Rhees sat on the edge of their bed and watched him, expecting him to tell her what was on his mind. He never did, and she would have normally taken that as a good sign, but her gut said otherwise.
“I’m sorry.” She hung her head, beating him to the punch before he had a chance to swing one. It still took him a minute to answer.
“What the fuck do you have to be sorry for?” he finally asked. His tone remained very calm, even though he swore, a warning that he wasn’t as calm as he pretended to be.
“I still remember. I guess tequila doesn’t work retroactively. I should have started before—” Her voice caught guiltily, knowing she’d tried.
“Huh.” He took another sip of his coffee and stared at the hot brown liquid. “You’d think the vodka you had before would’ve done the trick.”
Her eyes shot up to meet his. He knew.
“No,” she started to defend herself but he cut her off before giving her a chance to explain.
“Yeah, it’s the funniest story.” He didn’t sound like he thought it was very funny. “I got you into bed and started hanging the new clothes. I’d forgotten I’d stuck your new purse in one of the shopping bags, so imagine my surprise when I pulled out a dress and the purse fell out, opened up, and spilled its contents onto the floor.”
She closed her eyes.
“Vodka mini-bottles, two of them empty, and a tube of personal lubricant.” His expression didn’t give much away.
“It was only one and a half empty bottles—no—one and a quarter—not even that—a sip.” She knew she was trying too hard to explain how little she’d drank and it only made her look more guilty. “I can explain.”
“Really?” he scoffed. “You can explain why you would, one; try to get drunk in order to stand me touching you, even after I told you how wretched that would make me feel? And two; use artificial lube after I told you how important it was to me to be able to tell I wasn’t pushing you too fast—because I would feel wretched if I pushed you?” He stared off into the corner of the room and took another deceptively calm sip from his cup.
“I wasn’t drunk! I just wanted to be able to relax—and I didn’t use the lube. I felt so bad after drinking the first bottle of vodka—I took one sip from the second bottle and changed my mind—I couldn’t—I felt so bad, I forgot all about the lube. I didn’t—”
He cut her off as if he hadn’t heard a word she’d said.
“I didn’t get any sleep last night. I sat here on this bed, watching you, and thinking.”
“Paul, it’s not—”
“It’s not what? You didn’t wait for me to tell you what I came up with, after spending all night, thinking. Though, I’m not as good at that as I’m supposed to be.”
She squirmed. “I know what it looks like, but . . .”
He sat up and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His hands wrapped around the mug and he stared at it. He couldn’t help the grin on his face, a sad one, but it struck him funny to know that no expression could ever come close to revealing what he felt inside. He had been thinking all night, thinking about what Keene had said about rape fantasy in some victims of child sexual abuse. He hadn’t wanted to believe it.
“I wondered how, in high school, when you were hanging out with friends who were so straight-arrow that they wouldn’t even watch a PG-13 movie, how you ended up with someone like Roney? You said you knew he had a reputation, and yet, you ended up with him, not one of those straight-arrow puds.” Paul paused, as if just then receiving another revelation, but Rhees knew the revelation had come during the night, as he’d pointed out, twice. “Have you noticed any similarities between Roney . . . and me?”
Rhees watched him with dread, not following his line of questioning, but knowing it couldn’t be good.
He continued to pretend that the situation was comical. It was anything but, and he knew it, so did she.
“Did you notice any resemblance between the dressing room where we—where I—” His façade started to crack. He no longer pulled off cool as well as he’d previously been able to, and the edge in his voice made her worry. “I did happen to find the oddest relationship between the dressing room—” He choked up. His eyes grew shiny and sad, but he blinked through it, and cleared his throat. “—And the bathroom where you were assaulted?”
Rhees sat listening, unable to move, or speak anymore.
“You’ve always acted like you believed I could do no wrong. I’ve hated it, but I’ve loved it, too. I wanted to believe you. I did, actually—here and there—I tried to.” He exhaled. “But you did have expectations of me, just like everyone else, my parents—oh, wait! I may be wrong about that—you didn’t expect one ounce more from me than I was able to give—you only wanted exactly what you knew I was capable of.”
She drew in a breath as though she wanted to speak but nothing came out. He let out a contemptuous laugh.
“I’ve only just now, realized how you’re more like me than I ever imagined possible. I go for what I want, damn the consequences.” His brow set rigid above his icy blue, piercing eyes. “But at least I’m honest about it!
“So, back to the dressing room and bathroom similarities. The only things missing yesterday were the fixtures—no bathtub, no toilet—but same everything else. Same size, same filth.” He bore his gaze into her. “Same kind of predator.”
Paul stood and set his empty cup on the desk attached to the wall. He stared at it for a moment.
