The Tutor

by K Larsen

  “Are you sure?”

  She looks at me again and pauses. “I thought you were stronger,” she says.

  I blink at her, unsure what she means. “Lotte, that’s rude.”

  She stares right through me. It is unnerving. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. I won’t tell Holden.” I kiss the top of her head.

  Lotte sighs and tells me she changed her mind and would like to read. I nod, letting her know it is okay. Lately, I feel like a character in a novel. I feel like I am floating. Sort of outside, but also, inside myself.

  Last night, Holden held me. He kissed the spot behind my ear, as I fell asleep. Tender Holden is my favorite, but I am learning to like all the different parts of him. But the look in his eye tells me tonight will be different.

  “Nora, now.” I don’t hesitate. I strip off my shirt and kneel at his feet, forehead nearly touching the floor. He treats me like a dog. And like a pet, I come back again and again, waiting for that scrap of affection or affirmation. His fingers graze my spine from neck to hips slowly.

  “Good girl.” I feel the slippery, cold satisfaction I always feel when he praises me. It’s for all the wrong reasons, but I crave it still. The way his fingers tremble as they touch my skin, proves my astuteness regarding Holden’s feelings toward me. I know he wants me.

  I know I’m special to him. Tonight, he will not be tender.

  Agent Brown

  The shit storm that is Nora Robertson is really keeping me on my toes. I knock on her front door and wait. I don’t see the car in the driveway but Eve could have it. The door swings open slowly and Nora’s pale face appears.

  “Agent Brown. Hi.”

  “Sorry to show up unannounced but it’s important. Can I come in?”

  “Of course,” she says. She hobbles a step backward to make room for me to enter. In the kitchen, I take a seat at the island.

  “So what’s going on? Did you find Holden? Lotte?” she asks.

  I shake my head. “It’s about Anton,” I say. Nora’s face wrinkles. “He’s missing. The police went to pick him up and the Clarks front door was unlocked and the house was a disaster, chairs flipped, lamps broken and Anton can’t be found.”

  “Angela? Aimee?” she asks breathless.

  “They are fine. Angela was at work and Aimee wasn’t home from school yet. And as you know, Aubry was here.”

  Nora releases a breath and drops her head into her hands. “I knew this was a bad idea.”

  “No.” I reach out and touch her shoulder. “Nora, this is not on you. He could have run. We just don’t know. I just wanted to fill you in.”

  “Yo, Nora. A little help with these bags?”

  Nora grins weakly at Eve’s voice. I motion for her to stay put and get up to help Eve.

  “Oh, hey, Samantha,” Eve says. I sigh and take three grocery bags from her outstretched arm.

  “Agent Brown,” I correct.

  “Yeah, yeah. But we go back a long way now, I feel like we’ve graduated to first names.” I laugh at Eve because there really isn’t any point arguing with her. “Why are you here? What’s up?” she asks, as we set the grocery bags on the kitchen island.

  “Anton is missing,” Nora says. Eve drops the rest of her bags and spins to face Nora.

  “What? That fucker ran? One little sexual assault charge and the pussy ran?” Eve’s voice is close to a squeal, which I’ve learned happens before her temper explodes.

  “Calm down, Eve,” I say. “We don’t know. The house was turned upside down, like a struggle happened and no one can find him. That is all we know. I want you both to be vigilant about locking doors and setting the window alarms. And I brought you this.” I reach into my blazer and pull a pistol from my shoulder strap.

  “No,” Nora says.

  “Yes,” I say.

  “Hell, yes,” Eve says.

  Nora shakes her head. “I don’t want that in my house.”

  “Well, tough luck. It stays,” I tell her. “Now both of you pay attention.” I show the girls how to unlock the safety and load the gun. Then I have them each do it twice for practice. “Now listen, this is my spare. It’s registered to me. Do not use it, unless absolutely necessary.”

  “I won’t use it at all,” Nora scoffs.

  “I promise to call you the second I shoot it,” Eve says and grins. That girl is incorrigible.

