Pieces of Me

by Ann Garner

  “Ally.” I close the photography book. “How are you?”

  Her eyes dart away from me and to the door of the store before sliding back again.

  “I'm good,” she answers. I slide off the stool I'd set behind the counter. “You?”

  She looks nervous, and her eyes slide away again just at the door opens and Cole steps through. He holds the door open, not even glancing in our direction, as he waits for someone behind him to come in. I feel my stomach clench the moment red nail polish Beth steps in behind him.

  I jerk my eyes away, back to Ally, who looks apologetic.

  “I didn't know you worked here now,” she says softly. “He's helping me plan Holden's surprise birthday party.”

  “It’s fine,” I say through clenched teeth, even though I want to scream.

  “We’ll be in the coffee shop; you don't run that do you?”

  I shake my head, thankful that the coffee shop next door is not part of the bookstore, even though the wall between the two stores is open so you can move from one to the other.

  “Hey, Al, you re--” His voice cuts off the moment his eyes land on me behind the counter.

  “Delaney.”

  Oh, God. It's good to hear his voice, even with the added layer of ice. “Hello, Cole.”

  He turns to Ally without saying another word to me. “I'll grab us a table.”

  He walks away, and Beth smirks at me before hurrying to catch up with him, linking her arm through his. The sight of them touching is like a physical blow, and I'm afraid I'm going to be sick.

  “They aren't together.”

  “What?” I look to Ally.

  “Cole and Beth,” she says, softly. “They aren't together.”

  I shrug one shoulder. “It doesn't matter. Let me know if you need help with anything in the store.”

  I hurry away, practically running to the back room so I don't have to watch them. It doesn't matter that they aren't together. Hell, it doesn't matter that we aren't together. He let her touch him.

  And all I can do is huddle in the tiny back room and cry.

  **********************

  It doesn't get easier. I keep thinking it’s going to, but every day feels exactly like the day I let him walk away. I make myself get up in the mornings and make the motions required to make it through the day. I've been down this road before.

  Oh, maybe not for this reason, not for a broken heart, but the pain mixed in with the numbness is something I am familiar with.

  It's over a month into the spring semester and I've found a routine that works for me. And I’ve fallen madly in love with May Baker and her husband, Cliff. They are the older couple who own the book store, and they have taken me into their lives like I have been there all along. So I find myself spending the majority of my time at the store, even when I'm not working. They let me sit in the tiny back room and read books, and it gives me the illusion of not being alone.

  “She’s back.”

  I glance up as Cliff clomps into the back room. His hair is gray and balding and the top of his head gleams in the overhead fluorescent lighting. He has dark brown eyes that wrinkle at the corner, and those wrinkles pull down into others along his face.

  He's dressed in khakis with a white button down shirt tucked neatly into the pants and a pair of bright red suspenders. He has quite the collection of suspenders.

  “Who?” I tuck a piece of paper into my World History textbook and fold it closed.

  “That hussy looking girl.”

  His words bring a small smile to my face. I never said a word, but both he and May picked up on my dislike of Beth, who has made it her mission in life to rub whatever sort of relationship she has with Cole in my face, every chance she gets.

  While Cole himself has not been back into the store in the last four weeks, Beth has made it her personal stomping ground. She sits in the coffee shop either on the phone with one of her friends, or on occasion they join her in person, and discuss Cole at great length. And loudly.

  It makes me sick to my stomach every time I hear his name cross her overly painted lips. But I refuse to give her the satisfaction of seeing it get to me.

  “Well, she brings a steady stream of business with her.” I point out reasonably.

  “Screw the business,” he mutters. “You should let us ban her.”

  I raise one eyebrow. “You can do that?”

  “Of course we can, it's our place. We can refuse to serve anyone we'd like, and I'd like to refuse her.”

  I shake my head, shifting in the chair. “It's fine, let her keep coming in. She doesn't bother me.”

  “Well now, that's just bullshit.”

  Cliff sits in the other chair in the small room and studies me with those intense brown eyes. “You can't lie to me girl. You aren't that good at it. Every time that girl walks in the door you flinch.”

  “Do I really?”

  I hope she wasn't seeing that I thought, frowning.

  “You do, and whoever this Cole fella is, he’s a moron if he chose that girl over you.”

