Damage Done

by Virginia Duke

  "I couldn’t go," he said suddenly, surprising himself. He hadn't wanted to burden her with it, but he couldn't keep it to himself anymore.

  "What do you mean?" she asked.

  “I couldn’t go today when they did it,” he said, pushing himself up on an elbow to look at her, “I didn’t go to say goodbye.”

  Dylan was crushed. He'd lost weight, his partners were picking up too much slack at work. It had been ten weeks. It felt like an eternity ago.

  "Dylan- " she reached up and touched his face, wiped the tear making its way slowly down the bridge of his nose.

  "Rachel, I can't explain it," he sighed, falling onto his back and raking his hands through his hair, "I know what the doctors say, and I hear it. It makes sense, I understand that he won't ever wake up, that if he did his life would be shit- "

  He paused, the tears coming harder, he couldn't stop them anymore.

  "Tell me," she urged him.

  "I just can't- " his voice cracked, "I couldn’t let them take him from me yet. He's my boy, he's still got blood pumping through him, you know? I had to stop going up there, I just wanted to scream at him, 'Wake up!' It was fucking killing me, Rachel."

  She sat up and pulled his head into her lap, stroking his hair. He held her tightly and buried his face into her leg, desperate to choke back the sobs. He didn’t want to break down, he couldn’t break down. He held his breath and pulled head away to look up at her.

  "I'm sorry, I didn't want to do this."

  "Sorry for what?" she asked, glaring at him now, "For sharing it with me? I’m not the only one who needs saving, remember? Don’t you dare be sorry for sharing that with me.”

  "You're right, I'm not sorry. I just didn't want to add to your shit."

  "You're not adding to my shit, I asked you. I want to know you again, Dylan. All of you. Let me love you back."

  He took a deep breath and sat up to look at her, she was so fucking beautiful, her wet hair around her face, the soft curls falling over her breasts and nipples, her green eyes daring him not to let her love him.

  God how he loved her.

  "I know I have to let him go. But I don't know how. I don't know how to say it."

  ***

  She sat quietly, listened to him work through his thoughts and ran her fingers through his hair. She'd never felt so wholly in love, so desperate to hold someone, to make it better. Rachel wanted to take all of his pain away and make it her own. She'd have died a thousand deaths if it meant Dylan would never have to live with the heartache of losing Michael again.

  She wanted to tell him she understood, that the pain would thin over time, even if it never leaves completely. But all she could do was listen. She wouldn’t burden him with that today.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Rachel had just turned nineteen and was almost nine months pregnant. At Savannah's urging, she and Brent had eloped a few months before, they'd been living in a small studio apartment in West University. Brent spent his days in class and at the library, Rachel spent her days sleeping and crying. At night he'd come home and tell her how fat she was and how lazy she was, he'd ask if she'd done anything all day, screaming things like, "Get the fuck over yourself." And then he'd snort another line of cocaine and attempt to study.

  Rachel would lay quietly in their bed when he got that way, their six months together had progressively become more torturous. But that night, he hadn't been content leaving her to listen quietly from the other room while be complained and yelled. He'd stormed in and thrown the lights on, yanking her from the bed by her arm and dragging her into the dining room where his books and research papers were strewn everywhere.

  "Sit, bitch," he'd said through clinched teeth, shoving her violently into the empty dining chair.

  She'd felt the baby scramble to get comfortable, the kicks in her belly made it impossible to sit upright the way Brent wanted. She pushed her hips towards the edge of the seat and held tightly to the sides, fought back tears, determined not to let him see her fear.

  "What do you want, Brent?" she'd asked coolly.

  "What do I want? What the fuck do you want, you trashy bitch? You want to sit around here and cry all day while I bust my ass trying to make something of myself? So I can convince my father to give me a job, and bring in money to take care of you and your bastard? You think I don't know that's not my baby?"

  He threw a book at her, and she'd known then his anger would escalate quickly. It hadn't taken her long to gauge his moods, to develop strategies for trying to bring him down a notch.

