by LW Barefoot
He lifts the mask, revealing my greatest dream and my worst nightmare, yet.
‘Come back to me. I’ve been waiting for you, love.’
Harper
The panicked feeling I had only moments ago disappears when my eyes open. Cracking with the feeling of being watched and not having opened my eyes for some time.
I feel puffy and I unable to open my gaze all the way. I draw in another painful breath as my eyes adjust. The rapidly spinning room slows. It feels like my body slams back on the bed, awakening every ounce of pain with acute precision.
My eyes land on Evan, but he’s not the same, not as evil from my recent nightmare.
My swollen cheeks are wet with tears. I shut my eyes because I can’t stand to look at him. I know I have to look as bad as I feel.
Ribs stab my lungs, leaving me gasping for air as I attempt to sit up. I cry out for the first time since that needle punctured my skin.
Evan moves to touch me. He’s pushed out of the way by a nurse.
My heart gallops, sending alarms off, and the sound hurts my ears. The nurse goes to push more drugs in my IV. I shake my head at her, trying to get her attention.
“Don’t, please, no more drugs,” I manage to get out.
It’s almost like she doesn’t believe I’m awake and capable of speech. My words come out broken and cracked, but she heard me. I feel like I’ve been swallowing gravel. My throat’s raw and it hurts. I need water, not drugs.
I close my eyes and get pushed back under the waves of morphine as that bitch plunges the syringe in the tubes running through my arm. But not before I register Evan’s comforting gaze and the feeling of his strong arms as I slip and fall across cold wet marble and back into the arms of a madman.
Evan
Seth had my things packed up at the penthouse. I never want to step foot in that building again. I went to his place to shower and change clothes, but I’m back outside Harper’s hospital room trying to make sense out of all this.
“How long are you here for, Tom?” I ask him between phone calls.
“Indefinitely,” he says, shaking out the newspaper he has in his hands and continues reading.
It makes sense with everything that’s happened to his only witness in the Sculptor case. Tom must be working overtime with the information I sent to him on Hawthorne Holdings before Harper was attacked.
“Have you had Joe arrested, yet?” I ask.
“You mean your father? Why would I do that?” he asks, setting his newspaper aside.
I don’t answer him.
“I won’t risk exposing Harper even if she insists on pressing charges. You just had an experience with local authorities Joe has in his back pocket. Please tell me how that worked out for you?” Tom asks sarcastically. “Now that you’re in control of his company, pull back the doors. Help us pin him with a more appropriate crime that will keep your father behind bars for good and Harper off the witness stand,” Tom explains.
I focused too closely on the higher ranking officials in this city. Politicians, city council members, and especially neighborhood and historical associations who I could work deals with for the sake of development. I should have been paying for my own crooked men in blue.
Jamie comes barreling down the hall while I rethink how I handle my business affiliations. His face red as anger pounds through his heavy steps to where Tom and I sit.
“Did you fucking do this to her?” Jamie yells, not giving a damn how loud he is.
I’m crushed with his accusation. I thought of all people, he wouldn’t jump to conclusions. We know each other better than that, or at least, I thought we did.
“You know I would never hurt her. You know I love her,” I plead.
“Do I? Because I’m pretty sure she doesn’t know that,” Jamie says.
“You’ve seen us together.”
“No, you’re right, I have. But never once have I heard her say that you love her. She doesn’t even believe she deserves love. Did you know that?”
His words punch an iron fist straight through my chest.
“She already has so many insecurities about you, but now this,” Jamie exclaims.
He plops down on a seat a few feet away from me, oblivious to anyone else.
“She doesn’t think she’s good enough because of what that sick fuck did to her,” he continues.
The pitch of his tone falls as he confesses that last part. He catches that he shouldn’t have spoken that out loud, looking around and cursing himself for the slip. I take a seat next to him.
“She’s perfect to me, Jamie. She still is,” I say with absolute truth.
The silence stretches between us.
“Even after all of this?” Jamie asks.
“Especially after all of this. She’s still mine,” I mutter under my breath.
“We need to get her out of the city. She’s getting released tomorrow,” Tom says abruptly, interrupting our exchange.
If Tom’s here to stay then he’s not going to push for Harper to go somewhere far away while he works on the case against my father. The safest place for Harper would be the plantation. I should have never brought her back to New Orleans in the first place.
“I’ll make arrangements for everyone at the plantation,” I suggest.
“I’m calling Martin as we speak,” Brad interjects, stepping out of Harper’s room.
“I’ve already contacted Harper’s therapist and she’s worried about her,” Jamie says. “She wants to see Harper as soon as possible.”
“I’ll cover however much it costs to get her to see Harper out at the plantation,” I promise.
“Her doctor thinks it’s best for us to keep our distance from her. At least, until Harper has time to recover, and come to terms with everything that’s happened,” Jamie continues.
I sink back in my seat and let out a deep breath. I don’t think I can stay away from her. I don’t think I ever will. Jamie’s expression says he’s not too happy about the idea, either.
“If you love her like you claim, give her time to deal with this,” he mutters.
