by Lowe, T. I.
I enter the foyer, and a wave of aggravation sweeps over me. Someone has placed my blame flowers back in the original spot. I scoop up the massive arrangement and stomp upstairs to return it to my room. People give me a questioning look as I pass, but none dare ask what I’m doing. And the look I give a few is I dare you. They obviously decide to hold their tongues. One of them hussies is probably the one who hauled them back downstairs. As I set the flowers back on the dresser, I assess my room. The bed has been made, the dirty coffee cup removed, and my very small stack of dirty clothes has been washed and neatly folded and are now resting on the foot of the bed. Well…someone has made themselves overly useful.
I ease back downstairs and notice that the entire house has been cleaned once again, and the kitchen counters are restocked with delicious-smelling home cooking. I realize that there will definitely be no resting, so I decide to help myself to the large spread. I fill my plate with tangy barbeque, rice, slaw, and a slice of white bread. This is another southern treat that I have missed. Back home with Lucas, we eat mostly health-conscience food. We never indulge in strawberry shortcake with fresh whipped cream. That is exactly what I treat myself to after devouring almost my entire plate of barbeque.
Instead of feeling more energized from the food, I feel as though I can barely hold my eyes open. I must look pretty rough, too. People keep coming up to me and insisting that I go lay down for a while. It doesn’t take much convincing for me to go for a quick nap. I’m so tired that I barely recall climbing into bed.
Chapter Twelve
Dancing another violent dance with the devil on a demonic beach, I cannot escape. Dancing in sheer terror as icy sweat trickles down my neck. Nausea and dizziness seem to keep everything in an odd tilt. The beast yanks me close until I’m firmly against his vile body. Every point where our bodies meet stings as though bees are attacking me. A growl erupts from his body before he clamps his chapped, brittle lips to mine. His taste is bitterly sour, causing me to gag against his mouth. Panic ricochets violently over me as I push away, but I find myself trapped in his callous grasp. I feel the bite of his nails as they begin to penetrate the delicate skin of my exposed back. I try to cry out in discomfort and terror, but I am being suffocated by his lips overwhelming my own. My lungs burn and squeeze with fighting against the attack until he abruptly relents the torture. Confusion blurs my understanding. I try to blink it away unsuccessfully. I can see nothing clearly—the now, the future. I’m suspended in a world of hurt, disgust, and shame.
His tarnished skin repulses me with sickly, brown patches and is scored with unhealed scars oozing grotesquely. His hands… no hands. Claws! Scaly talons strike out and tear my beautiful gown savagely into shreds. I am frozen with fear in the sand and cannot escape. Violent tremors are the only movement I can evoke from my body.
Suddenly he begins pushing and pulling at me in some type of horrendous dance and I have no clue as to how I’m staying upright. Every touch riddles my body with searing burns and throbbing blisters. A muted sob vibrates from my throat as I take in the thick blood slowly seeping down my bare thighs in wet streams. More confusion riddles me at the sight of my long, brown curls scattering over the sand. Panicking, my hand flies to my head and I can only feel scaly bald patches. Hated… I am hated.
I scream out in anguish, but no sound arises from my mouth. I have no voice.
I try fruitlessly again to escape this monster’s grasp. Defeated awareness cinches my stomach, causing rancorous acid to scorch my throat, as I realize dancing with this beast will have a deadly consequence. His crystal-clear eyes have turned a vicious red, and now he watches me in a revolting way—making me feel dirty and repulsive. He is growling out with laughter and piercing the night in an echoing abuse.
I tear my gaze away from his revolting form to search for help but only discover a scornful moon bleeding a harsh shade of red and the inky-black ocean crashing against the shore in a bitter attack with continuous abuse, wave after wave. I even find the powdery sand has turned on me and is now pricking and tearing my bare feet. I study it in bafflement and find it to be shards of glass. Angry… Everything is angry.
Lightning slashes hatefully through the sky and thunder screams in aggravation as I mutely beg for help. Please someone. Please save me. Please…
I’m trying to pull my arm out of his grasp when I realize it has withered to resemble a dead vine. More screaming. Still no voice. I’m in agony and my heart is beating in an erratic pattern so intense it pounds harshly in my ears. Surely, I will die in this beast’s arms. I’ve danced a dance with death, yet only excruciating pain claims me. I can find no relief.