  He leans back in the chair, the springs creaking with the movement.

  “He didn't. Choose her, I mean. I practically gave him to her.” I shake my head. “It doesn't matter either way. You banning her would just give her the satisfaction of knowing she got to me.”

  “It does matter.”

  “What?”

  He tilts forward in the chair again, leaning in closer to me. “It does matter if he chose you. If it bothers you this much to hear her talk about him then obviously you care for him. Why'd you give him away?”

  “What are you, Dr. Phil?”

  “No,” Cliff smirks. “I'm just older and wiser than you. You've got unhappy written all over you girl, and if it’s because you told this guy no then maybe you shouldn't have told him no.”

  “It isn’t that simple.”

  “Well, now that's bullshit too. It is that simple. He makes you happy?”

  “Yes.” I say with no hesitation.

  “Then why in the hell would you make yourself miserable by turning him away? That just seems stupid to me.”

  I shake my head, “He doesn't think I trust him. There was something about myself that I couldn't tell him.”

  “You kill somebody?”

  I strangle on a laugh. “No, no I didn't.” Although I had pictured doing so a million and one times.

  “Then tell him.” He leans back in his chair again. “You control your happiness, Delaney, but if this guy contributes to it then you need to do whatever it takes to keep him. Life sucks, so make it suck a little less. Tell him.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Hours later I couldn't get his words out of my head. What if it was that simple? Didn’t not telling him and losing him make me if not miserable? But wouldn't telling him and having him turn me away hurt just as much?

  Either way I would have lost him.

  But what if I didn’t?

  What if I told him and he still wanted to be with me? I wouldn't know for sure unless I told him, and just because everyone else had looked at me with pity in their eyes, or turned away because they didn't know what to do or say, didn't mean that Cole would do the same.

  And if he did, I would be no worse off than I am now.

  But would he listen to me? He had said we were over the moment he walked out the door so maybe I had already lost whatever chance I had.

  I had to find out.

  Which explained why I was standing in front of his townhouse in the middle of the night in the pouring rain. I had driven here in a mental haze, unsure really of how I had managed to make it in one piece. The rain dripped down my face, soaking my hair and clothes causing both to stick against my body.

  I had knocked on the door and rang the bell several times, but it didn't look like anyone was going to answer the door. I knew if I stood there much longer trying to will the door open my teeth were going to start chattering.

  Just as I turned, arms crossed under m
y chest, and headed for the car, the porch light flipped on and the door swung open. Cole stood on the other side, clad only in a pair of dark gray athletic shorts, with his hair scattered messily around his face.

  “Delaney? What are you doing here?”

  “Is she here?” I know he has to strain to hear my whispered question.

  “Who?” He runs a hand through his hair, then down the side of his face. “It's fucking freezing outside, Delaney, and raining. What are you doing?”

  “Is Beth here?”

  “Beth? Why the hell would Beth be here? Is that seriously what you're knocking on my door at two in the morning to ask me?”

  “No. I mean, not the only reason. She really isn't here? She talks about spending the night with you all the time.”

  “Then she’s lying, Delaney, not that it's really any of your business. You made your choice.”

  Oh, God. He wasn't going to let me explain. I had lost my chance with him.

  He studies me for a moment longer before he says, “Is that all you needed? I'd like to get back to bed.”

  “I was raped.”

  The words slip out in a whispered rush before I can think about silencing them. It is only the second time that I have ever said the words out loud and the weight of them hangs heavy between us. The rain is picking up, the drops slipping down over me as I watch his face carefully, holding my breath as I see the words sink in. He closes his eyes, just briefly, and when he opens them again they burn bright with understanding.

  He pulls the door open a little further. “Come out of the rain. You're going to get sick.”

  I step into the townhouse, my arm brushing against the solid warmth of his chest before I stop in the small entryway. I stand there, dripping on the linoleum floor, arms still crossed over my chest as I try to keep whatever warmth I have left inside my body.

  “Stay here. I'm going to get you a towel and some dry clothes.”

  He heads up the stairs as I feel the cold really start to seep in. My entire body starts to shake with it. Or maybe it’s the shock of what I had done.

  I had told him.

  But only part of it. And now there would be nothing left to do but tell him the rest.