  “Listen, you shoot this gun and I’m in a shitload of trouble but I can’t get the idea of you two not having a way to defend yourselves out of my head.”

  Eve’s expression goes from jubilant to solemn. “Can I buy the gun from you?”

  “What?” I ask.

  “What if you sell me the gun? I can register it and legally, you won’t be in the middle, if it ever gets used.”

  “Eve,” Nora says.

  “What, Nora? Seriously. Our objective is not to get Samantha here fired and we don’t have to use the gun, but it is nice to know we have it, if we need it,” Eve says.

  Nora makes a sour face but in the stare down from Eve, she finally relents. “Fine.”

  “Good decision. Listen, if you hear from or see Anton, you call immediately, you hear?”

  Both girls nod. “And Eve, let’s go to the firearm shop and draw up a bill of sale and get that registered.”

  “Do you want to come, Nora?” Eve asks.

  “No, thanks. I’ll unload the groceries.”

  “Lock the door behind us,” I say. Nora shoots me a half smile and a nod.

  I do my make-up in the car on the way to Howie’s bar. He’s sitting at the bar with a beer in hand, his back to me. His broad shoulders stretch the fabric of his Oxford shirt when he rests his elbows on the bar like he is. His dark hair looks glossy under the lights. I walk up and tap him on the shoulder.

  “Sam, you came,” he says.

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “I thought you’d chicken out, honestly.”

  “Me?”

  He laughs. “Yeah, you.”

  “Salve.” I slap him on the bicep playfully. “I don’t kiss and chicken out, even if the kiss was a surprise.”

  “Listen, I didn’t mean to surprise you. I honestly figured you saw it coming. All those late nights together, going over this case. The texts, calls.”

  I hold up a hand to stop him. “I’m pretty bad at my personal life and I’m surprisingly pretty clueless to flirting when it’s happening to me.”

  Salve smiles and pats the bar stool next to him. “Fair enough.”

  “How was your day?”

  “Rough. Captain has me on a homicide and so far it’s all dead ends. You’d think Pocketville was small enough that people couldn’t hide a crime, but nope.” The bartender stops in front of Salve and he orders me a beer. “How’re Nora and Eve?”

  “I sold Eve my spare gun today. I wanted them to have something in the house with them. This whole Anton ordeal is setting off red flags for me.”

  “I wish I could be more involved.”

  “I know, but it’s not your jurisdiction anymore. Pocketville needs you to serve and protect.”

  Salve laughs before taking a slug off his beer. The bartender slides mine before me and I pull down the light amber liquid, as if it will solve all my problems. Last week, I’d called Salve to go over some details of the case, even though he’s technically off the case because Nora doesn’t live in Pocketville. We’d been eating Chinese and brainstorming and the next thing I knew, Salve’s lips were on mine. I’d pulled back in shock but then practically jumped him. After a teenager-like make out session, his cell had gone off and he’d had to speed off. The job, for us, always comes first.

  “I know it was only kissing,” he says, “but I’d really like to see where this goes, Samantha.” His eyes trap mine and hold them prisoner. I find myself grinning at the detective I once found irritating for being so soft.

  I put my hand on his on the bar. “Like I said, I’m pretty bad at relationships, but I’m willing to give th
is a go.”

  Salve leans in and brushes his lips against mine. He smells like alcohol and smoke but tastes like mint and beer.

  “Just one thing,” I say. “I don’t want Nora and Eve to know.”

  Salve smiles at me. “Don’t want them knowing you have a functioning heart?”

  I laugh in earnest. “Pretty much.”

  “I love it when you laugh,” Salve says and pushes an errant strand of hair out of my face.

  Dr. Richardson

  “It is somewhat normal for you to have grown to need Holden’s attention.”

  Nora makes a sour face at me but I continue on. “He groomed you to desire it. Your alternatives were severely limited and given you had so few choices, it is natural that you made a choice and stuck with it.”

  “Did Holden cut himself around you?”

  “No. He never did. All the marks looked old.”

  “Do you know the psychology behind cutting, Nora?”

