such a confined space, and only one reason comes to mind.
She’s scared.
Something happened during those few minutes while I was gone, and I hate that I wasn’t there to protect her. But I’m here now, and I’ll do everything in my power to make her feel safe once again.
Thinking back to when I was a child and scared, I employ the only thing that ever made the monsters go away.
I sing:
Farfallina
Bella e bianca
Vola vola
Mai si stanca
Gira qua
E gira la
Poi si resta sopra un fiore
E poi si resta spora un fiore.
This is the nursery rhyme my mother used to sing to me when I was a child, and each and every time she made the nightmares go away. I just hope I can do the same for Madison. Just as I’m about to sing verse two, I hear the lock on the door click open and the crowd around me gasps.
“Please don’t crowd around the door. The person inside is very important to me, and when I go in, I don’t want her to think she’s in some kind of freak show,” I say, hoping they get the hint and leave.
I don’t wait long enough to see if they listen or not because I slowly open the door, and peer inside the darkened room. My eyes take a moment to adjust to the darkness, but once they do my heart breaks when I see Madison pushed up against the far wall, her knees drawn up to her chest, her feet bare. She’s rocking backward and forward, her face pressed up against her knees and she’s humming softly.
“Madison?” I whisper, pushing open the door a fraction further.
But she continues humming, her face turned away from me.
The only way I’m going to snap her out of her near-catatonic state is making contact with her, so I slowly crawl inside, shutting the door behind me. I can’t see a thing, so I use Madison’s humming as my beacon of light.
“Madison, it’s Dixon. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m here to help. I’m going to come over there, okay?”
She doesn’t reply, but her humming ceases.
I slowly crawl toward her, all the while cooing to her. “It’ll be okay. I’m here and I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
Reaching out, I gently place my hand on her leg. Her skin is icy cold, and the moment I make contact, she scurries backward but has nowhere to go because of the wall behind her.
I instantly back off, my hands raised in surrender. “Madison, you’re safe. We don’t have to go anywhere. I’ll stay here with you until you’re ready to leave. No matter how long that takes, I’ll be here. I won’t leave you, I promise.”
I decide to make myself comfortable and sit, stretching my legs out in front of me. The sliver of light coming in from under the door is the only light source we have, and although it’s dim, it’s enough for me to see Madison’s broken frame as she curls in on herself, not wanting to face the real world.
It goes without saying something awful happened to this beautiful creature, and I have a feeling that something is
one heinous, unspeakable betrayal of the worst degree. I grind my teeth at the thought because there are only a handful of things that would evoke a breakdown such as this.
“Oh, angelo, what did they do to you?” I whisper, running a hand down my face and slouching in defeat.
“D-Dixon?” Madison stutters, her voice small and hoarse.
“I’m here,” I reply, quickly sitting upright.
“I’m sorry,” she cries. “I don’t know how I ended up in here. Last I remember I was in the bathroom and then everything went blank. I’m so sorry.”
“Shh, you have nothing to be sorry for. I’m going to come over, okay?”
“Okay.”
I crawl over slowly and extend my hand until I touch Madison’s knee. I breathe out a sigh of relief when her skin feels a degree warmer. “I’m just going to slip my hands underneath your knees and around your back,” I say, not wanting to freak her out with any sudden movements.
“I can walk,” she whispers, but I doubt that she can.
“That’s okay. Let me be your knight in shining armor for the night,” I reply, thankful she sounds semi-coherent.
“You already are.” She surprises me as she reaches out and brushes my cheek.
Her actions inflame my heart, but I’ll deal with that later because I want to get her out of here. I place my forearm under her knees and scoop her up. She comes willingly as she sags into my body, resting her head against my chest and wrapping her hands around my neck. I slowly stand and secure my hold around her and take our first step toward freedom.
I blindly reach for the door handle, making sure I keep Madison tucked firmly into me. I open the door slowly, my eyes squinting as the harsh light burns my light-sensitive pupils. They adjust within seconds, and when they do, I see there are a few spectators standing outside, rudely gawking. They thankfully have the good mind to move out of the way. Madison tucks herself closer into my body, hiding her face into my neck, as she is no doubt embarrassed by everyone staring at her.
I push my way through, not caring who I bump into, and quickly make my way toward the elevator.
Stepping inside, I push my floor number and the cart charges upward, the dull elevator music and Madison’s soft breathing the only noises filling the cart.
Looking at our reflections in the mirrored wall, Madison’s frail, fragile appearance breaks my heart.
The moment the cart stops at my floor, I step out, holding Madison’s frame like a bag of gold. She tightens her grip around my nape and nuzzles into my neck, making a contented sound. My feet pound on the carpeted floor as I make my way toward my room, and the moment I’m inside, I head straight for the bedroom and switch on the bedside lamp.
With a little maneuvering, I pull back the sheet and gently place Madison down. The moment she feels the soft sheets beneath her she sighs and lets go of my neck, nuzzling into the pillow. She’s still in her gown, but after tonight, there’s no way I’m going to undress her, so I gently cover her with the sheet and comforter. She’s asleep within seconds.
I stand and watch her sleeping, mourning her broken appearance. The once-radiant, confident woman now looks like a shattered, scared child.
When I’m certain she’s sound asleep, I unfasten my tie and slip off my jacket and shoes. I wearily lower myself onto the floor beside her, using the bedside table as my support.
Here I’ll stay, keeping my promise, protecting her until she feels safe once again.
32
You’re Perfect to Me
DIXON
I awake, my body screaming at me for sleeping on the floor. I can’t remember when I fell asleep, but I do remember Madison was fairly settled when I passed out.