  I look up when I hear him coming back down the stairs. He has thrown on a t-shirt and carries a towel and blanket in one hand and what looks like a pair of sweat pants and a shirt in the other. I watch him silently as he tosses the blanket over to the couch. He hands me the towel.

  “Dry off, then you can get changed. They'll be big, but dry. I'm going to get you some coffee.”

  I shake my head. “No thank you.” My voice is small, shaky with the chattering teeth. “I'll take a bottle of water if you have one.”

  I see it in his eyes, the moment he makes the connection. I only drink bottled water. After a moment he nods his head. “I'll get you one.”

  He moves away and I hurry to dry off as much as I can, peeling my wet yoga pants and long sleeve shirt off after making sure he is still in the kitchen, I leave them in a heap on the floor, rolling the waist of the sweat pants several times to try and make them fit.

  It doesn't work, so I'm holding them up as I head into the living room, swallowed whole by clothes that smell like him. I settle in the corner of the couch, pulling the blanket he had brought down around me. Coming back into the room he places the bottle of water on the coffee table in front of me, and sits on the opposite end of the couch.

  I’m afraid to say anything else to him. And not just because I don't want to tell him, but just thinking about it sends me back to the darkness. I can only imagine what actually talking about it will do.

  “It’s alright, Del,” he says softly and I choke back a sob. Nothing has been alright for a long time.

  So with a deep, somewhat steadying breath, I start, because the longer I sit there thinking about it, the more I will convince myself that telling him is a mistake.

  “I was fifteen. My father owns a finance firm, and every year they throw a huge party, a charity event that is really more of a chance for them to all get together and show off how nice they are, donating some of their money to the less fortunate.” I shake my head. That doesn't matter really.

  “I remember being at the party. I remember arguing with my mother because she didn't like my dress, and I wasn't talking to the important clients enough. Then nothing. There is a huge black hole where my memory should be for the rest of that night.”

  I lick my dry lips as I reach over to grab the bottle of water, but I don't open it. I just squeeze it in between my shaking hands.

  “The first memory I have is waking up tied to a bed in a tiny room with no windows.” I look up to see him now, and find he is watching me closely. His jaw is clenched, I can see the hard line of it where it is pulled tight over the bone, and his hands are fisted in his lap. Those are the only signs that he is listening to me.

  “I remember it. I remember every moment of every second he had me. I've only ever talked about it once.” I shake my head. “I can't give you all of it, Cole. It's to much for me to go back there.”

  “How long?” His voice is hoarse with the question.

  I swallow quickly before I answer. “He had me for three days.”

  “Jesus. Jesus, Delaney. Three days?”

  I twist open the water, hugging the cap so tightly in one hand that I feel it biting into my skin.

  “He kept me drugged, enough that I wouldn't fight him, but not enough that I wasn't aware of what was going on. Later it was determined that he had drugged my punch at the party, and that was why I had no memory of how he took me. So I only drink bottled water ever since, which I know is irrational, but I can't seem to change it.”

  “He was a guest then, at the party?”

  I nod my head. “He was one of my father’s biggest clients. They played golf together once a month, he and his wife had been to our house for dinner.”

  “How did you get away?”

  “On the third day, he was so mad. He kept muttering under his breath, nothing that made sense to me, but enough for me to know exactly how pissed he was. I don't know what it was that had set him off, but he had to get rid of me. I remember hearing him say those words, and honestly by that point I just wanted it to be over and I didn't care how it ended.”

  I force myself to take a breath, to take a drink of the water in my hands to ease the burn in my throat.

  “He had a knife and he stabbed me in my stomach.” My hand automatically covers my stomach and the puckered scar that rests there. “I guess he thought he had killed me because I passed out. I hadn't eaten in three days, hadn't had water, I was so dehydrated and weak that my body just gave up. He ended up dumping me in a dumpster behind a grocery store. Lucky for me the store manager was still there. He thought his stockers were stealing beer and was personally doing a physical inventory and he stepped outside to have a cigarette and heard me.”

  Taking a deep breath I meet his eyes as I say, “I didn't talk for the first six months. I couldn't. Every sound, every movement, everything made me think I was back with him. Being in the dark gave me panic attacks. I could hardly sleep, barely eat, everything was too much effort. My parents didn't know what to do. Our relationship had never been normal anyway, but they didn't know how to handle me, so they just didn't after a while.”