Finally, the volume of my voice breaks through, and I am suddenly awake. I bolt up to a sitting position in my bed as the bedroom door opens swiftly. A tall man emerges from the dark and is now filling the doorframe. Sheer terror abruptly paralyzes me. One nightmare appears to give way to another. No… Please no… Please don’t rape me…
Short gasps of air escape painfully as I begin to hyperventilate.
“Are you okay?” John Paul asks.
All I can do is sit there and continue to gasp for air. He begins to step into the room, so I protectively throw my hands out and bark out a No. He pauses and puts up his own hands in a surrendering fashion.
“Savannah. Are. You. Okay?” John Paul speaks in a stern yet cautious tone, emphasizing each word. I don’t answer, so he begins to come forward again. I’m on the verge of completely freaking out.
“No! Go away!” My words come out in a wheeze, and my hands are still out in front of me. “Please.” I feel like I will die if he enters my room. Confused understanding seems to pass through him as he steps back. We have a bit of a standoff as I continue shaking and wheezing.
Finally, John Paul, not seeming to have a choice, backs out of the room and quietly shuts the door. I vainly try to slow my breathing, but it feels like my chest has been crushed. The bed begins to quiver in protest from my violent tremors. Drenched in a cold sweat, my first priority is to get my constricting jeans and shirt off that I’m still wearing from earlier. The fabric feels as though it is glued to my skin and is choking me. The panic comes in crushing waves as I finally free my legs before collapsing onto the floor. As I lay here in a clammy state, I spot my suitcase and will myself to crawl over to it. I rummage along the bottom of it until I find my bottle of Xanax. I pop a whole pill and roll onto my side.
I lay on the floor for a while, waiting for the medicine to relieve the unbearable weight on my chest. I’m just staring under my bed, and an unexpected memory flashes of an eleven-year-old me hiding under there. She’s quietly weeping and hoping not to be discovered. She is already over five feet tall and has trouble hiding under the cramped space. This image isn’t helping my current state. With great effort, I flip myself in the opposite direction and try to reassure myself that the memory can’t hurt me.
“It’s not the same bed, Savannah,” I tell myself. But it’s too late. The memory won’t let me go. The pain of it is like a bitter friend who’s showed up, refusing to let go of the grudge and just go away. It taunts me and I cower.
~ ~ ~
“Let’s play hide and seek,” Evan suggests. Julia giggles in agreement, and the boys whoop their agreements. I inwardly groan, and my stomach starts hurting. I feel the vomit rise up and try hard to swallow it back down. Hide and seek with Evan is always a dirty game. I could refuse to play the game, but I know from experience that he will simply take what he wants from me while the others hide. It’s a game I can’t figure out how to win. The devil always wins.
I rush off in a mad dash as everyone scatters. I run straight to my room and push open the window. I have escaped him this way before. The garage roof is right under my window, so it’s a pretty easy getaway—when it’s not raining, that is. However, this day it is pouring in thick sheets. I only hope he will think I am crazy enough to chance it.
The rain is coming in the window and forms a puddle on the wood f
loor, but I don’t care. I scoot under the bed in panic and only have to wait a few minutes before I hear him slip in and flip the lock in what sounds like hurried motions.
I watch his bare feet pass by on his way to the window and I hold my breath until my chest burns—afraid he’ll hear me. The devil stands there for a few moments, quietly chuckling. That wicked sound tells me he knows where I’m at. Please no, I silently beg. My heart pounds painfully, and I’m sweating profusely as I see he is moving closer to the bed. I silently plead for him to leave. Instead, he has a seat. The bedframe quietly groans from his weight.
His feet are mere inches from my face and I’m confused when they disappear. The bed shifts above me. Is he lying on my bed? Why? I hear what sounds like a zipper and then noises that I wish I could erase come from him. I don’t want to think about what he does on my bed or the mess he leaves there.