  "Brent, I'm sorry I upset you, I don't want anything right now. I just need to rest please. Can I get you something to eat?" she'd asked while pushing her heavy frame from the chair.

  "Sit the fuck down," he'd screamed, and then mocking her in a tiny voice, "No, you can't get me something to eat."

  "I'm sorry, what can I do for you?"

  "Suck my dick, let's start there," he said as he unbuttoned his jeans and walked towards her.

  Her chest weakened, felt hollow, bile rose in her throat and she felt her hands grow numb. She'd let him pressure her into having sex dozens of times, but he'd never said anything like that to her before. He'd never come to her for sex in anger.

  "Brent, I'm sorry, I don't feel well, but I'll do it after you're done studying. Let me take a bath and close my eyes for a few minutes until the nausea passes, okay?"

  "Fuck you, open your mouth," he'd said cruelly, standing in front of her and pulling his dick out.

  "No! You're an asshole, get away from me," she'd finally said, knowing well enough to expect he would blow up, that he'd probably scream all night and keep her awake, refusing to let her sleep.

  That night would have gone easier if she'd have just done it, but she hadn't been able to bring herself to touch him, or even look at him. She was disgusted and terrified.

  "No? Oh, so you're a strong woman now? Now that you've caught yourself a rich husband, all the charms are gone, huh?" he'd snickered, "Fuck you, you stupid bitch, open your mouth, you're going to suck my dick."

  "No, Brent," she screamed with as much confidence as she'd been able to summon, "Fuck you, get out of my way."

  She tried to stand up, "I'm calling my mother, I'm leaving, move out of the way."

  He shoved her back down into the chair, "Fuck you, you're not leaving, you're my wife you fat bitch, sit down. Your mother won't come get you, open your mouth!"

  He'd been right, her mother probably wouldn't have come to get her. She'd called Savannah a few months into their marriage and cried that he'd pushed her and threatened to punch her. Savannah told her to go apologize and to try harder to keep him happy. Still, she'd needed to get away from him.

  "Move, Brent! I'm leaving!" she'd yelled.

  But his hands made their way to her neck then, and panic set in. He'd never been so violent, and any other time she threatened to leave he'd apologized immediately and begged her to stay, begged her to forgive him, promised to keep his temper under control.

  But that time was different. He wouldn't let go, and she couldn't breathe. Her hands went to his, trying to pull his grip from her throat, but he only gripped harder, pressing his thumbs into her windpipe.

  "You're not leaving, you stupid bitch, I'll fucking kill you and that bastard before I let you leave," he'd said, his fingers loosening just enough to let her have a little air.

  She kicked her legs wildly, the baby rolling in circles in her belly, kicking her hard from inside.

  "You think I'd let you humiliate me that way? After I saved you from being just another whore on the street? Huh? You and that dirty bastard you're trying to pass off as mine?"

  His hands gripped tighter then, the rage in his eyes had grown. She'd felt herself slipping away as the baby kicked harder and harder.

  When she came to she was lying on the floor near the table and Brent was kicking her and screaming, "Wake up, you stupid bitch, wake the fuck up!"

  He kicked her in the stomach and the
head, over and over.

  "I'll fucking kill you before I let you leave this house, do you hear me?"

  "My baby, please! Please!" she'd barely managed between gasps for air.

  "Fuck that baby, you want to see what I think about that baby?"

  He'd stormed down the hallway then, still screaming. She tried to breathe, tried to pull herself up. She needed to get out of there, to get to a phone. But then she sat up, she'd seen the blood streaming from her legs. The baby had stopped kicking.

  "Nooooo!" she'd wailed, clutching her swollen stomach desperately. "My baby! Please help me!" she'd begun shrieking, praying the neighbors would hear, "Oh my God, somebody help me!"

  "Shut the fuck up, bitch," Brent had said quietly as he stormed back in.

  He had a handgun. She knew they had a gun in the apartment, but it had never occurred to her he would use it to scare her. To hurt her. He'd pulled open the bullet chamber, spinning it and laughing.