  “Obviously not.” Her snark is noted, but I won’t let it dissuade me. “It’s a repetitive compulsion. Many cutters have learned to be emotionally numb or “dead” and have discovered that only while cutting, do they experience a sense of ‘aliveness.’ It provides relief from profound emotional distress.”

  “Do you know anything about Holden’s upbringing?”

  “Very little. I know his mother was not a good person and that his sister was strange.”

  “Do you think he was abused?”

  “I imagine yes.”

  “And have you considered that instead of cutting himself, he channeled that need into cutting others?”

  “I don’t know,” she says and crosses her arms over her chest.

  “For many, it serves as a manifestation of rage directed inward in response to earlier traumatic experiences. So, it would make sense in Holden’s case. Although, it is odd that he turned that desire outward—to want to cut others, it still applies.”

  “Dr. Richardson, there is psychology behind every kink fetish known, how is this any different?”

  “Because it isn’t a fetish, Nora. Do you cut yourself now because it turns you on?”

  “No. It soothes me but I do not get off from it.”

  “Precisely. Do you feel guilt when you do it?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Because it is also a self-punishment?”

  “How messed up, am I? Just tell me.”

  “You aren’t. We just need to get you to feel self-empowered. Tell me, why the guilt or need to punish yourself?”

  “Because I left him. I left Lotte. I broke his trust.” Finally, we are at the heart of the matter. I grin because I feel as though I can get through to Nora and help her.

  “If you can, look at the situation as if it were two strangers, instead of you and Holden, tell me how it looks.”

  She closes her eyes and is silent a moment. Her faces morphs from expressionless to pained. I am about to speak when she begins.

  “I was broken early on. I grew to see the beauty in the pain. He made me a believer. He had my heart in a choke hold. He took it slow. His advances were calculated.

  He tore me down, picked me apart, then tried to build me up.” She opens her eyes and looks directly into mine. “Holden needed me, but I did not need him. But now, I’m willing to throw myself from heights that once scared me. He doesn’t know that.”

  The corners of my mouth turn up. She is learning.

  “We collided like stars burning in the sky. I guess that is not sustainable but how do I move forward?”

  “What do you mean by the star reference?”

  “He would shake my shoulders and all I could think was ‘you take and take and take.’ Then he would take my face between his hands and say sorry. It pleased him to say he was sorry, when he was not. It was a dangerous slip of the tongue.”

  “How would you describe Holden and yourself, now?”

  “He’s black coffee in the mornings and whiskey in the night and I’m young and strong but I feel old and tired.”

  I write down what she’s said. It is a beautiful way to put it. “Why black coffee and whiskey?”

  “Bold and strong and short on filler. And wild and rich and deep, with no inhibitions in the night.”

  “I want to explore more of your happy time with Holden. Can you share some good memories, so we can look at them together and see what aspects made them worthwhile to you?”

  Nora nods and give a half smile. I feel like real progress has been made today. It will be a long slippery slope for her to truly recover and it is still early in the game, but I have faith that I can help guide her to a healthy, happy life.

  Nora

  We are running around the yard leaping and trying to capture fireflies in our hands. Holden gets one and brings it to Lotte and me. When he opens his hand, we both oooo and aww at the little bug and his bright light.

  He gently moves it into my hands and goes to catch one for Lotte.

  “It’s so neat,” she says.

  I nod. “Yes. I’ve never seen one this close before.”

  “Do you think he feels scared because you’re holding him?”

  I look at her. “Maybe.”

  “Are you scared?” Lotte whispers to me.

  My breathing picks up. A black rational thing bubbles up inside me. I try to mash it down into my bowels, but I can’t. “I think wild things should be free.”

  “Are we wild, Nora?” Holden exclaims in the distance that he caught one for Lotte. Her eyes dart to mine.

  “No, Lotte. We are not wild.”

  “And not free.”

  I nod at her. She turns to Holden as he approaches and holds out her hands for the firefly. I look at the one cupped between my palms and start to shake. I don’t want to hold something so beautiful captive. It should be free or stay of its own will. The little butt lights up sporadically. A mini lightning storm inside him.