“Glad I didn’t disappoint you.” With that, he slipped into his flip flops, turned, and threw on a T-shirt as he walked out the door.
oOo
Claire locked her apartment and headed to the shop. Dobbs was already there, and had been the last forty-five minutes, with Mitch, getting the morning routine started. In the past, she’d never wanted to get there so early, but with the newlywed owners supposedly on their honeymoon, she and Dobbs had been running the shop with extra care the last two and a half weeks. Everyone else at the shop believed the Weavers really were on their honeymoon, but Claire and Dobbs knew the truth.
It felt good to know they could help, and that Paul trusted them to take care of things for such an extended period of time. It also reinforced her belief that someday the Dobbsons could run a shop of their own. Now if they could just manage to save enough money to buy one.
The idea had actually become more promising since the night Dobbs clobbered the boss. Informing Paul about Dodger defaulting on their agreement had turned into a good thing for them. Paul had since increased their already more than fair wages, and even offered to give them a low interest loan when the time came, if they’d promise to stick around and help him for at least two more years.
She walked past Paul’s door at the end of the row of apartments, just before the stairs, and like so many times before, wondered why he bothered to keep it. It was early March. He hadn’t slept in his own bed since May, almost a year. He claimed his things took up too much room, and would clutter Rhees’ nice apartment, but also that showering and dressing at his own place made things a little easier.
They were married now. He wouldn’t need to work so hard to keep from thinking about Rhees’ naked body in the shower anymore. The thought of how Paul, of all people, had ended up the guardian of Rhees’ virginity, and imagining how the job must have tortured him, made her laugh. Couldn’t have happened to a more deserving man. It had been an amusing year.
She reached the stairs but stopped. She had to take a second to think, backed up a few steps, and looked inside Paul’s window, the open window that wasn’t open when she’d walked by the night before.
“Paul?” She saw him through the glass, lying on the couch, his arm over his eyes. He looked to be asleep.
“Paul!” He finally turned his head to see her at his window. It seemed to annoy him to have to acknowl
edge her. “What are you doing back? You shouldn’t be back for four more days,” she said through the screen. “Where’s Rhees?
oOo
“Where’s Rhees?” Claire’s voice almost shrieked in panic as soon as Paul opened the door and she looked around, verifying that Rhees wasn’t there.
He didn’t bother to look at her, but returned to the couch and sat on the edge with his elbows on his knees. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Oh, no. She’s relapsed. You said she was doing better the last time you called, but she’s back in the mental ward at the hospital, isn’t she? Oh, that poor girl!” Claire grew sick at the thought.
“No,” Paul said in a detached tone, a little too detached. “She’s at Oceanside.”
Claire stood, stunned.
“Rhees is fine.” Paul leaned back against the couch in a defeated manner.
“Fine?” Claire said, incredulously. “She had a mental breakdown and was admitted into a bloody psychiatric ward of a bloody hospital, just days ago.”
“It’s been two and a half weeks.”
“Okay,” Claire said slowly, glaring at him. “Two and a half weeks ago—days for this sort of thing. So why is she at Oceanside and you—why are you here?”
“It’s none of your business.” Paul glared back.
Claire watched him, warily, the concern gradually taking over her expression. “You two fighting, already?” She thought it through, trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. “What could you possibly be fighting about, so soon after what she’s been through?”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t even look at her. His expression revealed dark and angry, and he didn’t try to hide it from her.
“Paul? I’ve watched you with her. I know you two make sport of getting a rise out of each other, but . . .” Claire had to think of what she was trying to say, hoping it wasn’t as serious as it looked. “What could possibly be so bad, after all that’s happened to her, that you can’t bring yourself to be with her, so soon after she—”
“You’re right,” he sighed. His mouth pinched into a hard line, and his nose scrunched up, obviously angry about something, at himself. Claire continued to watch as he stood and walked to the door. He ushered her out, put the padlock in place, and headed off in the direction of Oceanside.
oOo
Paul stood at the door of Rhees’ apartment for a second to gather his thoughts, steel himself. He walked in and turned to look into the bedroom.
He swore before dashing to the kitchen where he grabbed some towels and raced back.
Rhees sat on the edge of the bed, just as she had when he’d walked out less than thirty minutes before. She barely seemed to notice as he knelt on the floor and started wiping up the coffee and broken pieces of ceramic from the mug she’d apparently dropped.
When he noticed blood, he looked for the source and found a good-sized shard protruding from the side of her foot. He sighed. He stood and headed to her medicine cabinet to retrieve the first aid kit he’d bought for her the last time they needed some antiseptic and a band aid she didn’t have.
With the mess cleaned, and her wound dressed, he held his hand out to her. She looked up, a glint of hope in her eyes, and it stung his heart. He understood how she thought he was going to take her hand and pull her up to him, but instead, he angled his hand to show her the two pain relievers he wanted her to swallow for her hangover.
He sat down next to her but neither of them said anything for a while. Paul finally cleared his throat.