We both agree to keep our distance.
Both of us disgusted with the thought of it.
Evan
The curtain of Harper’s hair shields most of her face as she keeps her head down.
Harper’s favorite dish of grilled shrimp on top of fried green tomatoes covered in Mae’s famous remoulade sits untouched in front of her.
“Harper, you should eat something,” Brad says as he steals food off her plate.
He takes a bite of her dinner roll and scoops up some of the sauce, moaning from the taste before he plops the roll back on her dish. The silverware clatters against porcelain, but she doesn’t flinch. Brad pushes her further by stealing one of the plump shrimp and popping it in his mouth, smacking loudly as he chews and licks his lips. His taunting earns him nothing more than Harper pushing the dish in Brad’s direction.
She would normally tease him and tell him to stay out of her food. She should laugh and play with him, but not this. Not this catatonic state where she doesn’t care about anything.
Her eyes don’t sparkle under her heavy lashes accented by the fading bruises on her otherwise flawless face. Her cracked lips must be painful and I mentally note to smooth ointment over the damaged skin before I pull her from her dreams tonight.
Mae shifts her focus from Harper and shoots her concerned gaze in my direction. She scoots her chair away from the table and quietly excuses herself.
“Harper, you’re hurting my momma’s feelings. She made this because she knows you love it,” Brad tells her.
“I’m sorry. I’m just not hungry,” she says with no emotion whatsoever, her tone barely above a whisper.
“Everyone, she’s doing better. Harper’s only been out of the hospital for a week and she’s been walking and painting,” Harper’s therapist, Karen, announces to the table in a cheerful voice that grates me wrong.
“Staring at a blank canv
as for hours without even dipping her brush in paint doesn’t constitute as painting. Hell, she doesn’t even pick up the fucking brush. Do you Harper?” Jamie all but shouts.
There’s no reaction from Harper. Jamie’s exclamation doesn’t even earn Harper’s focus to shift in his direction.
Martin makes his rounds of distributing wine around the table. Karen stops him from offering Harper any, exclaiming it wouldn’t mix well with her meds.
Jamie throws his cloth napkin across his plate and pushes his chair back.
“I can’t take this. I’m heading back to New Orleans so I don’t have to sit back and watch her slip away,” he claims.
Harper has no reaction. Jamie’s eyes brim with tears as he storms off in the direction of the stairs.
I turn on music and attempt to finish my meal. I try to savor the complex flavors and textures but food doesn’t taste the same lately. My attention strays to the woman who is no longer herself sitting down the long expanse of the table from me.
I turn the volume up to drown out the sound of dinnerware and forced interactions. A list of emails holds my undivided attention until I hear a thud against the table.
Seth curses and scoops Harper up from her seat immediately. He cradles her head against his shoulder and my heart misses a terrible beat. She doesn’t even open her eyes as he carries her from the room.
“She just nodded off and no one cared to watch her so she doesn’t hit her head?” I yell.
“She was fine one minute and the next she just passed out. I didn’t see it coming,” Brad tries to explain.
I stand up to follow Seth’s retreating figure when a grip on my sleeve halts me.
“Evan, we’ve been over this. You shouldn’t be alone with her. You might take her right back to being attacked by your father,” Karen says as her grip tightens.
“Yeah, that’s what you keep saying,” I protest.
“Brad, make sure you wake her up long enough for her to take her medications,” Karen yells to Brad’s back.
He turns around while grinding his teeth and picks up a plate before following Seth.
“You can’t be serious?” I ask her.
“I’m her doctor I know what’s best for her,” she comments taking a healthy swig of wine.
Muting the music, I listen to the sounds the house makes.
“Hey, Evan,” Jamie says exasperated after a few minutes.
I look up to him standing in the doorway with his duffle slung over his shoulder.
“Jamie.”
“I’m sorry. I just can’t sit back and see her like this. I knew she wouldn’t be the same but this is… I don’t know what this is,” he admits reluctantly and I selfishly want to go back to New Orleans with him if only for a break.
I almost forgot Harper’s doctor is still here when she speaks before I can.
“Jamie, she just needs time. I’m sure she will be back to her old self soon enough,” Karen smiles. She’s the only who sports so much as a grin lately.
Jamie’s nostrils flare. In an instant, I remember our conversation about how different Harper was from her previous self. I can’t imagine having to witness her recovery five years ago and have to do it all over again. His gaze shoots between the two of us.
“Are you okay with me leaving? I’ll stay, but I’m afraid I’m making things worse,” Jamie presses.
“I think that might be best for Harper,” Karen interjects, but Jamie waits for my opinion.
“Go. You need to get back to the restaurant. I’ll keep you updated on Harper’s progress. Jamie, I truly am sorry,” I offer at a loss for what else to say.
“It wasn’t your fault, Evan,” Jamie tries to soothe me.
He might not hold me personally responsible but I sure as hell do.
“I’ll call you when I can,” Brad says as he comes back in the room and slaps Jamie on the shoulder.
“Thanks, man,” Jamie says to Brad.
“Did Harper take her pills?” Karen asks.