I try to focus on the pounding rain and not his gross noises, but it doesn’t help. Keeping my eyes wide open so I can keep guard, I clamp my hands over my ears to at least muffle his sounds. Please hurry—please go away—please don’t touch me. I beg these words in my mind on repeat for centuries until I sense the abrupt stop of the bed’s movements. I survey the empty floor for any sign of him departing. A scream of terror rips from my lips when all of a sudden he drops to his knees and stares me dead in the eyes. I swear I am staring back at the devil himself. I see that his pants are still undone with body parts on display that shouldn’t be, and I’m so scared at what might happen next. I start scooting in the opposite direction. Before I can get out of his grasp, Evan grabs ahold of my hand with his damp one and yanks me near him, causing my shoulder to ache in protest. I feel my heart hammering in my throat. Grinning wickedly, he whispers, “Happy birthday, little Miss.” He pulls my hand to his mouth and places a kiss on it before leaving my room.
After the fear finally releases me from its snare, I scoot out and sit on my rug until Julia scurries in later and grabs up my soiled bedding. How she knows, I don’t know nor do I ever ask her. It is another one of those hushed secrets trapped in the walls of the Thorton house.
I stay put on that rug, watching the rain pour mournfully into my window and cry a little bit more of myself away. Bit by bit, I am becoming more and more lost.
~ ~ ~
I can’t take it anymore, so I crawl across the hall to the bathroom and pull myself up at the sink. I glance in the mirror and quickly look away from the mess of myself; knowing that will only make this worse. I set my bleary focus on getting the shower turned on to the hottest setting tolerable. Tossing my clothes to the floor, I carefully climb in and stand under the hot stream for a second, but my legs keep buckling. Not being able to stand upright any longer, I ease down, rest my head on my knees, and allow the scorching water to pelt my back, hoping it will wash away the debilitating anxiety. I stay in this position; breathing in the steamy air and breathing it back out until the water begins to cool. I stay put until it becomes frigid cold, begging it to shock me out of this attack. I’m so sick of these things. They are incredibly crippling. I just don’t know how to rid myself of them.
By the time I dress in a fresh T-shirt and comfy yoga pants, my blurry vision begins to clear up and my jumbled thoughts straighten out a good bit. Relief washes over me that I have dodged an emergency room visit. I hate beyond hate resorting to that. Feeling somewhat settled, I decide to go find John Paul to set his mind at ease. I find him sitting on the front porch swing, a beer in hand and the weight of life pressing his shoulders down. I slump down beside him and let out a long, pensive sigh. The pill is doing its magic, and my body is feeling nice and numb.
“Sorry,” John Paul says shamefully, as though he has done something wrong.
“Not your fault. You just interrupted one of my critically acclaimed nightmares,” I say in a slow, sarcastic manner. The medicine has my tongue nice and relaxed. I feel his eyes on me, but decide to keep staring at the old rocking chair on the opposite end of the porch. The light breeze has it swaying gently. Focus on that, Savannah. Focus…
We rock in the quiet until he asks, “Do you have nightmares often?”
“Yeah, but they’re just repeats of the same old crap over and over. I’m quite used to them. They’re starting to get right boring, actually.” I try to joke the awkwardness away.
“Whatever nightmare that was playing tonight definitely didn’t seem boring to me. Downright scary is more like it,” John Paul says dryly, not buying a word of my joking.
“Oh. Don’t pay me any mind. I’m a drama queen. Just ask your mother.” I laugh it off.
“Enough, Savannah!” My brother’s gruff voice echoes out across the porch. Even the crickets shut up and take notice at my seething brother. I pitch forward a bit when he suddenly stops the swing. The next thing I know, John Paul’s hands have grasped my shoulders and turn me completely to face him. I’m not inclined to look him in the eye, but have no choice. “I am so sorry for not taking better care of you. I let you and Julia down.” John Paul runs his hand through his hair with aggravation. “I wasn’t stupid as to what was going on with Evan. All I cared about was my dang self. I liked having the freedom to come and go as I pleased. I figured as long as things stayed the way they were, I would have that freedom. Then that weekend happened and I wish I could have taken it all back… I swear I didn’t know how bad things were until after that weekend.” His voice goes hoarse with this statement.