“I got up early this morning, since I couldn’t sleep. I went for a run to clear my head, showered at my place.” He paused to get the words right. “Then I called Keene from the office. He chewed me out for calling so early, but after I voiced my concerns—I want to send you to Texas—”
“No! I don’t want to leave.” She’d obviously snapped out of her trance-like state.
“You need help.”
“No!”
“Rhees!” He didn’t mean to snarl. He reeled in his tone, aware of his conflicting emotions, but unable to make sense of them. “You need help, and it’s going to take time. You need more help, and time, than I originally wanted to believe.”
“You just want to get rid of me.”
He didn’t put up an argument. They sat quietly again, only this time, she didn’t take her eyes off him.
“Paul, please.” She tried to put her arms around him, but he blocked her by grabbing her hands and holding them on his lap. There was no affection in the gesture—his evasive skills toward women had just been honed to perfection over the years. He thought about the time she’d called him the epitome. How creative. He’d been persuasive, persistent, but she’d cut him down effectively. He thought again how she’d spent her whole life perfecting the art of shutting men down. He understood. He too had perfected the art of keeping women away, the ones he didn’t want.
“I promised to love you and take care of you until I die. I keep my promises. I love you, I always will. I can’t help it . . . but right now, I don’t like you very much.” He closed his eyes and blew out a long gust of air, and then he growled a few times because of the guilt that sat on his chest, making it nearly impossible to get enough air into his lungs. “No—that’s not true.”
“Let me guess. It’s yourself you don’t like.”
He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. She knew him.
“You never do.”
“Sorry, but your, I could never think anything bad about you, Paul, act isn’t very convincing at the moment. I don’t know how I never figured it out. How’d I not get the hint when you called me the epitome—”
“You know I didn’t mean that,” she snapped, the volume of her voice on the rise. “You had me thinking about sex, that I might want it, with you. It was a defense mechanism. I had to make you stop. Now, you know why I would have said anything at that moment. I couldn’t let those memories come rushing back to me. But I’m glad it’s in the open now, getting it all out has been a good thing.” She hung her head again and said the rest in a whisper, “At least, I thought so, until—”
“I don’t blame you for what happened yesterday. It’s not your fault. I, on the other hand.” He paused. His mouth shifted through a few motions. “I was just being me.”
Paul had to turn his head to keep from giving in to his need to comfort and protect her. The look on her face, he couldn’t handle seeing her so broken anymore, finally understanding just how broken she was. After the hijacking, all through the hysterical outburst, her catatonia, what he thought was her healing process—he’d hung on—barely, and only because he loved her, and he’d believed she loved him. He’d never thought she should, but he’d basked in her love, feeling as though he could do anything, overcome anything because of it.
“I knew what I was doing,” she said. “It wasn’t you.”
“No. You didn’t. You just knew what I was—am. So you should also know I can’t take care of you. You need help—help that I can’t give you. We need to get you functioning again.”
At first, he thought she let out another sob but he realized it was a derisive laugh. He looked back again to make sure.
“Functioning?” she said a little too loudly and she laughed again. Her whole demeanor changed. She stood and faced him as she started her tirade, the sound level of her voice growing increasingly loud and bold. “I’m the queen of functioning! I’ve been doing it since I was five. I don’t have to go to Texas and have a million sad-sobbing sessions with Keene to get myself functioning.”
She stomped to the clothes bar in the far corner; the whole third level apartment vibrated with each footstep. She began rifling emphatically through the new clothes Paul had hung the night before.
“What are you doing?” Paul bellowed.
&
nbsp; She lifted the hanger with the hideous triple X sized shirt off the bar and gave it a quizzical look. She turned to him, with the shirt in her hand.
“I’m functioning!” she yelled back, but then gave the shirt one more confused glance. She took it off its hanger and threw it onto the twin bed as her eyes lifted and went toward the open door of the room. Paul snapped his head around to see what had caught her eye. Tracy and Regina froze—caught trying to sneak out.
“We’re leaving you two to your private parts,” Regina said.
“She means, we’re leaving so you can have your privacy,” Tracy corrected and then added thoughtfully, and with great concern, “but you guys are newlyweds, you shouldn’t be fighting already. I know you love each—” Regina interrupted her by pushing her out the door.
“We’ll be leaving you two to your private parts—I mean privacy.” Regina gave Paul a sad, understanding look, probably meant to show her support, but it made him look down in disgrace.
“That’s just great!” he said under his breath. “Now the whole island is going to know.”
Rhees didn’t seem to hear and he watched her resume getting ready to function. She grabbed the coral bikini with the lacy cream-colored camisole and put it on, right in front of him. He had the urge to jump up and take her in his arms, make her settle down, but he looked away instead. She stormed into the bathroom and brusquely put her hair up into a messy . . . sexy bun.
“This is not what I meant,” he finally barked, having seen enough of her little tantrum, stomping around, making her boobs bounce around. He couldn’t help but wonder if she did it on purpose, he normally wouldn’t think so, but now, he wasn’t sure.
Wet Part 3 Page 25