Looking at my watch, I see it’s a little past 6 a.m., and that Madison is gone. I jump up, my murky brain trying to play catch up as I frantically search the room for where she could be.
Just as I’m about to charge out the door, I hear the toilet flushing. Madison turns off the light as she exits the bathroom, giving me a small smile when she sees me standing in the middle of the room like a raving lunatic.
“I had to use the bathroom,” she explains. Tugging at the hem of my Yankees tee, she says, “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.”
She smiles and shyly walks over to the bed, slipping under the covers, leaving me standing and staring like a fool.
“I’ll be back,” I quickly say, heading toward the bathroom and closing the door behind me.
Bracing my hands on the sink, I turn on the water to appear like I’m actually in here for a reason because I need a damn minute to compose myself. I process through the events of last night and know that, although Madison may not be comfortable discussing what happened, I have to at least try and get her to talk about it. From her response to whatever triggered her episode, I think it’s safe to assume she’s never had therapy to deal with the monsters in her closet—especially since she’s hiding in closets to escape her monsters.
Brushing my teeth and washing my face, I think I’ve exhausted my bathroom stay long enough and quietly close the bathroom door behind me as I exit.
Madison is sitting up, leaning against the headboard, obviously awaiting my arrival. When our eyes meet, she quickly looks away, biting her lip. I give her some time to regroup and hunt through my closet for a tee and a pair of sweats. Stripping off my shirt, I quickly slip on a T-shirt and try my best to put on my sweats without flashing her.
Once I’m dressed, I make my way over to the bed and stand at the end. I remain silent, waiting for Madison to speak.
“I’m sorry, Dixon,” she says after a minute of silence. “I’m so sorry I embarrassed you…’
I gesture with my hand for her to stop talking. “You have nothing to be sorry for. And you most definitely did not embarrass me. I was so worried about you,” I confess, while she lowers her eyes. “What happened?” I ask, making no attempt to move.
Madison shrugs and tugs at a loose thread on the comforter.
“Did I do something wrong?” I ask, deciding to play twenty questions and hoping one of them will be the right one.
“No!” she yells, her eyes flicking up to meet mine. “No, you did nothing wrong.”
“Then what happened?” I ask, imploring her to tell me.
Madison sighs before confessing, “I was talking to Rebecca and something she said…upset me,” she says, but I know talking to Rebecca was just a trigger to a deep-rooted problem.
“You know nothing that comes out of that woman’s mouth is credible, right?” I assert, crossing my arms across my chest. I hold my breath and pray that she hasn’t spilled the beans about Juliet.
“I know,” she replies with a nod. “But it brought up some bad memories,” she finally admits. “I obviously haven’t dealt with them as well as I thought I had. But last night,” she says, her eyes focusing on mine. “The breakdown, the tears, the near catatonic state…That’s something that hasn’t happened in a long time.”
“So this has happened before?” I gently press, still making no attempt to move. Her freak out at my apartment was so different compared to this.
“Yes.” Her mouth dips into a small frown.
“Would you like to talk about it?”
Madison shakes her head violently.
I knew she would respond this way, but now that I’ve broached the topic, I can’t let it lie. “I promise I won’t psychoanalyze you. I just want to help. You need to talk about whatever happened to you, Madison. It’s eating away at your existence and before long, it’ll rule who you are.”
“I can’t,” she cries, drawing her knees up toward her, placing a barricade between us.
“Yes, you can,” I avow with a nod. “I know you can. The Madison I know is a survivor, a fighter, and I think it’s time you let go of your fear.”
Madison’s lip trembles, and she sniffs back her tears. “I can’t tell you…everything. I’m not ready. But I want to at least try. I want to be honest with yo
u because you’re right; my past is ruling my future.”
“That’s okay. You tell me what you can. That’s the first step, which is always the hardest,” I say with a small smile.
Madison takes a deep breath and nods. “My dad left us when I was five. It was only me, my mother, and my brother, Dylan. My father was the breadwinner, so when he left us, my mother was forced to work two jobs to support my brother and me. She was never home, but it was no fault of hers. She was trying her best. My brother was nine, and well, he saw himself to be the man of the house. When Mom was at work, Dylan would look after me. I really looked up to him, I mean, he was my hero.”
Her use of past tense paints a picture of feelings she no longer feels. But I remain silent, allowing her to continue.
“I started developing early, much earlier than my friends. By the time I was ten, I had boobs as big as kids in the ninth grade. I guess I forgot my brother was a fourteen-year-old kid with raging hormones. I also forgot he had fourteen-year-old friends with raging hormones,” she adds. “I was never shy around Dylan, and never thought twice about walking around in just a towel after I showered. But why would I? I had been doing so since I was a kid. I was naïve.”
“One night, Dylan had his friends over and they were causing a commotion in his room. So I spied on them and caught them drooling over a booby blonde in a dirty magazine. I didn’t really understand what they were so excited about, but I knew if Dylan caught me spying, he would be mad. I quickly went to my room and got ready for bed, and that’s when Dylan came to tuck me in.”
She pauses and lowers her eyes, and I know what she’s about to say is going to tear out my heart.
“I was wearing my favorite Disney Princess nightie, which was two sizes too small, but I didn’t care. I loved that nightie because it made me feel like a princess, and I would fantasize that one day my Prince Charming would find me and sweep me off my feet. Dylan tucked me in and I remember a look of…arousal,” she whispers, “pass over his face when he accidentally brushed against my breasts. I didn’t think too much of it, but when it happened the next night and the night after that, I knew something…him…touching me was wrong.”
