The Tutor

by K Larsen

  His hand moves over my belly. “You’re having my baby, aren’t you?”

  I nod, my grin widening. “I am.” He scooches down the bed and holds my flat belly between his hands.

  “Good morning, little one. I promise to be a good father to you.” His lips kiss my navel and I laugh. I am full of love. A family. I am going to have a real family. I will be a great mother.

  Holden rubs my feet at night. He dotes on me and there is no cutting. Only pleasure. His perpetual jolly mood causes us all to be in a constant state of euphoria. Lotte is lively and happy, I am always smiling and Holden is nothing but a romantic gentleman. He talks to our baby every day. He brushes my hair and braids it, while whispering sweet murmurs in the morning about my beauty.

  I don’t want this to end. He is everything. He is love and flowers and passion. We make love in the middle of the night, slow and gentle. I am proud to be carrying his child and I am over the moon to shower it with love when it arrives. Lotte will be a big sister of sorts and even she has warmed up to the idea. She has been drawing pictures for the baby to hang near the bassinet that Holden is building.

  I rest my hand on my belly and feel serene.

  When I wake up in the middle of the night two weeks later, stickiness running down my thighs, the coppery smell of blood in the air, I already know my baby is gone. That day I only get out of bed to change the bedding. Holden is disgusted and does not talk to or look at me. Lotte curls up in bed with me and says sweet things in my ear until she is called away. I am vacant. Literally and metaphorically. What is left for me, now that I have disappointed Holden so greatly?

  The next night, his lovemaking is rough. I do not comment on the tears in his eyes that I glimpse before he collapses on top of me. In the morning, he gets up early. I examine the hand-shaped bruises around my upper arms and wrists before stripping the bloody sheets off the bed.

  I am cleaning the bedroom, when my hand punches something sharp and metal deep under the bed. I press my chest to the floor and peer under the bed. I pull out a box. I check the door but Holden hasn’t come in yet. I do not feel myself lately. I cry and mourn the loss of my baby. I clean the cabin like a maniac to keep busy. To not think. Holden does not make love to me. He does not cut me. He too is mourning. Lifting the lid, I gasp when the contents can be seen. My letters to Aubry are neatly stacked next to letters from Aubry to me. A cry leaves me. My license. My cell phone and the charm from Ang all sit in the box. My mind fractures. Little splinters of my life before stab me. I am Nora. I slam the lid of the box closed and slide it back under the bed. Standing, I wipe my hands on the front of my dress. The mirror on the dresser is waiting—calling to me. I have not looked at myself in weeks. There’s a ghost that wears my face. I reach out and touch the clouded mirror. Is this Nora? A shiver runs down to my bones. A buzz in my brain. A feeling that I am the only one to blame. I want to take this face off, it does not fit the person inside. It is not me. I am someone else. Or she is someone else. I can’t be sure. Days roll on. Dusk to dawn. There’s a silence deep down in my soul.

  I step out into the cold morning air. The sun is just sending coral streaks across the sky. Winter creeps down from the mountains quickly, quietly closing an icy fist around us. Within weeks, days even, the forest would be white and frozen, and I will be cut off from any chance of escape. Escape. The very word makes me laugh. There is no escaping. The house, shut up for winter, is chilly and dark. Before it was just a cabin, now it seems to be a living thing, this cabin, this prison, and I feel its spirits plummet as it fills with his voice and the clattering of snow boots across its pine floorboards. I am depressed, I think. I mourn the loss of our baby. I mourn my old life. I just . . . mourn.

  Holden is back.

  “How is my lovely Nora?” he greets. I can’t react. I want Aubry. I want home. I want the creature comforts the modern world affords. I am falling slowly into a dark bottomless sadness. Moods take me. Warring emotions erase all traces of who I am. I have nothing left of my life. I do not answer. Sometimes I do not speak for days. Lotte hates those days. She does everything she can to make me speak or smile but there is nothing inside me to give. I lost our baby. My reality is bleak. What can I do?

  “Nora, you’ve got to snap out of it.” Holden pushes his hair behind his ears. I stare vacantly ahead. Even his brutally handsome face cannot wake my senses.

