Pain & Redemption

by Kat Kenyon

  Her cocked brow is so much like mine when I’m feeling vicious, I hesitate. Bright green overtaking her eyes, she snaps, “Your father’s done enough damage, don’t you think?”

  Her eyes narrow like my granddad’s, hostility and expectation pouring out. She reminds me of him right now. Pissed. Demanding. Loving.

  “He had everything to do with what’s happened,” I say. “He’s been threatening me forever, but—”

  “Sweetheart, you never have to worry about that again. Let’s just say you’re good for college. I’m now fully aware he’s been hateful to you.” Her jaw’s hard, stubborn even, as she reaches to squeeze my hand. “I’m your mother, even if it feels like I haven’t been there. I’m not letting anyone bully you again.” Her eyes close for a moment, even as I hold my breath. “I have you covered.”

  “Okay,” I say carefully. I still don’t trust that she doesn’t care about what Dad thinks, but I’ll bite. “I’m in love with Rayne. I want her. I want to take care of her. I blew it, and that’s my fault, but I know what I did wrong now.”

  Her eyes soften as she settles back. “And what is that?”

  “I listened to Dad.” My skin might split from the pressure of my nails in my fist, but this is what more than a week has meant to my clarity. “I let him, and the pressure, affect how I acted, how I felt. I belong to her.” Just saying it releases something, and the air in my lungs follows the knot out of my body. “I’m taking construction to make him happy, but what I want is the Combine. The NFL is my goal. We both know the odds, so the degree is a good backup, but that’s separate. What I need is her.” My eyes get hotter with each word. “Mom, I love her. I never told her, and I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t deserve to fix it. Not after what I did.”

  It all hits me like crashing into a wall. I won’t find someone like her again.

  You get one forever girl. She’s mine.

  Where was the fucking clarity when I fucking needed it?

  Oh yeah, you were clear, but you were a complete pussy!

  There were moments when I knew she was it, but instead of being grateful, I freaked out. It makes me too much like my dad. He says how much he loves my mom, but pines for a life where he’s a star, famous. He takes his shit out on his son and the people who work for him. I’m ashamed I did the same because that isn’t what I want. That isn’t who I want to be. I want my life. I want my girl!

  “Well, I guess we fix it.” Her voice cuts through my thoughts.

  “How?” Million-fucking-dollar-question. Rayne won’t look at me. She won’t speak to me.

  “First, we fix you.” Grabbing my hand, Mom leans across the table and sighs. “It’ll be okay, honey.”

  I’m not so sure. But I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ve got no idea what to do to get to the future I want. If she does, I’ll do whatever she says I need to.

  Chapter Four

  Rayne Mathews

  I’ve finished two rehearsals with the elite dancing group, pushing myself hard. I can’t let Marcus look bad for nominating me. He stuck his neck out for me, and I won’t let him down.

  My body has reached its limit, but I don’t stop, going past exhaustion to failure. The insanity of my schedule keeps me from my room which is good because I can’t be there.

  All my rehearsals and workouts allow me to gray-out at night when my body shuts down. The limited relief of physical oblivion is better than nothing. But, it’s not as if I’m sleeping. Not anymore. My monsters are back, terrorizing my nights, rising to choke me in my sleep, coating the synaptic lines of my brain so my days are tainted by the lingering fear. Between the night terrors left over from my relationship with Gabe and the emotional dry-heaving from crying I do when I’m alone, physical decimation is my preference. Because that’s what I do when I’m alone. I cry.

  Not that people are always an improvement though. Tonight’s practice was a test of my ability to withstand outright hate since it was impossible to miss the hostility creeping across the floor.

  Two dancers, ones who don’t have leads or solos, have let me know several times they’re unhappy with my presence on the squad. Bumps, dumping of my bag, and nasty comments have been slung my way since our first introduction. Not that the digs have done anything to me, because…you can’t break what’s already broken.

  Their behavior has been on my periphery, my focus on making Marcus look good, but tonight Katie slammed into Marcus during our lift. If he wasn’t as strong as he is, I’d have fallen head down on the ground. The damage would have been bad, possibly catastrophic, and Katie shouldn’t have been anywhere near us.