  She'd seen black then and felt the panic surge as he pointed the gun at her and she'd screamed, "Nooooo!"

  She instinctively brought a hand from her belly to cover her face, as if her hands would protect she and the baby.

  "No? You don't want me to take care of that bastard for you? How about I take care of you both? And then I'll just kill myself? Is that what you want, you stupid bitch?"

  He knelt in front of her, she felt his breath hot against the back of her hand. Afraid to look, she'd sobbed and begged him not to hurt her or her baby.

  "Look at me, bitch!" he screamed, and then she felt it. The barrel of the gun on her stomach, aimed at her baby. The baby she was losing.

  She'd cried and whimpered as he forced her hand from her face, "Please don't hurt me, please don't hurt my baby-"

  She saw his blurred face through her tears and watched as he'd pointed the gun towards his chin and cackled, "You think I won't do it? You think I won't end us both right here?"

  And then he did.

  The gun went off. Rachel didn't remember the gun going off, but she knew it had because when the ambulance pulled away with her she'd clearly heard the voices as they held the oxygen mask over her face.

  "Good thing that asshole killed himself, or I'd have had to do it for him," and, "This poor thing is better off."

  ***

  She lay in Dylan’s bed, stroking his hair as he slept. She hadn't relived that night in years, but for the first time since it happened, Rachel relived it without feeling afraid or fighting for breath as panic ripped through her.

  What had changed? Why wasn't she racing to find the bottle of Valium buried in her purse? Her anxiety leash had loosened, she wasn't fighting the suffocation she'd normally felt over things she couldn't change or control.

  She could learn to deal with the fallout when crisis came into her life, and she left Dylan that morning more confident than she’d ever been before.

  ***

  Kenneth was waiting for her when she came home, he was hunched over at the kitchen table, he hadn’t slept and his eyes were tired. He was defeated. She sat next to him at the table, she was nervous, but if he wanted to confront her, he deserved to be heard.

  "Kenneth- "

  "Rachel- "

  "Kenneth, I'm sorry."

  "Sorry for what?"

  "I'm sorry that our marriage isn't what you'd hoped it would be."

  "Do you even know what I hoped it would be, Rachel? Or does that just sound good when you say it to yourself? Like you're not responsible for any of it?"

  "Kenneth, I know I'm responsible for it."

  She wouldn't fight with him. She wouldn't ask him to see it her way or outline all of the things he'd done wrong, things he could have done differently, none of that mattered. It really wasn't his fault, they just weren't meant to be together. But she'd accept all of the responsibility if it meant not causing him any more pain.

  She went on, "I'm sorry I couldn't make it work. I'm sorry I wasn't happy, and I'm sorry that I can't be for you the woman you hoped I would be."

  "So what are you saying, Rachel? You were serious, you really want a divorce? You're leaving me?"

  "Yes."

  "Are you fucking serious?" he asked again.

  "Yes. I'm sorry."

  "Are you fucking him?"

  She took a breath, folded her hands in her lap and looked into his face as he stared straight ahead.

  "Yes."

  He finally looked at her then, his face full of surprise, sadness and then anger.

  "I guess that’s it then."

  He stood and walked away, pushing his chair back angrily as he made his way to his room. She thought the conversation was over, but then he came marching back in, paperwork in his hand. He threw it on the table for her to see.

  Motion to Establish Paternity

  The State of Texas vs. Kenneth Blake Daniels

  You are hereby ordered to report to any facility listed below.

  Rachel couldn’t finish reading it, she looked at him and set the paperwork back on the table gently. That’s what Henry had served him. That’s why he wouldn’t tell her about it.

  “It wasn’t even my baby,” he said angrily, “You want a divorce and you’re fucking somebody else, and it wasn’t even my baby.”

  She sat quietly, the shock of what he was telling her sent scrambling to put the pieces together. He thought she knew, he thought that’s why she wanted to leave him. But instead of feeling anger, she felt pity.