  “Let’s make another baby,” he says. My eyes snap up to his.

  “You want that?”

  “I want a family with you. Let me feed my demons to bring you back to me.”

  I am hopeful at his words. “If I am pregnant, you can’t cut me.”

  He nods. “I know. It is a sacrifice I am willing to make.” I am only ever his. He has changed since the beginning. He takes care of me now. When I am black, he lets me be. When I am tired, he helps me to bed. When I am happy, he rejoices with me.

  I look at him. “Cut me, Holden.”

  I hold him tight, like a child, against my chest. Our love breaks all the rules. Love with a glimmer of hate present. An end to romance. Two broken fools. But in these darkest moments, I still think that we are meant to be. He stares hard at me, as if he’s looking into my soul.

  “What happens when you finish? What happens to me then?” I ask, as we lay in bed together, spent. My back is only so big. One day he will run out of space.

  Holden seems to chew his words before saying it out loud. “I don’t know. I’ve never finished.” His words provide me no comfort. No reassurance. They do nothing to calm my racing mind.

  “Holden, you can’t put me out there.”

  “Out where?”

  “With the others. At the rock. You can’t ever put me out there.” Irrational terror courses through me. Holden rolls on top of me.

  “How do you know about the rock?” He grips my face hard. Too hard. There will be marks tomorrow.

  “I was exploring, with Lotte. And . . .” my voice gives out. He shakes me. “And what, Nora?”

  “I can’t be left there alone.” I don’t know if there is something in my eyes that speaks to Holden or not but he releases my face and kisses my forehead.

  “You will never end up there. I can promise you that. You are too special.”

  I breathe a sigh of relief.

  The days are darker. Longer. Everyone has cabin fever. Holden’s moods are more mercurial. I think winter does not suit him. He is testy, for reasons I can’t fathom. After dinner, Lotte is sent to bed early and I am only allowed to read to her for a short period.

  “I am sorry,” Lotte says.

  “It’s okay, bug. It isn’t your fault.” Lately, Holden needs to cut more often. There is more darkness in his soul to expel.

  Lotte sighs. “I know that. But, I’m still sorry. I don’t want you to hurt.”

  “It doesn’t hurt that much and you are so good at making it feel better in the morning. Now,” I say and kiss her forehead, “sleep tight.”

  Holden waits for me. He does not look pleased. I haven’t gotten pregnant since before. It is a shame I carry and a disgrace Holden does not like.

  “Tell me who owns you, Nora?” His muscles bunch tensely as fury tightens his face. He narrows his eyes. Holden remains still, and doesn’t speak, but even so, I can sense the violence he is holding back. His cock stirs, pressing against his fly—pushing it outward, toward me. I put a finger to my lips and usher him into our bedroom. I do not like Lotte listening. When the door is shut, I face him.

  “No one.” Immediately, I wish I could swallow every last syllable that left my mouth. He shakes with fury. The tense set of his jaw makes my stomach flip.

  “I meant no one owns me. I belong to you. Willingly.” My back peddling only angers him more when he is this needy. I have made a mistake.

  “Nora, now.” He points to the floor at his feet. I follow the direction, as if he has me on a leash. His hands move down my back as I kneel. He slides them inside the waistline of my skirt, until he is clutching my b
uttocks. I grin. He will not be gentle tonight. It is exactly what I need.

  Nora

  I don’t want to end up like Amelia. I’d been dropped at home and greeted by Eve. We laid on her bed, while I told her about Dr. Richardson’s friend. Eve had cried and said “Some people never come back from experiences like ours.” I’d nodded because I understand. I get it. I know that in real life, Holden is bad. That our love is wrong. That I adapted to cope. But my feelings . . . my emotions are not so rational. I can relate to Amelia’s perception of reality. It would be a divine way to live out my days—with the hope that I will be reunited with him. Dr. Richardson let me know how hard she tried to help her when she was recovered and how devastating it was to watch her friend stay in an altered state of mind. How it destroyed her life and her family. I don’t want to live in a psych unit. I don’t want to have my head in the clouds and dream of a day when Holden and I can be together. If given the chance though, for the two of us to be together, if no one else got hurt, if it was just me and Holden, would I walk away from him? So many if’s.