  She did it on purpose.

  It’s something I can’t ignore. Whether her issues stem from professional or romantic jealousy, they’ve moved from shoving and sniping at me whenever there’s no one to see, to trying to hurt me.

  She ended up running out the door like the coward she is because Marcus was pissed. As the choreographer, he wanted her gone, but I wanted her to stay. I want to deal with it.

  This underhanded crap makes me so mad I want to put my fist through their overly made-up faces. I know this won’t be the end of it. She’s willing to hurt me and I need to be ready for her.

  My whole body sighs at the thought. Watching my back all the time is exhausting, and Katie’s just another thing making me feel hunted.

  Energy slips from me as I slide down the wall and sit on the concrete floor outside our rehearsal room to wait for Marcus. The hall’s empty because everyone else left after the main group was done, but we stayed late to work through the lift Katie interrupted, and he’s my ride. It’s like this every practice. We kill ourselves to perfect every angle, every count, then he drives me back because I can barely move and I’m trying not to be stupid.

  After Gabe came after me in the library, I tried again to get the administration to do something, but they wouldn’t even take a meeting. The Campus Police just took another report. He’s supposed to stay away from me, but no one sees the problem with him being around me, not really. They just write the notes and file it away like I don’t exist. It leaves me on my own, trying to be as careful as I can.

  At least Marcus doesn’t mind being my taxi.

  I humph to myself. Pretty boy takes forever to get ready after practice. He doesn’t go anywhere looking less than perfect, but the sound of feet pounding down the hall draws my eyes up. His dark hair’s wet and he’s wearing sweatpants and a tee, sockless feet stuffed into untied tennis shoes. When he stops just a couple feet away, his keys are gripped so tight he may draw blood on the blunt edges. His panic is so sharp I can feel it.

  “Rayne, I have to run, can you get a ride with someone else?”

  Shit!

  “Yeah, I’ll call someone and see if they can meet me.” I don’t know what’s wrong, but I wave him off. “Go.”

  “I’m sorry. I just got a call. If—” Naked fear bleeds from his eyes, something I can relate to. I hate anyone feeling that way.

  “No, it’s okay, take care of whatever you need to. Take off. See you later.”

  “Thanks, Rayne, have a good night,” he hollers as he sprints for the doors.

  Debating my options, I pull out my phone. I know Bay’s probably back by now. I’ve been trying to avoid reaching out to him or anyone on the team. They belong to Ty, whether or not they know it; they’re his teammates.

  Fuck.

  I miss them. Those idjits became my home. My safe place. And losing Ty means losing them. They have to choose him, including Bay, whether he agrees or not. That’s how teams work, and they’ve had enough friction over me. Too many fights, too many arguments. It seems like a better idea to pull the Band-Aid off all at once.

  Ty’s trying to prove himself in a world that doesn’t respect him. And Bay’s scholarship depends on him not acting like an ass. It’s more than enough that he runs with me every morning and we have Sunday lunches. He’s trying so hard to take care of me, but it’s not his job and I don’t want him sacrificing
time with his new girl, Kris.

  So no. No, Bay.

  Tate it is. Swiping her name, I let it ring. “Hey, girl, where you at?”

  “Hanging with the big man, why you need a pickup?”

  Of course, she’s with Tegs. Fuck.

  “Yeah. I’m so, so sorry, but Marcus had an emergency.” I pick at my shoes while I stare blindly into the air.

  “No biggie, we were grabbing pizza so we’ll be swinging your way anyhow, we’ll be there soon. You want a slice?”

  My nose wrinkles at the idea of the cheese acting like a lead weight in my stomach. “Have you met me?”

  “You need pizza.”

  I barely eat as it is, and gummy crust and grease sounds awful. “No, that shit sits in your gut for like, a week.”

  “It’s cheesy goodness and pepperoni happiness. You need pizza,” she says, laughing at something. Probably Tegs.

  “No, but thank you.”

  “You aren’t human. You’re a weird robot living on that green stuff from that book. Soylent Green! You aren’t normal.” Tate sounds so indignant it makes me bark out a laugh and lean back against the concrete.