  She couldn’t be angry. He'd been a good provider, a loving father, an attentive lover. She’d pushed him away. Kenneth was a good man when she'd first met him. Too good for her, she’d thought. She warned him in the beginning that she was broken, that his infatuation would fade, that he would begin to see her the way she saw herself.

  "Stop putting yourself down," he'd said, "One day you'll look at yourself in the mirror and see what I see, you'll see your beautiful face and the strength behind it, the unconditional love you have for the important people in your life. One day you'll stop looking for the bad, and you'll be wowed by the good."

  She'd laughed at him, and hurt his feelings. She never took compliments well, and after all she'd been through, it felt unnatural to hear him sing her praises. He was sweet, but it had been easier to laugh, easier to get back to the superficial.

  So she'd laughed and leaned in to kiss him, kissed away his attempts to build her up. She'd known that Kenneth wouldn't let her push him away, and she began to let him love her. It kept her distracted.

  For awhile, Kenneth had been good at loving her. She wondered when he'd stopped, or when she'd stopped letting him.

  “I didn’t know, Kenneth,” she said gently, pushing the paperwork back to him, “I didn’t do it to hurt you. It’s not your fault. I never loved you the way you deserved. And I’m sorry.”

  ***

  "Momma!" Lauren screamed at her from the top of the stairs. "Can I put my dress on yet?"

  "No, Lauren, honey," Rachel called up, "We have hours before we need to be ready. Come down and eat your breakfast, sweet pea!"

  "Goddammit," Rachel heard her mutter loudly.

  "Lauren Ashley!" she screamed, "Don't you ever let me hear you say that again, do you understand?"

  "Yes, ma'am," Lauren huffed.

  Not exactly how she'd wanted the day to start. The pot of oatmeal on the stove needed attention, but she was glued to Hunter cramming a banana down his throat.

  "Seriously?"

  He just smiled and shrugged.

  "So can I go outside yet?" he asked, his mouth still full of food.

  "Sure."

  The thought of reprimanding him for talking with his mouth full felt like overkill after the dirty look she'd just given him. Besides, she'd just screamed at Lauren, and she needed them on their best behavior tonight.

  Even if that meant indulging them all day to keep them in decent moods. They'd be the only two children at the gala and too many adults hate having kids running around a venue like that, especia
lly if they were acting act.

  Kenneth strolled into the kitchen whistling, a smile on his face. He winked at her. She nearly choked on her coffee. He hadn't been that happy to see her in a year.

  "What are you so chipper about this morning?" she asked.

  "What? A man can't whistle or wink at his first ex-wife?" he laughed.

  He hadn’t laughed like that in months. They’d talked more in the last week than they’d talked throughout their marriage. He was hurt she was leaving, but he agreed it would only hurt Hunter and Lauren to let the wounds fester.

  Rachel had underestimated him, she should have known he’d put the kids first.

  "I'm sorry. Let me start over. Good morning, Kenneth. How did you sleep?"

  "Fine, I thought I'd take the kids to a movie later before they have to get ready for tonight," he said, pausing to pour his coffee, "Do you want to come?"

  "I can't, I've got to practice my speech and I promised Jake I'd meet him early this afternoon to do a few things."

  "Alright, well, you'll be here to get Lauren ready, right?"

  "Of course."

  ***

  "Neil!" Jake screamed, his patience long gone, "Listen, motherfucker, get your skinny ass up from that table and go pour a cup of coffee. You have eight hours to get this shit done, and if you don't get it done, and if you can't perform your fucking job the rest of the night, I swear on my life I will cut your dick off and shove it down your throat!"

  "Dude," Neil blubbered, "Chill. I got this. No need for the dramatics."

  "I got your dude, asshole, get up and install my equipment before I drag you across the street and beat your ass!" Jake flinched at him, his fists up, veins popping from his freshly shaved skull.

  "Whoa, man, I'm fucking doing it, chill out."

  Neil pushed away from the table and Jake turned to Rachel, hands on hips as his face morphed back into the pacifist she loved, "Hey Honey!"