  If he comes for me . . . if I go with him, no one will know about my time as a captive. I have this immense urge to finish my story. I need Dr. Richardson to hear it all. I feel watched lately and I fear that my time at home is nearing its end. Sometimes at night, the hair on the back of my neck stands up for no reason. I look out all the windows for him but see no one. I am not sure why I need Dr. Richardson to know it all, but I do. I want her to understand. I lift my shirt and finger a new scar. It is slight and raised and tender to the touch. The pain focuses me. No. I cannot chance being an Amelia.

  “Yo, Earth to Nora,” Aubry’s voice snaps me from my thoughts.

  “Hi.”

  “Where’d you go?” she asks.

  “Sorry. Just daydreaming.”

  “Mom really wants you to come over for dinner tonight.”

  “I don’t know. Won’t that be a little awkward?” I say.

  “We’ve all got to move on.”

  “Aubry, what if he shows up? I know it’s unlikely but the only place he would go if he was going to appear, would be your house.”

  “I guess. Can we do dinner here then?”

  I grin at her. “I’m down with that. Why don’t you call her now, we have time to cook. See if she can come tonight, Aimee, too.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  Aubry cranks the music up a little more. Joy fills my body. It is our favorite song from high school. She uses a wooden spoon as a microphone and sings into it. I cannot help but laugh and join in with my spatula. For the first time in months, I feel light and content. Eve pokes her head in and doubles over laughing.

  “You can join in or get out,” Aubry says, playfully. I have Aubry. I have Eve. We will have Charlotte. And there is Dr. Richardson. I have people. It might be a patchwork tapestry but it is mine and they care about me. People break up all the time. First love’s heartache is devastating and takes time to heal from. I am no different in that regard. If I choose my life over Holden, is it the same as nursing a broken heart from a broken up relationship? The same as any average joe. If I choose Holden, I can never have these people again. My eyes well with tears. Why is life full of choices that are so difficult to make?

  “This takes me right back.”

  I swing around. Aimee blasts past me to Aubry and Eve. Angela watches us from the doorway. A soft smile on her face. I walk to her and open my arms. I am still not sure what kind of feelings she might truly harbor for me. I know she wants to be on my side, but a mother’s love is unfailing for her children.

  She embraces me tightly. “It makes me happy to see you behaving like your old self.”

  “Does it?” I ask.

  She takes my shoulders in her hands. Eve and Aubry still sing in the background—loudly.

  “Nora, you are and always have been, family. I tried my best to fill in as a parent for you. You were a good kid. Thoughtful, caring, kind, smart. You knew who you were. It has been torture to see you struggle to be yourself. To know what you’ve gone through. Not just with that man but before that with Anton. I am so ashamed, that I raised a man who would behave that way.”

  “It’s not you, Ang. You are a great mother.”

  “That is a wonderful compliment that is hard to swallow at the moment. But I want you to know that I do not blame you. It wasn’t your fault.”

  I look to the floor between us. Angela lifts my chin until we are looking at each other. “It was never your fault, Nora.”

  I nod once and wipe an errant tear that has leaked from my eye.

  “Now, tell me,” Angela says, while peeking over my shoulder. “What have you made for me tonight?”

  Nora

  Lotte is sleeping under the Christmas tree. Holden looks to me. I shake my head. I go to her. Wake her gently. This is it, life will never be better, or sweeter than this.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Merry Christmas. I’m your gift,” she says. When she stands, there is a bow tied around her waist from an old sheet. Holden nuzzles me under my ear. I smile. Is this real love I feel or just madness? There are four brown paper wrapped packages under the tree. The snow is two feet deep and the wind blows so hard, that the stove can’t keep the house warm all day. I shiver. Holden adds more logs to the woodstove. Lotte and I sit on the couch and wait for him. I snuck a gift for Lotte and one for Holden under the tree last night but I don’t know what the other two packages are.

  Holden brings two packages over and doles out one to Lotte and then me. We tear into our packages. Lotte is through the wrapping first. She holds up a small thin log, along with a small but sharp knife. I unwrap the same.