  “Um, healthy doesn’t mean I eat people, but that’s okay. Grab your nasty processed food and come get me.”

  In the background, Tegs says hi as she says yep and hangs up. The laugh still in my lungs fills me for a moment more, but when I blow out all the air, the good energy leaves with it and I just stare at my phone.

  It should be the two of them doing fun things alone, not coming to walk me home. Babysitting me isn’t their job and yet that’s what they’ve been doing. The two of them have been there for me as I fall apart and now they’re coming to get me. Again. She won’t say no, and she won’t let me say sorry. But I am. I’m sorry, and so grateful for both of them, even if I can’t speak the words right.

  Shifting on the concrete to relieve the slight numbness in my ass while I wait, I check my social media and post a couple new pics from practice, adding to my stories and making sure that I keep myself as relevant as possible. Ridiculous maybe, but followers can make a difference to dancers, especially ones on scholarship.

  Flicking to my notifications, I can’t do anything to stop the hurt that hits me. Messages from Ty’s rabid fans, the Blackmanions, are still coming in, taunting me, sending little stabs of pain through my chest. I never know which of the stories and images are true. It shouldn’t matter now, but it does. Every time I block one, a new one emerges, and they’re aggressive and nasty. It never occurs to them they already got what they wanted.

  I press my lips together and click my screen black, trying to pretend I didn’t see the digital daggers being thrown my way by obsessive crazies. Letting my head drop to my knees, it feels like I’m out of tears, which would be great. They do nothing but give me a headache. They certainly aren’t leeching out the pain. I don’t feel any better two weeks later.

  When I pull my lips between my teeth, they’re dry sandpaper against a grater, pained, like the rest of my skin. They feel stretched too tight. In contrast, my clothes are loose, hanging off my hips, my abs and chest. An alarm sounds in the back of my head when I dress in the mornings, but I ignore it and forget for the rest of the day in an effort to keep from stalling out.

  For as little time as I had him, it shouldn’t hurt so much. There shouldn’t be this giant hole in my chest and an elephant sitting on it at the same time. Ty made me feel better. Stronger. The days were in high definition and panoramic. And now it’s just static and a dead screen. Nothing.

  But I’m not Emily. I won’t fall apart over a guy. I swear I won’t. Everyone just needs to ignore my tears so that I can. And I will.

  I keep that thought on replay as I sit, waiting, knowing Tate will be another few minutes. Needing the moments to get myself together, with the images of the Blackmanions fresh in my head, I don’t look up when I hear the steel doors open.

  “Hey, Tiny.”

  Oh God. Not now. Please, not again.

  When I lift my head, Gabe’s jean-clad legs are in front of me. He’s in a dark Henley with his stupid baseball cap on backward, some stray wet hair spilling out. His Cheshire cat smile makes him appear the epitome of a good-looking college guy. But he’s not.

  He’s left me two voicemails in the last two days, the first telling me I’m everything he wants, I’m never going to need anyone else, that he’ll take care of everything from now on. The second, letting me know he’s furious I didn’t answer and he’ll take care of my attitude, that I’m going to find out how grateful I should be that he’s been nice up until now, and when I do, everything will be fine.

  This from the bastard who put me in the hospital and tracked me to this campus. Stalked me since the beginning of school. Of course, in his mind, the messages will make me give in, but they only succeed in scaring me to death.

  He appeared fast, and now I’m not even sure I could get off the floor in time with my bag slung over my shoulder. I’m handicapped. As he looms over me, I know I can’t outrun him. My chest feels like a bass drum, my skin prickling to the point of pain. He had to have been watching and waiting for me to be alone.

  Fuck!

  “Rayne, I’m not gonna hurt you. Just…calm down.”

  His smile is soft, but I don’t believe him, not for a second. Menace comes off him like heat waves, almost visibly contorting the image in my mind, and the cold concrete under my fingernails provides no stability to the shifting reality of the monster in front of me.

  Pulling in my feet slowly, I make myself smaller, because if I don’t give him what he wants, he will hurt me.