I sit here staring back at him, stunned. We have never had a conversation about what had happened. I’m not sure why we are now. “John Paul—”
“You girls weren’t ever right after that. Neither one of you would even sleep in your own bed.” He shakes his head, and I can see his frustration building. “You on that rug and when Julia came back, she slept every night in Bradley’s bed in my room. Man, we are a messed-up bunch.”
“I didn’t know that about Julia. I don’t know much of anything about her now.” This fact slices into me. I hate most of all that our relationship suffered. All of our relationships took a beating, I guess.
“Yeah. That girl cried herself to sleep most nights. Unlike you. You put so many blame walls up and closed yourself off. Both of you ran away as soon as you could, and I did nothing to stop you. I did nothing…”
“John Paul. It wasn’t your place to fix what was going on. No one was paying attention. You couldn’t have stopped it. You were just a kid too.” I watch as tears spill from his miserable blue eyes, and oh, how I wish I could cry right along with him. Watching this tough guy break like this is too much.
“I could have fixed things if I tried, but I didn’t. I just sat back and watched both you and Julia fade away.” He shakes his head in what must be his own disbelief and takes a long drink from his beer before he continues. “I carelessly watched my family disappear. First my two sisters and then my brother. I was careless with Bradley, and I was careless with you girls. I have paid every day of my life since.” He rests his face in his hands, still clutching the beer bottle, and openly weeps. The swing vibrates with his sobs. I rub his back and wish I could take the pain away for him. I know better though. Nightmares don’t go away so easily.
“Everything that happened, happened. We can’t change it in any way. All we can do is try to live a better life than we’ve already lived.” I pause to shake my head at my own words. I lick my numb lips and let out a half-laugh, half-sigh. “Shoot, what do I know? I’m so dang lost that I don’t know whether to host my next dinner party or to get the wording right in my suicide letter.”
My offhanded remark causes the swing to pitch forward again as John Paul sits straight up abruptly. The steely glare he shoots my way makes me flinch. Maybe I should have just kept that tidbit to myself.
“What in the heck is that supposed to mean?” John Paul asks before peppering the air with colorful expletives.
“It means exactly how it sounds. I’m lost as I can be. I have a college education, the man of my dreams, and still cannot
find my place in this world. I don’t think I want to keep this up anymore. And… I figured Lucas deserves better anyway.” I shrug my shoulders and stare out over the dark lawn. Every so often, I catch a firefly winking its spark at me, and I try to put my focus on that. I’ve had enough of this talk.
“You can’t be serious?” John Paul asks, forcing my attention back to a conversation I wish I had not started.
“Yeah. Well you opened up to me so I thought I owed it to you to open up right back,” I counter and it feels a bit like a lie. I accidently let the suicide notion slip out and wish I could suck it back in. That’s one side effect I have with that tiny little pill—it loosens my tongue. I take a deep breath and continue down this conversation path since I can’t find my way off it now. “Your phone call interrupted me composing my suicide note the other day,” I confess. I fiddle with my hands, too ashamed to meet his disbelieving glower. He’s so mad I can feel it vibrating off him. I hear him take in a harsh breath. I sure do hope it calms him some.
“That’s just stupid,” John Paul snaps. Nope. He’s furious.
“Yeah!” I snap right back at him. “Just as stupid as you thinking what happened to Julia and me or the accident with Bradley is your fault.” I grab his face so he can’t look away. It’s flushed with his anger and feels fevered under my palms. “Bradley’s accident was not your fault. It was life’s fault. You two were just being boys. It’s time you stop blaming yourself.” Touching him becomes too much. I let go and try to push the rocking back to the swing, but John Paul is stronger and won’t allow any motion to the swing. I huff out in my own frustration and cross my arms over my chest as we sit still, seething.
I can’t take the intense silence threatening to choke me with guilt, so I glance in my brother’s direction. “And don’t worry about the whole stupid suicide thing. I’ve obviously been procrastinating over that decision. You know I don’t follow through with most things, so I think I’m safe.” I laugh bitterly.