  “I’ll teach you how to whittle,” Holden says. I grin and lean over to kiss him in thanks. Lotte starts babbling on about wanting to carve an owl. Holden opens his gift and I wait nervously for his reaction. He pulls out the paper and carefully unrolls it.

  I had to beg for two nights of alone time outside and risked angering him by not explaining why, but it worked out. I bundled up on two frigid clear nights and mapped the stars. Holden looks at the constellation map I drew for him and I wonder if he hates it. If it is crude. I am not an artist. An arm darts out and hooks me. I am pulled into his chest and squeezed, while he mumbles thanks.

  For Lotte, I wrote a book. A fairytale. It took many hours and more sheets of paper than I had anticipated, but Holden managed to find some old scraps for me when I ran out of the good paper. I sewed the spine of the book with thread and dedicated it to Charlotte. When she opens it, Holden and I are snuggled together on the couch, excited for her response.

  “Wow. Whoa,” she breathes as she looks it over. “You wrote this?” I nod. Her grin is ear to ear. Without hesitation, she carefully sets the book down and dives into our laps for a massive family hug.

  In bed that night, Holden hands me a small package. I unwrap it slowly. It is a small silver spoon.

  “What is it for?” I ask, my voice hesitant. Sometimes Holden likes to play jokes.

  He kisses my nose. “For our children.” The wind’s cold breath rattles windows decorated with ice crystals, an icy fist forms in my stomach. I speak softly, so I don’t disturb the monster in his blood.

  “Our children?” I ask. We have not talked about a baby in a long time. I am yet to get pregnant again and the longer it takes, the more frustrated Holden becomes with me.

  “Who else’s?”

  “It is beautiful. Thank you,” I say. I kiss him passionately, until the energy rolling off him is peaceful and not angry. “Let’s make a baby, Holden.”

  He places the spoon on the nightstand and strips my nightgown from me with a grin on his face. He pulls his knife from his belt. It glistens in the moonlight. A slippery wave of desire rolls through me.

  “Cut me, first.” Holden’s grin is contagious as I roll to my stomach and bare myself to him.

  February is brutal. I think I am vitamin D deficient. Lo
tte looks sallow and too thin and Holden is grumpy often. Not even my body pleases him lately. We are always chilled and hungry. I long for warm nights and sunshine baths. Swims in the river and flower crowns.

  “If we don’t all do our chores, we won’t make it through winter, Lotte,” Holden yells.

  “Yes, sir.” Lotte answers.

  “Don’t be flippant. Do you want to die?” he shouts. Die? I jump in because I don’t like his tone. Lotte is our family and just a child. He should not scare her so.

  “Holden, stop it. She’s just a girl.”

  “Just a girl? Do you know what I was subjected to at her age?”

  “Please,” I beg. “She understands. Don’t you, Lotte?” Lotte looks to me and nods vigorously at Holden and me.

  “I didn’t ask you to speak,” he says. I cower and try to tuck Lotte behind me a bit. Holden’s hand snakes out and tears Lotte from me. She yelps and I rush Holden, pleading.

  With a swift motion, Holden backhands me. The force of it sends me crashing into the table. The crack of my body hitting the wood echoes in the small space. Tears stream down Lotte’s face, when Holden holds her up by her shoulders until she is eye level with him.

  “We lost all the chickens, Lotte. There’s no meat, no eggs for the rest of winter because you forgot to latch the enclosure and fed the foxes instead of us.”

  “I’m s-sorry,” she stammers. Holden’s whole body vibrates with fury. He should not be touching her that way.

  “Don’t touch her!” I scream. The sound is desperate. Holden and Lotte both look to me.

  “You are not the master of this house, Nora.” His eyes blaze malice. Lotte is knocked to the floor with such force, her head snaps back, hitting the floorboards. She does not move. Inside me, something breaks. My baby, my baby, my baby.

  I have choices to make. Promises that I can’t break. Her heart beats bright. She does not deserve this life. Hurting me is nothing but I cannot allow Holden to hurt her. A series of snaps and crackles resounds inside my skull. I find myself. For a moment, I cannot breathe at the horror I feel. I cannot focus my eyes. Lotte lies on the floor, clutching her head. My eyes bulge. My breath becomes rapid. No. No. No.