  “Why are you here?” My voice shakes, but I focus on what I have to do. Keep him busy. Tate’s coming. I just need to survive until she gets here.

  “I wanna talk.” His eyes are shadowed as he looks down, his voice an attempt at being soothing.

  “About what?”

  He sighs, sounding wounded. He palms off his hat and runs his fingers through his hair. I used to believe this. I used to believe him.

  “I miss you. That fling you had with the fucking ball player hurt.” He moves closer, putting his toes an inch from mine, towering over me.

  His rages always start with his hurt over something I’ve done—then he makes sure I pay in kind. The glint in his eye tells me he’s definitely not going to leave it at just talking. Balling up tighter, I move to protect my center, and as his knee starts to jerk, I move to cover my face. There’s no question, he’ll hit me.

  “Rayne, I’m not going to do anything to you. I miss you.” Dropping to his haunches, his blue eyes come level with mine.

  “It hurt me to see you with him. I mean, I know you didn’t let him touch you…I know you. How you work…” His head cocks to the side, waiting for me to disagree, give him a reason to doubt his assumption. When I don’t, he smiles. “Him touching you still hurt me. But I forgive you, and I still want you. It hurts me to see you sad.” An ugly smirk crosses his face. “I’d love to crush him. He’s a piece of shit.”

  His fingers brush my knee, sending a shock wave of revulsion and terror through me, but Gabe’s so enamored by his fantasies, he mistakes it for excitement.

  “Don’t be sad he’s gone, Tiny.” His smile widens. “I’d love to beat the shit out of him for you. You’re my girl. You always have been. We just need to work some things out.”

  He looks ridiculously happy and all I want to do is wipe the smile off his face.

  You don’t get to say “my girl,” I’m not yours. And that’s not yours to say!

  When he stretches his hand, reaching for my face, I react impulsively. Slapping him away, I jerk back, pulling myself against the wall behind me. His eyes widen in surprise, then narrow. In a flash, he grabs my head, his nose almost brushing the bridge of mine, the smell of garlic and onion flows over my nose and skin with his breath sawing in and out as he gets red-faced and enraged.

  “Why do you always make it so hard on me?” He sounds almost sad i
n his fury.

  There you are!

  And I don’t care. “Fuck you!” I punch out my exhausted legs. I know where this ends, and I’m not going down without a fight.

  Fuck him. Fuck him! Fuck HIM!

  His yank on my hair burns my scalp, making me want to scream, but I won’t give him the satisfaction. I kick out again.

  A sudden jerk wrenches my neck as my head slams into the concrete wall behind me.

  Blackness slips over my vision, almost taking me away, but I fight it, lashing out, striking at his face. I’m not sure what soft tissue I catch, but his grunt of pain lets me know I got him, even as his voice booms in the empty hall.

  “When will you fucking learn to listen when I’m trying to talk to you!”

  Just as my vision starts to clear, he shakes my head by my hair and a punch ricochets my head off the wall again with two cracks I can hear, almost as loud as his screams, making me struggle to stay conscious. I know he’ll put me back in the hospital if I pass out.

  “You fucking—”

  Something sounds off in the background, echoing through the muted sounds ringing in my ears and the blackness that clouds my vision. He releases my hair, allowing me to slump to the floor, the smooth press of concrete cold against my cheek. Someone’s yelling. Someone’s furious, but it isn’t Gabe, and that’s what matters.

  My head pounds in rhythm to my heartbeat as I see the shadow of legs run past me.

  I want to sleep. I want to sleep so badly, but Tate tells me I can’t. She’s pulling my head onto her lap as she yells. Tegs is here as I start to slip away, and the person I want, the person I need, isn’t here.

  My pain is so much bigger knowing I’m alone. He said he’d always come…but if I called him I don’t know if he would. Tears leak as I slip away, the darkness and pain taking me.

  Chapter Five

  Tyler Blackman

  “Son, I agree with your mom.”

  I knew when I said I’d do anything it’d be something unpleasant, but I didn’t think it’d be this. Therapy. Seriously? You want me to sit and talk it out?