I see the flash of irritation and anger pass across both Brad and Jamie’s features.
“Yes, she even ate a couple of bites of a roll so she doesn’t ruin the lining in her stomach. Not that you give a shit,” Brad spits at Karen and shocks us all.
He walks Jamie out of the dining room.
“That was uncalled for,” she mutters.
“Do you think so?” I ask her, observing her closely for the first time since she came out here.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand what you’re referring to,” she flutters around her words.
I slam my fist against the table. Karen flinches as if I struck her and even Martin rattles the plates he’s collected in his hands.
“It takes a lot to get that kind of reaction out of Brad. Even Jamie for that matter. It’s one of the reasons we get along so well. In fact, their easy going personalities are in stark contrast to mine,” I admit as I study her.
“I still don’t understand,” she mumbles.
“You don’t even hesitate with caution before you ask insensitive questions,” I push but she doesn’t say a word. “All I want to do is scoop Harper up in my arms and kiss every battered inch of her skin and promise her everything will be all right. I want to be there for her when she finally realizes she’s not as broken as she thinks. Your cold reactions make me question if you’re doing your job or if you have other motives.”
Her hand shakes when she brings her glass up to her pinched mouth. The swallow she takes is loud and gives away her fear.
“I’m doing what’s best for Harper,” she claims.
“If I find out otherwise, you’re going to regret it,” I promise her.
“You’re starting to sound just like your old man,” she smirks before I grab her face in my grasp and force her to finally meet my eyes.
“You’re treading on extremely thin ice. Don’t make the wrong move or you might drown and all the way out here I don’t know if anyone would hear your cries.”
“Are you threatening me, Mr. Hawthorne?”
My silence is the only answer she needs.
She bats her eyelashes as a blush creeps up from her neck and colors her cheeks. I release her when I notice the change in her demeanor. Her fingers trail over the tie at my neck as she leans forward.
“I think you’ve misunderstood me completely,” she tries.
I pick up the bottle of wine on the table. Karen’s eyes light up when I refill her glass and I wait for her to take a sip. She holds the dark red vintage on her tongue like a seasoned sommelier when I deliver my next line.
“I’m only going to tell you this once, so pay close attention,” I say and she has yet to swallow. I wrap my fist around her throat to make sure she’s unable to breathe. Her eyes widen and I love the fear that flashes across her face. “Don’t ever mention anything about my father ever again. If you want someone to slap you around like we both know you love, go back to the city and knock on his door. You’re here for one thing and one thing only and it has nothing to do with me.”
I wait until she attempts a nod as her eyes water before removing my grip. She spits the wine she savored all over the white tablecloth and her lap, coughing and gasping for air. I sling the drops that landed on my wrist.
I catch Seth’s grin as he moves out of the shadows and continues down the hall.
“Boss,” Martin offers me a handkerchief to wipe my hand off and I nod to him when I leave the room.
The clinking of silverware against priceless china competes with Karen’s exasperated gasps. I make my way out of the room.
Rufus meets me at the stairs and I bend down to pet his soft head of wrinkles. He follows me and shuffles his feet across the damp grass out to my garage.
I need to release some pent up frustration and focus on something I can restore and fix and bring back to life.
Harper
Three weeks have passed since I was released from the hospital. I was free from the confines of medications when I woke up
in the hospital, but I haven’t been the same since.
I didn’t even look twice at the canopy of oak trees that once hypnotized me as we drove under them on our way out here.
Three weeks with my body healing and my mind manipulated. Three long fucking weeks of not knowing who the person is who stares at me in the mirror, and what’s worse is that I didn’t even care.
At first, I wanted to believe I could pop a couple of pills and my problems would be solved. I had high hopes for the two little pills that rattle in my palm every night and I would be cured by the time the sun came up. The promise of sleep was too tempting, I willingly took that pill without question. I never thought of myself as depressed, but why not try to cure it along with the magic sleeping tablet. Even those chemicals fail me.
Either Brad or Mae watches me every night to make sure I take the prescribed anti-depressant and sleeping pill. No one listens that they don’t work, they haven’t from the first night I downed them. I’ve given them time. I’ve waited long enough.
And now my shrink won’t listen as she studies me from across the coffee table in Evan’s massive library. My focus moves over the elaborate wooden shelves housing and holding magnificent works made with elegant compilations of words. Yeah, I think that says it all.
“Harper, please describe your dream last night,” my doctor insists.
“I would classify it as a nightmare,” I retort.
Because every night I’ve taken the sleeping pill, I wake up by a bad dream. The Sculptor’s lips not only brushed mine, he tore me apart in the confines of my mind brutally enough for my heart to kick itself awake. Enough is enough.
“Are you positive you took the sleeping pill? It’s spelled…”
“Brad,” I yell at the top of my lungs, even though I know he’s on the other side of the closed doors.
My voice bounces off the walls as he bursts through the doors faster than I anticipated. He’s my dark shadow and the humor I’m incapable of creating. My pulse picks up because I want to hug his neck and tell him how much I’ve missed him. I want to laugh and run and eat with my friend.