  Holden moves behind me. Wraps an arm around my shoulder. I drop my hands to my sides, keeping the lightning bug in one fist loosely.

  “Look how happy she is,” he says, nodding to Lotte. She squeals and runs free, jumping and clapping, trying to catch another firefly. I squeeze, making a fist. I squash the firefly in my hand.

  It is hours later when we put Lotte to bed. It was a special treat for her to stay up so late, but Holden was having a good day. We sip whiskey and sit near the woodstove. He rubs his fingers up and down my arm.

  “Tell me about your family. What were your parents like?” I ask. I want to know more about him. “I have siblings—obviously. My parents were . . . my mother was a terrible human,” he grunts out. I tell myself, so many lies, I can’t distinguish truth or fact anymore. I want to believe him, though. “Tell me,” I urge.

  He shakes his head. “There are chapters in my life I’d rather not read out loud.”

  “Tell me every horrible thing you did and let me love you anyway.”

  “Nora, you’re losing my interest with all this talk, and that’s very dangerous.” There is a bouquet of wildflowers on the table but that doesn’t mean Holden is in a good mood. He brings me things all the time, now that he can let his darkness out.

  Earlier today, Lotte and I played in the laundry lines. Holden chased us, caught us and tickled us until we begged him to stop. But his needs are dark. It’s like gravity, the pull is too strong for him to fight. He is on his feet in a flash and reaching for me. I try not to squeal. I don’t want to wake Lotte.

  He scoops me into his arms and kicks the bedroom door shut behind us. He tosses me backwards onto the bed. The springs squeak with my body weight. Holden’s hands push my arms above my head, his fingers form handcuffs around my wrists. I brace myself for him. He takes me fast and hard. And as always, I am satisfied when we are finished. He rolls me to my belly and splays a hand between my shoulder blades. It is cutting time.

  I will become his masterpiece, my scars his legacy. He will carve his way through my soul to my heart. His breathing spee
ds as he lays me down. I rest my cheek on the pillow and close my eyes. Sweet despair fills and devours me as the blade drags across my skin.

  I do not gasp. I do not flinch. As my nerve endings are set on fire, I revel in the gentle caress Holden gives me. The sweet whispers in the shell of my ear between cuts. His hand slides up the back of my thigh, signaling we are done for tonight. Never too many cuts. Never too much pain without the pleasure. I don’t know how to escape. Worse than that, some dark, hidden part of myself doesn’t want to.

  Nora

  Physical therapy hurts. The way my leg broke, makes bending at the knee an excruciating experience. That and the fact that my knee has been stuck in mostly one position for what feels like forever.

  “Just one more,” Dan says. Dan. I hate that name. It’s plain and short and boring. Or maybe I am just grumpy because of the pain in my leg right now. I can’t really tell.

  “Good job, Nora,” he says. “You’re really lucky. This type of break could have been a lot worse.” I laugh. Lucky. He doesn’t know who I am. He doesn’t know anything. Lucky is not a word I’d use to describe myself or my life.

  I wipe sweat from my brow and toss the towel at him. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” I limp in my soft cast but I feel like it is a small price to pay considering the damage done to my body from the accident. The room we work in is hot and I long to wear a tank top but I am certain my back would horrify Dan during our session, so I sweat through a t-shirt.

  By the time I get home, the mail has come. I reach my hand in the box and pull it all out. Junk. Junk. Bill. Bill. Actual letter. It is addressed to me, although I don’t know who would write to me. The handwriting is simple and familiar looking. There is no return address and the postmark is not from this town. That handwriting. Like a child’s almost. Charlotte. I tear open the envelope. The other mail, forgotten, drops from my clutch. I yank out the folded sheet of paper.

  ‘Only Ever You’ is scrawled in Holden’s handwriting with a pressed wildflower in the folds of the paper. The dried flower floats in the air until it hits the porch. My hands tremble. On one leg, I bend and pick up the mail.